Nothing Feels Better (Better Love 3)

“Fucking let your dumbass ex try.” I let out a genuine laugh this time. “Dean Hollis knows everything about my past. I talked about it at length in my interview. Harvard Med doesn’t fucking care that I had to go to kiddie rehab or that I’ve got a crazy stalker. All they care about is that I’m honest and that I’ve got the highest MCAT score in the country.”

“That prick,” she whispers, scowling at nothing. “She was here. He brought her into my house with my kids.”

“Stay the fuck away from her, Jocelyn,” I command. “I’m serious. If she comes back here, call the cops.”

“Patrick is the cops, Jesse.”

“I don’t care. Call the cops, then call me.”

“Okay,” she says, pain and shame etched in her features. I hate seeing her brow furrowed. “God, I’m so sorry, Jesse.”

“It’s not your fault your ex-husband is an evil troll,” I say lightly, then pull her in for a hug. She sniffles into my shirt, tightening her grip on my waist. “But you gotta trust me, Joss. I’m an adult. You’re a great mom, but you’re not my mom, okay?”

I need her to trust me. I’ve struggled my whole life to get people to take me seriously, to see me as worthy and capable. I don’t want to have to do that with Joss. I can’t. I need her to know I’m more. Because I am.

She nods, her head leaning on my chest. “Okay.”

I lean down and brush my lips over the skin of her neck, letting my shoulders relax. I was finally starting to feel seen, appreciated. I don’t want to lose that. I close my eyes and breathe in her floral scent.

“I missed you all week,” I whisper, letting my mouth ghost over her skin. She shivers, and my lips pull into a genuine smile.

“I missed you too.”

“I graduated today,” I say. “I wanted to celebrate with you.”

“Mmmm,” she hums, then runs her hands up and down my back. She pulls away and looks me in my eyes. “Celebrate how?”

I grin. I need all of this bullshit in the past.

“Well, you see...” I say, “I’ve been studying up on your highlights. I got a few things we can try...”

* * *

It’s barelydawn when I wake up in Jocelyn’s bed, her naked body pressed up against mine. My dick is so hard it hurts, and when I move, it brushes against the comforter, and I have to stifle a groan.

The shit this woman has asked me to do to her.

Sure, this week fucking sucked, and yesterday was terrible, but we more than made up for it last night. Good god, I’ve hit the jackpot. Smart as fuck, gorgeous as all hell, breath-play curious, and down for butt stuff. Just thinking about it makes me even harder, and I have to bite back another groan.

Jocelyn stirs beside me, turns slightly, and drags her leg up over my waist. When she makes contact with my dick, I jerk on instinct, and she wakes.

“Is everything okay?” she asks sleepily. Her sleepy little voice kills me.

“Baby,” I whimper, then take her hand and move it to my dick. “I’m so hard.”

She giggles, then cups my shaft, stroking it.

“Poor baby,” she mumbles. “What can I do?”

“Welllll,” I say, then quickly flip us so I’m between her legs and suspended above her. Her laughter turns into a moan when I swipe the head of my dick through her pussy, the tip so sensitive my vision sparks white. She hums and tilts her hips upward. “Let me sink into this sweet pussy. It’ll be fast, but I’ll make you come on my tongue after.”

The moment she moans her approval, I’m snagging a condom from the strip I left on the nightstand and burying myself to the hilt in her heat.

“Fuuuuck me,” I pant out. “Heaven is being balls deep inside you.”

She laughs, causing her inner walls to clench on my dick, and I groan. I pull out to the tip, spit on her pussy, then slam back in. I perform exactly how I promised. I fuck her hard and fast, spill my release into the condom, then eat her until she’s writhing on my tongue and begging for mercy.

“Three,” I say after collapsing next to her and catching my breath.

“Three?”

“Mmm.” I turn on my side and press a kiss to her lips. “Jack of Many Trades, Master of Three.” She raises a brow in question, and I smirk. “Knitting, surgery, and—” I grab her ass cheek and squeeze “—dat ass.”

She squeals and falls into a fit of laughter, and I bask in the sound. I want to record it and listen to it on repeat. I want to learn record producing and sound mixing, just so I can make a whole album of it. I want to store it in my brain and keep it safe, so I can play it back and listen to it anytime I want to. Long after she’s gone.