Nothing Feels Better (Better Love 3)

I pull into the driveway and cut the engine. My first impulse is to run up and knock but being impulsive hasn’t always worked in my favor. Instead, I pull out my phone and send Joss a text.

A car emoji and a house emoji.

And an orange heart emoji.

Two minutes pass. Then five. Then ten. With every second that goes by, my breaths grow shallower and my jaw tighter. I can see her car in the garage. My patience is shot. I’ve spent hours on a plane to do this. I’m gonna do it.

I fling myself out of the car and march up to the door. Just as I reach the steps and raise my hand to knock, the door swings open and there stands Joss, wrapped in a towel and dripping wet. Like she was in the shower and didn’t take the time to dry off. My eyes devour her, starved for her. I need her.

I close the distance.

“Kids?” I ask between heaving breaths.

“Next door,” she says, and then I’m on her.

When my lips touch hers, for the first time in months, I lose it. I shuffle her back inside the house, kick the door closed behind me, and tug the towel off her wet body. My eyes eat up her bare skin as my eager hands rush to touch every inch of her.

“Fuck,” I pant out, moving my lips from her mouth to her neck to her chest. I bite the swell of her breast, lick downward and around her nipple. She gasps when I grip her ass and moans my name when I slide my fingers in her already wet pussy. “Fuuuuck,” I groan again, thrusting my fingers in and out.

I move my mouth back to hers and walk her backwards a little more until we’re at the stairwell.

“Lie,” I tell her, and she does.

She lowers herself to the stairs, body naked and glistening from the shower, hair wet and sticking to her skin. I want to commit her image to memory. I want to keep her naked and laid out on this stairwell forever.

“If you don’t want this, tell me now,” I growl out, dragging my eyes from her body to her face. “If you want me to leave, tell me. Otherwise, I’m going to fuck you on these stairs.”

The wait feels like an eternity before she speaks.

“I want you,” she says, her voice pointed and sure and full of desire for me. I drop to my knees and go straight for her pussy. I lick with the flat of my tongue, once, twice, three times, then suck her throbbing clit into my mouth.

I don’t toy with her. I don’t play. I don’t have the patience for that.

I suck hard and use my fingers to thrust and stroke her insides. I need her to come. I need her to come fast and hard.

“Oh my god,” she cries, and bucks into me. I use my forearm to pin her back down and I don’t let up. “Jesse, oh my god.”

“You taste so good,” I murmur against her, scissoring my fingers and pressing my thumb on her clit as I talk. “You know how many times I jerked my dick thinking about your taste? Fantasizing about having my tongue inside you again?”

She moans as I replace my thumb with my tongue. I remove my forearm from her hips and grab one of her hands that’s white knuckling the edge of the stair. I bring her hand to my head and fist her fingers in my hair.

“Pull,” I growl, and she does.

She tugs at my hair, and when she starts to quiver and shake, I bring my free hand to her neck. I tighten my hand around her throat, just enough force for her to feel me, and suck hard on her clit until she comes with a rasped cry.

I stand quickly and take off my shirt, then remove my pants. I spit in my hand and stroke my throbbing cock twice, then drop down on top of her. I brace myself with one arm, so I don’t crush her, take her mouth in a deep kiss, and use my other hand to guide myself to her pussy and push inside.

Her cry matches mine as we come together, the feeling both blissful and torturous.

“This pussy is mine,” I growl against her lips, thrusting hard. “No one else.”

“Yes,” she breathes out as she hooks one leg around my waist.

She meets my thrusts, quick and deep, her hands gripping tight on my arms.

“Play with your clit,” I tell her between kisses, and she brings one of her hands between us. “I want you to come again around my cock.”

“Harder,” she says, so I thrust harder. I slam into her in a steady, rhythmic motion, gritting my teeth against the impact, holding off my own release until she has hers. “I’m almost there,” she moans, and seconds later, she clenches around me so tightly my vision blurs and I lose my breath.

I let her ride out her orgasm, then pull out quickly. I rise onto my knees and stroke myself hard and fast, keeping my eyes on Jocelyn’s face as she watches.

“I’m going to come all over you.”

My voice is a low, rough rumble, waiting for her to decline my threat. When she whispers, please, I fucking lose it, and shoot thick streams of white all over her chest and belly with a long groan.

“You made a mess of me,” she says airily, and I chuckle and admire my handiwork. I’ve painted her in stripes of glossy white. She’s never looked so fucking sexy. I lean down and smash my naked chest to hers, wiggling, and she laughs out loud. I love that sound. I’ve dreamed about her laugh for months, but nothing compares to hearing it in person.

I stand and pull her up, then throw her over my shoulder as she shrieks. I give her ass a playful smack.

“Looks like you need another shower, then.”

And I carry her to her bathroom.