Chapter 29: The Claim Reforged
His room was the same as it had been the night of the storm. The same twin bed shoved against the wall, the same pile of laundry in the corner, the same posters on the wall, the same scent of him, that mix of clean laundry and the faint musk of sweat. But everything was different now. Everything had changed.
He closed the door behind them, and the latch clicked shut with a finality that made her breath catch.
He turned to her, and there was a question in his eyes, a hesitant edge to his posture.
She didn't wait for him to say anything. She crossed the small room in three steps, grabbed the front of his hoodie with both fists, and shoved him backward until his spine hit the wall with a soft thud. The impact knocked a breath out of him, but before he could speak, her mouth was on his.
It wasn't the gentle, exploratory kiss they'd shared in the parking lot. It was a bruising, demanding thing, all teeth and tongue and the sharp taste of adrenaline. She pressed her body against his, chest to chest, hip to hip, and she felt his hands come up to her waist, gripping her through her jacket with a startled urgency.
She kissed him until her lungs burned, until the only thing she could hear was the wet sound of their mouths and the frantic drum of her own heart. Then she pulled back just enough to breathe, her forehead pressed against his, her chest heaving.
"If Rachel so much as looks at you again," she said, her voice low and trembling, "I'm going to make sure the whole campus knows exactly who you belong to."
Jake's eyes were dark, pupils blown wide, his lips swollen and slick from her mouth. "Yeah?" he breathed.
"Starting," she said, fumbling with the zipper of her jacket, "with a very loud demonstration."
She yanked the zipper down and shrugged the jacket off, letting it fall to the floor in a heap of neon green and white. Underneath she was wearing just a thin tank top, and she saw his gaze drop to her chest, to the outline of her nipples already hard against the fabric.
"You know," he said, his voice rough, "I'm not gonna complain about this, but what exactly brought it on?"
She stepped closer, pressing her body against his again, and she felt the growing hardness of him through his sweatpants. "You know exactly what brought it on. That little performance in the bleachers. The flexing. The winking." She ran her hands up his chest, over the thick muscle of his pecs, and she felt him shiver. "You knew she was watching. You knew all of them were watching."
"Was I supposed to ignore my girl?" he asked, and there was a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.
"My girl," she repeated, and the words sent a jolt of heat straight to her core. She grabbed the hem of his hoodie and pulled it up, over his head, tossing it aside. "That's right. Your girl. And I'm going to show you exactly what that means."
She pushed him again, and this time he let himself be guided, stumbling backward until his knees hit the edge of the bed, and for a second she thought he'd topple backward onto the bed. But he didn't. He planted his feet, braced himself against the frame, and pushed back into her, sending her stumbling a step. His hands caught her hips, steadying her before she could fall, and there was a challenge in his eyes now, a glint of the quarterback who never backed down from a play.
She didn't miss a beat. The fire in her eyes didn't flicker, didn't dim. If he wanted to play this game, to stand his ground instead of falling back onto the mattress like some eager virgin, then fine.
She didn't miss a beat. The fire in her eyes didn't flicker, didn't dim. If he wanted to play this game, to stand his ground instead of falling back onto the mattress like some eager virgin, then fine. She'd take what she wanted right where they stood.
Her fingers found the hem of her tank top, and she peeled it up and over her head in one fluid motion, the fabric catching on her hard nipples for just a second before it came free. She didn't toss it aside carefully. She didn't toss it at all. It just fell, pooling at her feet next to her jacket, and she stood there in just her sports bra, the thin compression fabric doing nothing to hide the full, firm swell of her tits, the way her nipples strained against the material.
Jake's breath caught. His eyes dropped, raking over her, and even though he'd seen her naked before, even though he'd had his mouth on every inch of her, he still looked like he couldn't quite believe it. His gaze dragged from the curve of her shoulders down to the heavy weight of her chest, to the narrow span of her waist, and then lower, to the tempting V of her hips.
"You're staring," she said, and her voice was rough, threaded with need.
"Can you blame me?" His voice cracked on the last word, and he cleared his throat. "You're..."
"Your girl," she finished for him.
She dropped to her knees.
The move was quick, decisive, the way she'd been taught to move through a routine, all muscle memory and grace. She hit the floor in front of him, her knees landing on the worn carpet, and her hands came up to the waistband of his sweatpants before he could react. She didn't fumble. She didn't hesitate. She hooked her fingers into the elastic and yanked downward, pulling both the sweatpants and his boxers down his hips in one smooth motion.
His cock sprang free, thick and heavy, already half-hard from her earlier grinding and the sight of her stripped down. It was long enough that it nearly brushed her chin as it bobbed in the cool air of the room, and she heard him hiss as the fabric dragged over the sensitive skin, felt the slight jump of his hips as his cock was exposed.
She was immediately struck, again, by the sheer size of him. She'd done this before. She'd had him in her mouth, in her hand, had felt him pressing against the back of her throat, but every time she saw him like this, naked and dark and straining for her, it was like seeing him for the first time. He filled her hand and then some, the girth of him stretching her fingers wide, the vein that ran along the underside pulsing against her palm.
He was warm. So warm, and she could feel him getting harder in her grip, the flesh thickening and lengthening as she held him.
She held him there, feeling the pulse of him against her palm, and she watched his stomach clench as he tried to control his breathing. He was fighting for composure, she could see it, the way his jaw was tight, the way his eyes had gone half-lidded and dark.
She didn't move for a long moment, just held him there, letting the weight of him settle in her palm. She watched his chest rise and fall, watched the way his abdominal muscles clenched and released with each shallow breath. He was trying so hard to play it cool, that quarterback swagger still clinging to him despite the situation, and it made her want to break him apart.
"So," he managed, his voice strained, "did you like it? When I flexed?"
She responded by dragging her tongue along the underside of his shaft, from the base to the tip, slow and deliberate. His knees buckled slightly, and he caught himself on the wall with a grunt.
"That good, huh?" he breathed, but his voice was already cracking, the bravado slipping.
She swirled her tongue around the head, tasting the salty bead of precum that had gathered there, and she let her eyes flick up to meet his. His pupils were blown, his lips parted, and she could see the thin veneer of his composure starting to fray at the edges.
She wrapped her lips around him and took him into her mouth, not deep, just the head, her tongue working the sensitive ridge. Then she pulled off with a wet pop and muttered, her voice low and intense, directed at nothing in particular.
"This is my cock. Made for my mouth."
Jake's breath hitched. He heard her, she knew he did, but she didn't meet his eyes. She was in her own head now, in that dark, possessive space where all she could see was him, all she could feel was him.
"Attached to MY man."
She took him again, deeper this time, her hand wrapped around the base of him, working in tandem with her mouth. She bobbed her head, establishing a rhythm, her tongue pressing flat against the vein that pulsed along the underside of his length.
"Fuck, Mia," he groaned, his head falling back against the wall. "You're gonna kill me."
She hummed around him in response, the vibration making his hips jerk forward, pushing him deeper into her throat. She didn't resist. She opened, took him, held him there for a moment before pulling back, her hand stroking him as she gasped for air.
"Just the thought of her," she muttered, her voice dreamy, almost disconnected, "looking at you. Touching you. Her hand on what's mine."
She took him deep again, her nose brushing the coarse hair at the base of his cock, her throat flexing around him. She held it, one second, two, three, and she felt him tremble against her, felt his hands come up to tangle in her hair, not pushing, just gripping.
She pulled off, gasping, a string of saliva connecting her lips to his glistening cock.
She watched the way his chest heaved, the way his cock glistened with her spit, and she felt a dark, molten satisfaction pool low in her gut. The taste of him was on her tongue, salty and warm, and all she wanted was more. All she wanted was everything.
She pressed a kiss to the flushed head of his cock, soft and almost reverent, and she felt his hips jerk. Another kiss, lower, along the shaft, and his hand tightened in her hair. Another, and she heard him choke on a breath.
She took the head back into her mouth, just the head, the soft, sensitive crown pressing against the roof of her mouth, and then she held him there, perfectly still. Her tongue traced the ridge where the head met the shaft, circled the slit, lapped up the fresh bead of precum that welled there.
"I'm close," he groaned, his voice ragged, torn from somewhere deep in his chest. His hips were trembling now, fighting the urge to thrust, his whole body strung tight as a bow. "Mia, I'm close. I'm gonna."
She didn't pull off. She didn't deepen. She just kept the head of him in her mouth, only the head, and she flattened her tongue against the underside, pressing up just where she knew he was most sensitive. The way he had taught her, the night of the storm.
"Fuck," he breathed, the word a prayer. "Fuck, Mia. I can't... I can't hold it."
She looked up at him through her lashes, watching his face contort, the agony and ecstasy warring in his expression. He was so beautiful like this, shattered and undone, all that controlled athletic grace stripped away to raw, desperate need.
She felt it coming. The pulse under her tongue, the first hot spurt of him hitting the roof of her mouth. She held him, just the head, and she felt each surge as he came. One, two, three thick ropes of heat flooding her mouth, filling it, and she swallowed around him, the muscles of her throat working. But there was more. Four, five, and she couldn't keep up, felt a thread of warmth escape the corner of her lips and slide down her chin.
She didn't care.
She kept him in her mouth, gentle, unhurried, lapping at the head as he pulsed and shuddered through the last of it. He was making sounds she'd never heard him make before, high and wrecked, his head thrown back against the air, his throat exposed, his fingers spasming in her hair.
When she finally pulled off, his cock slid from her lips with a wet sound, still half-hard, glistening with her spit and his release. She swallowed the last of him, the thick, bitter heat slipping down her throat, and she wiped a smear from the corner of her mouth with the back of her hand.
He was still gasping, his chest heaving, his head lolled back against the wall. His cock, still slick with her spit and his own release, was softening in front of her face, and she watched the way it twitched with each ragged breath he took.
She didn't wipe her mouth. She leaned forward instead, and she pressed her lips to the head of his cock, soft and open-mouthed, catching the thread of white that had gathered there. Her tongue swept across the slit, lapping up the last pearl of him, and she felt him shiver, a full-body tremor that ran from his shoulders to his hips.
"Jesus," he breathed, barely audible.
She ignored him. She dragged her tongue down the underside of his shaft, following the path of a stray drop that had escaped, licking him clean from root to tip. She felt the twitch of oversensitivity, the way his stomach clenched, and she lapped at his balls too, taking one into her mouth briefly, tasting the salt of his skin, before pulling off.
Then she turned her attention to herself.
She ran her tongue across her lower lip, catching the smear that had escaped. She dragged the back of her hand across her chin, and then she sucked it clean, her eyes locked on his.
"Fuck," he whispered, watching her like she was something wild and dangerous.
She stood.
She rose slowly, deliberately, and she let the soft, half-hard length of him drag down her body as she did. It traced a wet line from her lips, across her chin, down the column of her throat, and then lower, sliding between her bare breasts, leaving a slick trail over her sternum. She felt it catch on the sweat and heat of her skin, and she let it rest there for a moment, pressing him against the valley of her chest, before she continued to rise, letting the head of him brush over her stomach.
He made a sound like all the air had left him.
She looked at him, standing there with his sweatpants bunched around his ankles, his chest heaving, his eyes dark and blown wide. She had reduced the star quarterback to a trembling mess against his own bed, and the satisfaction of it was a hot coal in her chest.
She placed her hands flat on his chest and pushed.
He went. This time he didn't plant his feet. He didn't brace. His knees buckled and he crumpled backward onto the bed like wet tissue paper, his arms flopping out to his sides, the springs groaning under the impact. He stared up at her, his chest still heaving, the evidence of what she'd done glistening on his skin and drying on his lips.
She didn't move toward him. Not yet.
She stepped back, just one step, and she hooked her thumbs into the waistband of her leggings. She didn't break eye contact with him as she peeled them down her hips, over the curve of her ass, her thighs, past her knees, and let them drop to the floor in a puddle of black fabric. She stepped out of them, and then her panties followed, a scrap of pale pink silk that she pushed down with her thumbs, letting them fall with the leggings.
He forgot how to breathe.
She was completely bare now, her skin flushed with heat, her nipples hard and dark, between her legs she glistened with her own arousal. She saw his gaze drop, saw the way his eyes widened at the sight of her, and she knew he could see the evidence of her desire, the absolute ocean of wetness that had gathered between her thighs. She could feel it sliding down the inside of her leg, could feel the slick heat of her own need as she stood there.
Jake stared up at her, utterly wrecked, his chest still heaving. The evidence of her work was streaked across his stomach, still slick on his skin, and he looked like he'd been hit by a truck in the best possible way.
"Come here," he managed, his voice hoarse. "Please. I need you."
She didn't move. Not yet. She stood over him, bare and slick, the cool air of the room raising goosebumps on her skin. "I'm not done with you yet."
The flicker of confusion in his eyes was almost comical. "Not done? Mia, I just..."
"I know what you just did." She stepped toward the bed, her knees pressing into the thin mattress. "But that was just a warm-up. I've been thinking about this all day. Watching you out there, all those girls looking at you, and I couldn't get the thought out of my head."
"What thought?" His voice was barely a whisper now, his eyes fixed on her as she climbed over him, straddling his thighs.
She settled onto him, the heat of her cunt pressing against the still-soft length of his cock, and she felt him twitch underneath her. Not a hard twitch, not the rising stiffness she was used to. Just a flutter of oversensitive nerves.
"This thought," she said, and she began to grind.
It was slow at first, almost tentative. A gentle rock of her hips, her slick folds sliding over the soft flesh of his cock, his length pressed between them. He was still soft, still recovering from the intense orgasm she'd wrung out of him, and she could feel every sensitive twitch as her hips moved against him.
"Fuck," he breathed, his hands coming up to grip her thighs. "Mia, I don't know if I can. It's too much. You just..."
She didn't stop. She kept grinding, slow and deliberate, the head of his soft cock nudging against her clit with each pass. The sensation was different from before, less intense, more diffuse. His softness against her slick heat was its own kind of torture, the texture of him dragging against her most sensitive spots in a way that made her breath catch.
"I don't care," she said, her voice low. "I want you inside me. I'm going to get you inside me if it takes all night."
He groaned, his head falling back, his fingers tightening on her thighs. "That's not... I mean, I want to. God, I want to. But it's... it's so sensitive. I can feel everything. Every little movement."
She ground down harder, pressing his soft length against her clit, and she felt a spark of pleasure shoot through her. Her hips found a rhythm, slow and grinding, a counterpoint to the frantic urgency she'd felt in the parking lot. This was different. This was deliberate. This was her claiming him in the most primal way she knew how.
"I can feel you too," she murmured, leaning forward, her breasts brushing his chest. "I can feel every twitch. Every little pulse. And I'm going to keep going until you're hard for me again. Until I can feel you filling me up."
"Jesus," he whispered, and his hips bucked involuntarily, pressing himself against her.
She rode the motion, her clit dragging along his soft length, and she felt the first real wave of pleasure building in her core. It was different than when he was hard. Muffled, maybe. Diffuse. But there, building steadily like heat in a slow oven.
She kept grinding. Minutes passed, slow and languid, her hips moving in a figure eight that she knew drove him crazy. His breath was coming in short, sharp gasps, his whole body trembling underneath her. The overly sensitive flesh of his cock was swelling slightly, thickening just a little, and she felt a thrill of triumph.
"That's it," she breathed, pressing down harder. "Come on, Jake. Get hard for me."
"I'm trying," he gritted out, his hands sliding up her thighs to grip her hips. "God, I'm trying. It's just... every time I feel you moving on me, I think about what you did. What your mouth felt like. And I can't..."
His voice cracked, and she felt him twitch again, a little harder this time. The soft flesh was thickening, growing just a bit more substantial beneath her, and she increased the pressure, grinding her clit against his half-aroused length with renewed purpose.
The pleasure was building in her too, a steady, insistent ache that made her want more. Faster. Harder. She could feel herself getting close, the familiar coil of heat winding tight in her belly, and she knew that if she kept grinding like this, she'd come. She could feel it approaching, the crest of the wave just beyond her reach.
But she didn't want to come like this. She wanted to feel him inside her. Hard and thick and filling her up, just like the night of the storm.
She pulled back, just slightly, easing the pressure on her clit. The wave receded, leaving her aching and unsatisfied, and she heard herself make a small, frustrated sound.
"Not yet," she said, more to herself than to him. "Not like this."
He looked up at her, his eyes dark and glazed with pleasure and confusion. "Mia... you were close. Why did you stop?"
"Because I'm not wasting an orgasm on this," she said, grinding down again, slower this time, more deliberate. "I'm saving it. For when you're hard. When you're inside me. When you're fucking me like you did the night of the storm."
The words had the desired effect. She felt him thicken underneath her, a pulse of blood flowing into his cock, the soft flesh becoming more substantial. He was still nowhere near his full size, barely half-hard, but he was growing, and she could feel every incremental change against her slick heat.
"Oh, fuck," he breathed, his hips rolling up to meet hers. "Oh, fuck, Mia. That's... that's helping."
She kept grinding, slow and constant, and she watched his face as the pleasure built. His eyes were closed now, his brow furrowed, his lips parted on shallow breaths. He was focusing, she realized, concentrating on getting hard, his entire body strung taut with the effort.
"I don't know if I can," he murmured, almost to himself. "It's too much. You're too much."
"Yes, you can," she said, her voice firm. "You're going to get hard for me, Jake. You're going to be inside me, and you're going to fuck me until I scream your name."
"God," he gasped, and she felt another pulse of blood flow into him. He was harder now, maybe three-quarters of the way there, the thick length of him pressing against her clit with more intent, more substance.
She increased the pace of her grinding, her hips moving faster now, the friction building. She could feel herself getting close again, the pleasure coiling in her core, and this time she didn't pull back. She let it build, let it rise, and she could feel him responding, growing harder still, the tip of him catching on her entrance with each pass of her hips.
"Almost," she breathed, her body still moving against his, grinding harder, faster, feeling every thick inch of him respond to her touch. She pressed her hips back, taking more of his length between her thighs, the head of him catching on her slick heat with each desperate movement. He was so hard now, so thick, pulsing against her as she worked him, her body the only tool she needed to bring him to full attention, to make him hers completely.
"Fuck, Mia," he breathed, the words barely a whisper. "I don't know if I can. It's too much. You're too much."
She didn't answer. She just kept grinding, her hips moving in that slow, deliberate figure eight, her slick heat sliding over his thickening length. He was harder now, she could feel it, the flesh swelling and firming beneath her, but he was still not where she needed him. Not yet.
"Please," he gasped, his hands gripping her hips with bruising force. "Please, I want to. God, I want to. But I can't... it's so sensitive. Every little movement feels like..."
"Like what?" she asked, her voice low and rough.
"Like you're taking me apart," he admitted, his eyes squeezed shut, his jaw tight. "Piece by piece. And I'm just lying here letting you do it."
She smiled, a dark, satisfied curve of her lips. "Good."
She increased the pace, her hips moving faster now, and she felt the first real wave of pleasure cresting. The sensation of him beneath her, half-hard and hypersensitive, dragging against her clit was delicious. Delicious and maddening. Each pass of her hips sent a jolt of heat through her core, and she could feel the coil tightening, the familiar pressure building.
But she had to hold on. She had to wait.
She watched him struggle through it. His chest was heaving, his abdominal muscles clenched, his hands roving over her thighs and hips like he didn't know whether to push her away or pull her closer. She loved it. Loved the way he was so utterly undone. The star quarterback, the man who called plays and commanded the field, reduced to a trembling mess by the simple grind of her hips.
"You're making me feel insane," he managed, his voice wrecked. "You know that, right? I've never... I've never felt anything like this. It's like you're starting a fire inside me and I can't put it out."
She ground down harder, pressing his length against her clit, and he cried out, a sharp, strangled sound that made her thighs clench. "I'm not trying to put it out," she murmured. "I'm trying to make it burn."
"I don't know if I can get hard again. What if I can't? What if you're just stuck grinding on my limp dick all night?"
"Then I'll grind until I come, and then I'll start again," she said, her voice matter-of-fact. "I've got all night. I've got all week. The snow's not going anywhere."
He let out a sound that was half laugh, half groan. "You're insane. You're actually insane."
"And you're getting hard," she observed, and she felt another pulse of blood flow into him. He was maybe four-fifths of the way there now, thick and substantial, pressing against her with real intent. "I can feel it. Every time you think you can't, you grow a little more. Your body knows what it wants even when your head doesn't."
"I want it," he insisted, his voice cracking. "I want it so bad. I want to be inside you. I want to feel you around me. I just... I don't know if my body is ready for round two. That was intense. You're intense."
"Intense is good," she said, and she increased the pace again, faster now, the friction building into a steady, driving heat. She was so close. She could feel the crest just beyond her reach, the pressure mounting in her core, and each pass of his thickening cock against her clit brought her nearer to the edge.
But she held on. She held on with every ounce of her willpower, even as the pleasure mounted, even as her hips moved faster and faster in a rhythm she couldn't control, even as she felt the wave beginning to break.
"I'm close," she gasped, the words torn from her. "God, I'm so close. But I'm not... I'm not coming until you're hard. I'm not coming until you're inside me."
"Please," he begged, his hands sliding to her ass, gripping her cheeks, guiding her movements. "Please, Mia. I can't take much more of this. You feel too good. You feel too good moving on me."
She felt another pulse of blood flow into him. He was almost there now, almost fully hard, the thick shaft of him pressing against her, and she knew it was only a matter of time. But the final stretch was taking forever. Every time she felt him swell, she thought this was it, and then he would falter, his body wracked with oversensitive tremors as she ground against him.
"I can't," he gasped, his head thrashing against the mattress. "I can't. It's too much. You're moving too fast. I can't keep up."
"Then keep up," she said, her voice sharp with need. "You're almost there. I can feel it. You're so close, Jake. So close to being hard for me. So close to being inside me."
She pressed down harder, faster, the friction becoming almost unbearable. It was too much. The sensation of his thickening cock sliding against her slick, sensitive flesh was overwhelming, and she knew that if she didn't come soon, she was going to lose it. She was going to come all over him without him inside her, and she would have wasted all this time, all this effort.
But she couldn't stop. Her hips were moving of their own accord now, chasing the pleasure, chasing that cresting wave that was so close, so achingly close.
"Fuck," she breathed, the word a prayer. "Fuck, Jake. I'm going to come. I'm going to come all over you if you don't get hard right now."
"Then come," he said, his voice ragged, desperate. "Come on me. I don't care. I just want to feel you come. I want to feel you fall apart on top of me."
"No." The denial was sharp, almost violent. "No. I want you inside me. I want to feel you split me open. I want to feel you come inside me. I want all of it. I want everything."
She felt another pulse. Another surge of blood. And then, finally, she felt him. Full. Hard. Thick and proud and absolutely ready.
"Oh my God," she breathed, the words thick with relief and triumph. "You made it. You're hard. You're so hard."
"I know," he gasped, his hands gripping her hips with desperate strength. "I know I am. Now please. Please, Mia. I need to be inside you. I need it so bad I can't think straight."
She didn't wait. She didn't tease. She reached down between them, wrapping her fingers around his thick, slick length, and she guided him to her entrance. She could feel the heat of him, the pulse, the desperate throb of his need, and she knew she was about to do something they would both remember for the rest of their lives.
She sank down.
The sensation for her was blinding. He was so thick, so full, and she felt every inch of him stretching her open as she took him. The pleasure was overwhelming, a simultaneous release of all the tension she'd been holding, and she heard herself moan, a low, guttural sound that seemed to come from somewhere deep in her chest.
Her words died in her throat. The moment she bottomed out, the moment she was fully seated on him with his thick length buried to the root inside her, Jake went completely still. Not the stillness of pleasure, not the trembling anticipation she'd felt from him moments before. This was something else. Something primal. His whole body locked up like a circuit had blown, every muscle in his torso going rigid beneath her.
His hands moved before his brain caught up. They clamped around her waist, fingers splayed wide across her ribs, and she felt his pinkies and thumbs nearly touch around her narrow frame. He had big hands, quarterback hands, made for gripping footballs and throwing spirals across a field. Wrapped around her like this, they spanned almost her entire torso, and the heat of his palms seared her skin through the thin layer of sweat that had broken out across her body.
"Mia," he breathed, and the word was barely a sound, barely air.
Then he sat up.
It wasn't a slow, languid motion. It was a reflex, a jerk of his abdominal muscles that brought his chest flush against hers in a single fluid movement. His face found the space between her breasts, and he buried it there, his nose pressing into the soft valley of her cleavage, his lips parting against her sternum. She felt his breath, hot and ragged, against the sweat-slick skin of her chest, and then his mouth opened and he kissed her there, right over her heart, like he was trying to reach through her ribs and touch the thing that beat inside.
Her breath caught. The sensation of him inside her, fully seated, combined with the press of his face against her chest, the desperate intimacy of his mouth on her sternum, was almost too much. She could feel every beat of his heart through the wall of his chest, thudding against hers like a drum, and she realized he was trying to kiss her heart. He was trying to get as close to the center of her as he possibly could.
"Jake," she whispered, her hands coming up to tangle in his hair, her fingers threading through the damp, messy strands.
He didn't answer. He just pressed his face harder into her chest, his lips moving against her skin, kissing the space between her breasts like it was the only thing that mattered in the world. His grip on her waist tightened, his fingers digging into her ribcage, and she felt the first spark of pain, sharp and lovely, bloom under his touch.
Then she moved.
It was involuntary. She hadn't planned it, hadn't consciously decided to rock her hips, but her body had other ideas. The fullness of him inside her was overwhelming, the thick, hard length of him stretching her open in a way that made her see stars, and she needed to feel him move. She lifted herself just an inch, just enough to feel him slide inside her, and then she sank back down with a moan.
The flutters started immediately.
Her inner walls clenched around him in a rhythmic, pulsing wave, a reaction she couldn't control, a reflex of pure pleasure. She felt him twitch inside her, felt the answering throb of his cock as her body rippled around him, and the combined sensation sent a shockwave through both of them. Her hands tightened in his hair, her hips beginning a slow, grinding rotation, and every motion made the flutters worse. Every clench of her inner muscles around his thick shaft made her want more, made her ride him harder, faster.
And with every flutter, his grip on her torso tightened.
It was like he was pinching a straw closed, that reflexive, instinctive clench of his fingers that had nothing to do with conscious thought. His hands flexed around her waist, his fingers digging deep into her flesh, and she felt his thumbs pressing into the soft skin just below her ribs. The pressure was intense, bruising, his grip so tight she knew it would leave marks. Dark, finger-shaped bruises that would bloom purple and blue over the next few days. Bruises that her cheer squad would see when she changed in the locker room, that they would interrogate her about with sharp, knowing grins.
She didn't care. She wanted them. She wanted his marks on her body, wanted to wear the evidence of his claim under her clothes where the whole world could see.
"That's it," she gasped, her hips picking up a rhythm, her body rising and falling on his cock. "God, Jake. That's it. Squeeze me. Hold me. Don't let go."
He made a sound against her chest, a muffled, desperate noise that vibrated through her sternum. His mouth was still pressed to her heart, his lips moving against her skin in frantic, open-mouthed kisses, and she felt his tongue dart out, tasting the salt of her sweat. His teeth grazed her breastbone, just a hint of pressure, and she cried out, her hips slamming down onto him.
The flutters intensified. Her inner walls clenched around him in wave after wave, milking him, gripping him, and she felt his whole body shudder. His grip on her torso tightened even further, if that was possible, his fingers pressing so hard she felt the distinct imprint of each one, a map of his hold that would be visible for days.
"Too much," he gasped against her chest, the words muffled by her flesh. "Mia, it's too much. You're doing something. You're... you're squeezing me. You're holding me so tight I can't breathe."
"I'm not doing anything," she breathed, and it was true. The flutters were involuntary, a reflexive response to the overwhelming fullness of him inside her, to the weight and heat of his body pressed against hers, to the desperate intimacy of his mouth on her heart. "My body just loves you. It can't help itself."
He groaned, a wrecked, desperate sound, and his teeth closed on the skin just to the side of her breast, not hard enough to break the skin, but hard enough to leave a mark. A claim. She felt the sharp sting of it and moaned, her hips moving faster, her inner walls gripping him tighter, the flutters becoming a constant, rhythmic pulse that made her entire body tremble.
She rode him like that, her body rising and falling on his cock, his face buried between her breasts, his hands clamped around her waist hard enough to bruise. Every motion made the flutters worse, every clench of her inner walls made his grip tighten, and the cycle built and built until she felt like she might shatter.
She felt him everywhere. The flutters were constant now, a rhythmic clenching of her inner walls that she couldn't stop, didn't want to stop. His mouth was still pressed against her sternum, his lips moving in frantic, desperate kisses, his tongue tracing patterns in the sweat that beaded there. She could feel his teeth, just the hint of them, grazing her skin, and every graze sent a fresh wave of pleasure through her.
She wanted him deeper. She wanted him closer. She wanted him so far inside her that she couldn't tell where she ended and he began.
Her hands moved from his hair to the sides of his head, her fingers pressing against his temples, and she pushed. Gently at first, a nudge, a suggestion. Then harder, more insistent, pulling his face up from her sternum, guiding him higher.
He resisted for a moment, a low sound of protest rumbling in his chest, but she didn't let go. She pulled him up, up, until his mouth was level with the underside of her right breast, and then she pressed his face into the soft, heavy weight of it.
"Here," she breathed, her voice rough and commanding. "I want you here."
He didn't need to be told twice. His mouth opened and he took her, his lips closing around her nipple, his tongue sweeping across the hard, sensitive peak. She felt the heat of his mouth, the wet press of his tongue, and she cried out, her hips bucking on his cock.
"Yes," she gasped, pushing his head deeper into her breast. "God, yes. Take me. Take all of me."
He did. His mouth worked at her, sucking, licking, biting gently, and she felt the pleasure arc through her like lightning. His hands were still clamped around her waist, holding her in place, and she used her leverage to press his face harder into her chest, smothering him in the soft weight of her breasts.
He made a muffled sound against her skin, something between a groan and a whimper, and his mouth opened wider, taking as much of her as he could. She felt his jaw work against her flesh, felt his tongue rasp across her nipple, felt his nose press into the side of her breast as he breathed her in.
"That's it," she murmured, her voice thick with pleasure and possession. "God, Jake. You're so greedy. You want all of me, don't you? You want to swallow me whole."
He nodded against her chest, his mouth still working, and she felt his hands shift on her waist. His grip tightened, his fingers digging into her ribs with renewed force, and she felt the distinct impression of each bruise blooming under his touch. She didn't care. She wanted them. She wanted his marks on her skin, his claim on her body, evidence of the way he devoured her.
She pressed his face deeper, covering his mouth and nose with the soft swell of her breast, and she felt his breath hitch. He didn't pull away. He didn't struggle. He just opened his mouth wider and took more of her, his tongue sliding across her nipple, his lips sealing against her skin, his breath hot and desperate against her flesh.
"Suffocate," she whispered, her voice dark and satisfied. "Go ahead. Suffocate on me. I want you to feel so full of me you can't breathe."
He groaned against her, a vibration that traveled through her entire body, and she felt his cock twitch inside her. He was fully hard now, thick and proud and pulsing, and she began to move again, her hips rising and falling in a slow, grinding rhythm that made them both moan.
The flutters intensified. Her inner walls clenched around him in wave after wave, gripping him, milking him, and she felt his whole body shudder. His mouth was still buried in her breast, his hands clamped around her waist, and every clench made his grip tighten, every flutter made him groan against her skin.
She wanted more. She wanted to feel him slam into her, wanted to feel him take her with the same greedy abandon with which he was devouring her chest. She tried to lift herself, to pull up enough to drive down into him with force, but his hands were locked around her waist like iron.
She strained against his grip, her thighs burning, but she couldn't move. Not even an inch. His arms were too strong, his hold too tight, his desperate grip on her body too absolute.
She strained against his grip, her thighs burning, but she couldn't move. Not even an inch. His arms were too strong, his hold too tight, his desperate grip on her body too absolute.
But she was flexible. Years of cheerleading had given her that much, a core of steel wrapped in dancer's grace. She shifted her weight, planting her feet on the mattress, one on either side of his hips. She braced herself on his shoulders, her fingers digging into the hard muscle there, and she pushed.
Up.
Just a fraction of an inch. The tiniest, most agonizing sliver of space between her cunt and the base of his cock. She could feel the strain in her thighs, the burn of muscles already fatigued, and she knew she couldn't hold it. Couldn't maintain the position long enough to drive back down with any force.
And then his hands tightened on her waist, and she felt herself being pulled back down.
It wasn't her doing. She hadn't relaxed her thighs, hadn't consciously released the position. His strength simply overcame hers, his arms flexing as he yanked her down onto him with a force that knocked the air out of both of them.
The sensation was blinding. His cock surged into her, slamming against her cervix, the thick, hard length of him stretching her open in a way that made her see white. She felt the impact in her teeth, in her spine, in the base of her skull, and she heard herself make a sound that was half moan, half scream.
"Fuck," she gasped, the word punched out of her.
Jake made an answering sound, a wrecked, desperate groan that vibrated against her chest. His face was still buried between her breasts, his mouth latched onto her nipple, and she felt his hips buck involuntarily, driving himself even deeper into her.
"Again," he breathed against her skin. "Please. Do that again."
She didn't know if she could. Her thighs were screaming, her core burning, and the single, brutal thrust had already sent a shockwave through her entire body. But she wanted it. God, she wanted it. She wanted to feel that impact again, wanted to feel him slam into her with that same bone-rattling force.
She planted her feet again, bracing herself on his shoulders, and she pushed.
Up.
A fraction of an inch. Not even that. A sliver. A whisper. She could feel the strain in every muscle of her body, the burn of the effort, and she knew she couldn't hold it. Couldn't maintain the position long enough to do anything but surrender to his strength.
His grip tightened on her waist, his fingers digging into her ribs, and he pulled.
Down.
She fell onto him with a force that made her vision blur. His cock slammed into her, deep, so deep she felt it in her throat, and the impact sent a shockwave of pleasure through her entire body. She came apart. Not gradually, not with warning, but all at once, a cataclysmic wave that ripped through her without mercy.
Her inner walls clenched around him in violent, rhythmic spasms, milking him, gripping him, pulling him deeper. She felt her whole body convulse, her back arching, her head thrown back, a scream torn from her throat that was raw and primal and utterly wanton.
"Oh god," she heard herself cry, the words barely coherent. "Oh god oh god oh god..."
Jake's hands clamped around her waist, holding her through it, his grip so tight she felt the bruises blooming under his fingers. His mouth was still on her chest, his tongue working her nipple, and she felt him groan against her skin, a vibration that traveled through her entire body.
"Fuck, Mia," he gasped, his voice wrecked. "You're coming all over me. I can feel it. I can feel you squeezing me."
She couldn't answer. She was still coming, her body wracked with wave after wave of pleasure, her inner walls clenching around him in a rhythm she couldn't control.
Her orgasm was still rippling through her, wave after wave of pleasure clenching her inner walls around his thick shaft, when she felt something shift. A certainty. A need that cut through the haze of her own climax like a blade.
She wasn't done with him.
Not even close.
The realization crystallized in her mind as she felt him twitch inside her, not a prelude to his own release, just an involuntary reflex of the sensitivity that still wracked his body. He was holding her through her orgasm, his hands clamped around her waist, his mouth still pressed to her breast, but she could feel his own climax was nowhere near. He was still in the afterglow of the first one, still oversensitive, still struggling to keep up.
But she needed him to come.
She needed to feel him lose control inside her, needed to feel his release flood her depths, needed to know that she had undone him so completely that he had nothing left to give.
She rode out the last shuddering waves of her own climax, her body trembling, her breath coming in ragged gasps. And then, with a strength she didn't know she possessed, she moved.
Her hands found his. She felt them clamped around her waist, fingers digging into her ribs, and she pried them off with a force that surprised even her. He made a sound of protest, a confused, desperate noise against her skin, but she didn't stop. She grabbed his wrists, her fingers barely able to circle them, and she pulled.
Up.
She yanked his arms above his head, slamming them into the mattress beside his ears. She felt his muscles flex against her grip, felt him resist, but she held on with a determination born of raw, primal need. She planted her hands on his wrists, pressing down, leveraging her weight against his strength.
"Don't move," she commanded, her voice rough and low. "Don't you fucking move."
He looked up at her, his eyes dark and glazed, his chest heaving. She saw the confusion in his gaze, the lingering aftershocks of the pleasure she'd wrung out of him, the dawning realization that she was in control now. And she saw something else. A flicker of submission, of surrender, that made her breath catch.
She looked down at his arms, pinned above his head. The veins in his forearms were practically bursting, thick and blue against the taut muscle, evidence of the exertion he'd been holding her with. She could see the strain in his biceps, the cords of his neck, the way his whole body was strung tight beneath her.
"Look at you," she breathed, her voice thick with wonder and desire. "You were holding me so tight. You were so desperate to keep me close. Look at these veins. You're going to have bruises on your arms from holding me like that."
He made a sound, something between a groan and a whimper. "Mia... what are you doing?"
"I'm taking control," she said, and she shifted her weight, settling more firmly on his hips. "You've been so good, Jake. You got hard for me. You got inside me. You held me through my orgasm like I was the most precious thing in the world. But now I want you to come. I want to feel you spill inside me until you have nothing left."
"Fuck," he gasped, and she felt his cock twitch inside her. "Mia, I... I can't. I already came. It's too much. I can't come again."
"Yes, you can," she said, and she began to move.
She rode him with a purpose she hadn't felt before. Gone was the slow, grinding rhythm. Gone was the careful, deliberate pace of her earlier attempts. This was something else. Something primal. She rose up on her knees, her thighs burning with the effort, and she slammed back down onto him with a force that made them both cry out.
"Fuck," she gasped, the sound punched out of her. "Fuck, that's good."
"Mia—"
"Shut up," she said, and she did it again. And again. And again.
She rode him hard, her hips pistoning, her body taking him with a greed that bordered on violence. Each slam of her hips drove him deep into her, his thick shaft stretching her open, his head hitting the sensitive spot deep inside her that made her see stars. She was still sensitive from her orgasm, still trembling, but she didn't care. She wanted this. She wanted him to feel what she felt, wanted him to be so overwhelmed that he couldn't think, couldn't speak, couldn't do anything except surrender.
"You're going to come," she said, her voice a command. "You're going to come inside me, and I'm going to feel every drop. I'm going to feel you fill me up until I'm dripping with you."
"I can't," he insisted, but his voice was cracked, desperate. "I can't, Mia, it's too much, I already—"
"You can," she repeated, and she pressed down harder, grinding her hips in a circle as she bottomed out. "You will. I'm not letting you leave this bed until you come inside me. I'm going to ride you until you can't see straight, until you can't remember your own name, until the only thing you know is my cunt clenched around your cock."
"Fuck," he breathed, the word barely a sound.
She kept riding him. The rhythm was punishing, relentless, her hips rising and falling with a force that made the bed creak beneath them. She pinned his wrists harder, feeling the heat of his skin, the desperate pulse of his blood beneath her fingers. She could feel him getting close, she was sure of it. His cock was twitching inside her, his whole body trembling, his breathing ragged and uneven.
But still, no signs of release. No telltale tightening of his balls. No desperate surge of his hips.
She needed more.
She leaned forward, keeping his wrists pinned, and she brought her mouth to his ear. "I'm going to make you come," she whispered, her voice hot and insistent. "I'm going to ride you until you have nothing left. And when you come, I'm going to watch you fall apart. I'm going to see your face when you finally lose control, and I'm going to remember it forever."
He shuddered beneath her, a full-body tremor that shook them both. But his hands stayed pinned, his wrists pressed into the mattress beside his ears, and she felt the resistance in his muscles warring with the surrender in his eyes.
"I don't have anything left," he said, but his voice was thin, reedy, the protest of a man who had already lost the argument and knew it.
"You're hard, aren't you?"
He didn't answer. His jaw tightened, his eyes dropping to where their bodies were joined. She followed his gaze and felt a fresh wave of heat wash through her. He was hard. Pulsing, thick, desperate. She could feel every throb of him inside her, the rigid length of his cock stretching her open in a way that made her breath catch. He was more than hard. He was aching, straining, every vein in his shaft pressed against her inner walls like a map of his need.
"You are," she said, and the words came out thick with triumph. "You're so hard, Jake. You're harder than you were before. Your body knows what I need even when your head won't admit it."
He made a sound, something between a groan and a whimper, and she felt his hips twitch up, an involuntary thrust that drove him deeper. His eyes rolled back, just for a moment, and she watched the pleasure ripple across his face.
"Look at me," she commanded.
He did. His eyes found hers, dark and glazed, and she saw the battle there. The war between his exhausted, oversensitive body and the raw, primal need that she had awakened in him. The need that was winning.
She loosened her grip on his wrists, just enough to let him know she could take it back at any moment, and she began to move.
The rhythm started slow, a rolling grind of her hips that pressed his thick length against every sensitive spot inside her. She felt her inner walls flutter around him, the aftershocks of her orgasm still rippling through her, and she heard his breath hitch as she clenched around him.
"God," he gasped. "Mia, you feel so good."
"You like that?" she murmured, and she rolled her hips again, slower this time, drawing every sensation out. "You like feeling me squeeze you? You like knowing I'm so wet for you that I could drown you in it?"
"Fuck, yes," he breathed.
She sped up. The grind became a rhythm, the rhythm became a pace, and the pace became a pursuit. She rode him with a focus that bordered on obsession, her hips rising and falling with a force that made the bed creak, her inner walls clenching around him with every descent. She could feel her own pleasure building again, the slow burn in her core igniting into a flame, but she didn't let it consume her. She held it back, channeling it into the rhythm, using it to drive herself harder and faster.
"Mia," he gasped, his hands straining against her grip. "Mia, I'm close. I'm so close."
"Then come," she said, her voice sharp with command. "Come inside me. I want to feel you spill into me. I want to feel you fill me up until I can't tell where I end and you begin."
"I can't, I can't, it's too much—"
She leaned forward, her mouth brushing his ear. "Yes, you can," she whispered, her voice dark and certain. "You're going to come for me, Jake. You're going to come so hard you forget your own name. And when you do, I'm going to keep riding you. I'm going to keep squeezing you until you have nothing left. I'm going to milk you dry."
He bucked beneath her, a desperate, instinctive thrust, and she felt his cock twitch inside her. He was close. She could feel it in the way his body tensed, in the rapid flutter of his pulse beneath her fingers, in the ragged gasps that tore from his throat.
She rode him harder. The pace was brutal now, punishing, her hips slamming into his with a force that sent shockwaves through both of them. She was practically bouncing on him, her thighs burning, her core aching with the effort, but she didn't stop. She couldn't stop. She was chasing something, both of them were, a release that would shatter them both and leave them gasping in the wreckage.
And then she felt it. The first ripple of her own climax, building deep in her core, spreading outward like a wave. She tried to hold it back, tried to keep her focus on him, but it was too strong. Her body had its own agenda, its own need, and it was ready to break.
"Fuck," she gasped, the word torn from her. "Jake, I'm coming. I'm coming."
"Don't stop," he begged, his voice cracked and desperate. "Please, Mia, don't stop. I'm so close. I'm right there."
She couldn't have stopped if she'd tried. Her body was beyond her control now, moving with a life of its own, riding him with a frantic, desperate rhythm that was pure instinct. She felt the wave crest, felt the blinding pleasure surge through her, and she came apart.
The orgasm ripped through her like a flash fire, violent and consuming. Her inner walls clamped around him in a crushing, rhythmic grip, milking him.
Chapter excerpt truncated at the edge.