Page 63 of The Love Playbook

His nostrils flare, and he scoots forward enough so I can lift my head and suck on the crown of his cock. Good thing I use an organic vanilla flavored lube. Otherwise I would definitely not be okay with this. But having him feed me his cock like this is ridiculously hot.

He thrusts gently into my mouth a few times before pulling out with a groan. Inching back, he gathers my breasts on either side of his dick, pressing them together until all I can see is the tip peeking out.

“Fuck,” he breathes as he sets up a slow rhythm. “Why is this so hot?”

I rub his thighs, the fine hair soft under my palms. “Who cares? The point is to enjoy yourself.”

His eyes meet mine, finally lifting away from where his dick is swallowed by my tits. “And this is actually enjoyable for you?”

“I enjoy watching you lose control, Jackson. And I like being the cause of it.”

His jaw works, but he doesn’t respond with words. Instead he picks up the pace. I lie back, watching his face, enjoying the look of intense concentration, the abstraction of inward focus as he uses my tits to make himself feel good.

No, tit fucking doesn’t turn me on as such. I don’t get direct pleasure from this. But I came hard already, and I’m nowhere near ready to go again. And this way I get to observe Jackson without the distraction of doing anything else.

I love the look of fierce determination he gets when he’s focused on something, whether it’s making me come, organizing my space, or chasing his own orgasm. His jaw flexes, his brows pull together, and he lets out a low groan as he moves even faster.

“Fuck, Autumn. I’m gonna come on you. Is that okay?”

I bite back my smile. “I think it’s kind of expected with this sort of thing.”

Even on the edge of orgasm, he manages to huff out a laugh, meeting my eyes for a second. “God, you’re amazing,” he groans. “Everything about you.”

I want to squirm under the weight of his compliments. They’re heavy and uncomfortable, a stark contrast to his physical weight pinning me to the bed, keeping me in place, forcing me to listen to Jackson reveal his true feelings.

“Jackson,” I whisper, and he closes his mouth, but his eyes never leave mine.

I’m the one who looks away first, focusing on his abs flexing as he works himself in the valley between my breasts, focusing on the grip of his fingers pressing into my tits, holding them together so he can pleasure himself with them.

This is supposed to be nothing more than carnal fun. Tit fucking especially isn’t supposed to lead to confessions of real feelings. That’s not what we’re here for.

And any hope I had of keeping this going for another week or two, of finding some excuse to see him again at least once more—to let him have a little more practice or maybe try different positions we haven’t yet or … something—evaporates.

He’s probably had feelings for me all along and either lied about being able to keep them in check or didn’t realize he wouldn’t be able to. But it’s clear he can’t. And continuing this would only lead to heartache. I like Jackson too much to do that to him.

Which means this will have to be our last time together.

Keeping my expression neutral, I keep my eyes locked on Jackson as he refocuses on what he’s doing. His grunts and groans, the way his thighs feel bracketing my rib cage and under my hands, the way his abs contract and relax as he works himself to his peak. And the way his face clenches when he comes with a low grunt, the hot spurt of his come hitting my neck, the weight of him as he slumps after he finishes.

He reaches for a towel, pressing it to the mess on my neck and edges backward before climbing off me. Collapsing heavily next to me, he lowers himself and kisses my lips as I finish wiping off my neck and chest.

“Thank you,” he murmurs. “That was amazing.”

When I’ve finished cleaning myself up, he gathers me against him, tucking his arm under my head for me to use as a pillow and spoons me.

And somehow it makes the fact that I won’t get to do this ever again even harder to bear.

* * *

My roommates wait until I’ve walked Jackson to the door and kissed him goodbye—a long, lingering kiss that I allow myself to indulge in because I know it’ll be our last, even if Jackson doesn’t yet.

“Soooo,” Piper starts as soon as I’ve come back inside and closed the door. “Organizing went well, I take it?”

Shaking my head, I prop myself up against the arm of the couch and cross my arms. “Yeah, yeah. Let’s hear it. Everyone get it all out at once so we can move on.”

Dani glances my way with a smirk but doesn’t say anything. Ellie turns in her seat on the end of the couch nearest to me, looking up with a delighted grin on her face. “Simon and I had a lot of euphemisms for getting together to have sex too. But I don’t really get why you need them at this point since you never have before.”

“Ha ha. You guys are hilarious.” I push away from the couch and head for the kitchen. “We did, in fact, organize my things. Which you’re all well aware of, because you saw us going in and out to throw things away and get drinks.”

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