Page 18 of One Night Rebellion
“We have to talk, JT,” I tell him, my words coming out thin and breathless because he’s kissing his way down my neck.
He stiffens immediately but doesn’t lift his head. He just asks, “Does any of that talking involve you telling me this should stop?”
“No.”
“Then it can goddamn wait, Addie.”
This time when he kisses my neck, I can feel the sting of his teeth on my skin. Yeah, it can wait. Anything that would involve stopping can wait. “Bedroom… second door.”
And that’s when he just scoops me over his shoulder and heads in that direction.
“This isn’t exactly romantic,” I point out.
“I’m not carting you down that narrow-ass hallway any other way… you get a head wound and we’re both gonna die. For different reasons.”
It’s such a short distance that he’s already crossed the threshold into my bedroom and kicked the door closed behind us before I can even respond. When he puts me down on the bed, he’s already pushing me backwards, coming down on top of me.
“Too many clothes,” I tell him. “Both of us.”
He yanks his shirt off and tosses it aside. Adolescent JT, college basketball JT, were both beautiful. But this incarnation of him, with broader shoulders, a thicker chest, some impressive ink… this is a work of art. “It’s not fair that you’re this hot.”
He doesn’t answer. Just reaches for the hem of my T-shirt and starts sliding it upward. Soon it joins his on the floor. Then his breath hisses out between his teeth as he stares down at me. “Pot and kettle, babe. If I’d had any idea, even a clue, that this is what you were wearing under your clothes, it would probably have killed me.”
I look down. It’s just a plain white bra with a little bit of lace on it. Nothing fancy or super sexy. Just everyday wear. “This is not sexy lingerie, JT.”
“I’ve got a thing for white lace,” he says, and the way he’s eyeing me, I’ve got no reason to doubt it.
Then he’s leaning down, mouth closing over the curve of my breast above the fabric, hot and insistent. He pushes the cup aside, taking me into his mouth, sucking hard enough to make my breath hitch. His hand works the clasp and the bra is gone in seconds, replaced by his palms and mouth, claiming me without hesitation.
He kisses me again—deep, raw, consuming—while his hand slides down to my shorts. The button pops, the zipper follows, and he’s dragging them off in one swift pull. I push at his waistband, needing him bare, and he strips his jeans and boxers in one motion before hooking his fingers in my panties. They’re gone just as fast, and then there’s nothing between us but heat and the tight press of his body against mine.
I can feel him, hard and ready, nudging against me as he kisses me like he can’t get close enough. Then he breaks away, breath rough in my ear. “Condom,” he mutters, reaching toward his jeans on the floor. The foil tear is quick, practiced, and my pulse jumps at the thought of what comes next.
He rolls it on, eyes locked on mine the whole time, and then he’s back over me, mouth crushing mine, hand curling behind my thigh to pull me higher against him. The shift drags the thick length of him along me, and I can’t help the needy sound that slips out.
There’s no more waiting. Just the push of his hips, the slow, deliberate slide of him into me, and the way my body tightens around his in a rush of heat that steals my breath.
The first deep thrust, the stretch of him filling me slow and deep, makes it seem like the whole world has fallen away. It’s just us. Him and me and this tension building inside us both. My fingers dig into his shoulders, not to pull him closer—he’salready there—but to hold on, to anchor myself against the rush of heat that rolls through me.
The rhythm he sets is beyond intense. It’s not fast but relentless, each thrust sure and hard enough to make me gasp and cling to him even harder. His mouth finds mine between breaths, kissing me like he needs the contact as much as I do, his hand still hooked under my thigh, hitching my leg a bit higher with each pass. I can feel myself winding up, the pressure and tension building. I’m so close.
The bed creaks in time with our bodies, the sound almost lost under my quiet gasps and the low, rough sounds he makes when I meet him halfway. My hands roam over his back, feeling the flex of muscle under my palms, the light sheen of sweat on his skin.
When his pace picks up, I can’t stop the way my hips lift to meet every stroke. It’s too much, too intense. Because this isn’t just fucking. The connection is too real, too deep for that. And I know when this is done, there’ll be no going back.
His free hand slides up my side, finds my breast, and the squeeze of his fingers there tips me closer to the edge.
I’m clinging to him now, my nails leaving marks on his skin. With each thrust, the heat is winding tighter and tighter. The moment it breaks, it’s sharp and fast, my body locking around his as the pleasure crashes through me. I close my eyes so tightly, but it’s like I’m still seeing stars.
He buries himself deep, holding there as he groans against my neck, his own release tearing through him fierce and hot. I can feel the muscles in his forearms trembling as he tries to hold himself above me. But I don’t want that. I want the weight of him on me, pressing me down. If I don’t have that, I feel like I’ll just float away. So I grip his arms so tightly, he has no choice but to collapse on top of me. I’m pinned by the weight ofhim, but there’s no panic. No fear. Because I’m not trapped. I’m sheltered, and that makes all the difference.
For a long moment, neither of us moves, our breathing rough and uneven, our skin damp and warm where it’s pressed together. And then he shifts just enough to kiss me again—slower this time, but no less claiming—before settling against me like he’s not going anywhere.
—-
I don’t know how I dozed off, other than there’s no better sleep aid than an orgasm. And as those go, this one was stellar.
JT shifts beside me on the bed, pulling me close with a sleepy rumble in his throat. “I don’t know where you’re going,” he says with promise, “but I’m coming with you. Not letting you out of my sight, woman.”
