Page 55 of The Sound of Forever
This kiss isnothing like the others. Keane doesn’t just kiss me; he owns me, pushing me to surrender everything—body, heart, soul. His control is intoxicating, and I can’t resist him. He moves me like I’m weightless, seating me on his lap as if I belong there. His mouth is relentless, his hands desperate, sliding under my shirt and finding bare skin.
“Jules,” he growls against my lips, his voice a low, guttural rasp. “Fuck, yes. You have no idea how much I’ve wanted this. Wanted you.”
Heat floods me at his words. His hands, rough and certain, cover my breasts, igniting a fire that scorches through every nerve. My fingers dive into his hair, pulling him closer, needing more. The intensity between us is primal, unfiltered, terrifying in its depth. Never have I wanted someone like I want him right now. There’s no escape—not that I’d take it.
I’m trembling, my mind spinning, yet I trust him. More than I’ve ever trusted anyone. He’s my undoing, and I don’t care. I lean into him, feeling the strength in his hands, the unrelenting hunger in his touch.
This isn’t just chemistry.
It’s combustion.
It’s surrender.
His lips trail down my neck, nipping and teasing as he works my shirt over my head. I gasp as the cool air kisses my flushed skin, and his heated gaze sears every inch of me. “So fucking perfect,” he murmurs, before his mouth finds my collarbone, then lower, each kiss leaving me breathless and desperate for more.
I’m lost in him—his tongue, his teeth, the way his hands explore me like he’s memorizing every inch. He drags my leggings down in one smooth motion, baring me completely, and his groan vibrates through me. “You’re soaked for me,” he says, his voice a sinful promise that makes my thighs quiver.
“Keane,” I whisper, my voice breaking with need. “Please.”
His thumb brushes just shy of my clit, teasing, tormenting. “Not yet,” he says with a wicked smirk, dragging the moment out. “I want to take my time. I want to watch you fall apart.”
His mouth moves lower, his lips and tongue setting me alight as he explores me inch by inch. When he finally presses his mouth to me, I cry out, my hips bucking against him. He holds me firm, his hands gripping my thighs, keeping me exactly where he wants me. The sensation is overwhelming, his tongue working me with precision, his fingers teasing at my entrance but never quite giving me what I need.
“Tell me what you want,” he says, his voice rough and commanding.
“You,” I plead, barely able to form words. “I want you, Keane. Please.”
He slides two fingers inside me, slow and deliberate, while his tongue circles my clit with agonizing precision. My body arches, desperate for release, but he keeps me teetering, holding me on the edge until I’m shaking.
When he finally lets me fall, it’s like nothing I’ve ever known—waves of pleasure crashing through me, leaving me raw and exposed. I scream his name, my fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him closer as I shatter.
He doesn’t stop, not until I’m trembling, spent, and gasping for air. When I open my eyes, he’s looking at me with something primal and possessive, like he’s just claimed me and has no intention of letting go.
“You’re fucking beautiful,” he says, his voice hoarse, his gaze unrelenting. He pulls me into his arms, cradling me like I’m precious, like I’m his. “Thank you,” he murmurs, brushing a kiss against my hair.
“For what?” I ask, still breathless, still trembling.
“For trusting me. For giving me this.” His fingers trace lazy circles on my thigh, but the glint in his eyes tells me he’s not done.
I shift against him, my hands roaming, seeking. “Keane,” I say, my voice a challenge, laced with desire. “I’m not done either.”
His smirk deepens as he leans back against the pillows, pulling me over him. “Then show me, Jules,” he says, his voice a low growl. “Take what you want.”
My lips curve into a grin of my own, a surge of power flooding me at the sight of him sprawled across my bed, waiting, wanting. Slowly, deliberately, I shift off his lap and kneel beside him, my fingers trailing over his chest, teasing the hem of his shirt. His muscles tense under my touch, his breaths growing uneven as I lean in close, my lips brushing against his ear.
“You’re overdressed,” I murmur, my voice dripping with playful intent.
Keane lets out a low groan, but he doesn’t move, letting me take the lead. I tug his shirt up and over his head, revealing the sculpted planes of his chest. My fingers trace the hard lines of his muscles, savoring the way his body reacts to even the lightest touch. His abs clench as I drag my nails lower, just above the waistband of his pants.
“Jules,” he warns, his voice rasping, but there’s no real authority in it—only raw need.
I smirk, taking my time, brushing my hands over his belt buckle. I meet his gaze, holding it as I unfasten it with slow motions, very slow, loving the way his jaw tightens, his hands gripping the sheets beneath him. His self-control is unraveling, and it thrills me.
When I finally slide his pants and boxers down, his cock springs free, hard and thick, straining toward me. My mouth waters at the sight of him, and I bite my lip, letting him see just how much I’m enjoying this.
“You’re beautiful like this,” I tell him, my fingers wrapping around his length. He hisses at the contact, his hips lifting instinctively, seeking more.
“Fuck, Jules,” he groans, his voice a guttural plea. “Don’t tease.”
