The words and the eye contact. He knew exactly what they’d do to me. My body seized up, every nerve lighting up at once, and then I broke, shaking and moaning, no control left. His fingers kept going, like he wasn’t satisfied until I gave himevery last bit of what he’d worked for. The pleasure was blinding, my legs couldn’t even remember how to hold me up.
“Damn,” he said, his voice low and gritty, his forehead leaning into mine. His hand slowed, dragging the feeling out just enough to keep me in that haze. My thighs trembled around him, my breaths coming in short, ragged bursts, but he didn’t let go.
“You straight?” he whispered, his lips brushing mine when my body calmed down. His fingers slipped away, leaving me empty.
I nodded, my eyes fluttering open to meet his. “Yeah,” I whispered, still shaky but anchored by his presence.
“Good,” he said, stepping back just enough to give me space but not too far to feel distant. The tension between us hadn’t disappeared; if anything, it was heavier now.
I adjusted my dress, smoothing it down, but my hands were still unsteady. He didn’t say anything as I did, just watched me, his gaze damn near unbearable.
“I should… I should get back to this song,” I murmured.
He nodded, and then, like it was nothing, he raised his hand—the same hand that had been inside me—and licked his fingers. One by one. Slow. Like he was savoring the taste of me.
I gripped the edge of the table for support, my breath hitching as I stared, unable to look away.
The slightest smirk curled his lips before he turned and walked away, his back broad, his steps steady. No words—just him, leaving me there with my heart racing and my body still humming.
twenty five-Ciarán
The rain was coming down in thick sheets, relentlessly drumming against the windows like a frantic heartbeat. I stood at the edge of the living room, leaning against the window frame, watching her. Midnight painted everything in shadows, but I could still see her sitting out there on the steps, her silhouette blurred by the downpour.
Her black lace nightgown clung to her like a second skin, the fabric transparent in places against her glistening brown skin. Her shoulders were slumped, and her hair was plastered to her face, her knees drawn up as if she was trying to fold into herself. She looked like she was in a trance. She looked like she was begging the rain to rinse her clean. I knew that feeling in my bones—the desperate hope that a storm could wash away what you hated about yourself. I couldn't let her drown in it alone.
I pushed away from the window, the sight of her tugging something deep inside me. I cracked the door open, the storm spilling in. “Jordin,” I called out. “Come inside before you catch a cold.”
For a moment, she didn’t move. Then, slowly, she turned her head, her eyes meeting mine. The storm between us was louder than the one outside. She stood, her bare feet splashingin the puddles as she walked toward me, rain trailing down her body.
The image would be burned into my mind forever—the way her dark hair was plastered to her skin, the lace clinging to her curves, and the way her eyes held mine. I was past the infatuation stage. This was something else. Something more.
She was my muse, my purpose. Why else would God have given her to someone like me? Had He heard my quiet prayers from back when I was young, when I just wanted an anchor in a world that always felt like it was shifting under my feet?
My heart was beating fast as hell in my chest.
I held the door open, stepping aside as she passed. The scent of rain and her perfume filled the space, wrapping around me. She stopped just inside, her breathing uneven. Then, without warning, her hand reached out, running over my bare chest.
“I need you to make love to me,” she said, her voice trembling.
The words hit me like a spark to dry timber. I didn’t answer. I didn’t need to. Instead, I reached for her, my hands finding her waist, pulling her close.
Her breath hitched, and I felt her tremble.
I lifted her, her legs wrapping around my waist as I carried her to the bedroom. The rain was our backdrop. I laid her down on the bed, peeling the soaked black lace from her body.
I took my time, kissing every part of her—her shoulders, her arms, her stomach. I wanted her to feel it, to know that this wasn’t just about lust. It was about her. About everything she was and everything she made me feel.
I kissed all the way back up. I stopped at her middle. She was already soaked and swollen. I pressed my face between her thighs. I worked my tongue in her, licking and sucking. Sheground into me, her moans driving me wild, making me want to take every ounce of her.
“You’re doing so good, Ci,” she moaned. Her words pushed me further, making me want to please her more. My hands gripped her thighs, holding her wide.
She reached down, spreading herself open. “Right there,” she demanded, her words hitching. “Suck my clit.” Saliva dripped down my chin as I latched on. She spread her legs wider, gripping my head, pushing me down until I couldn’t breathe, but I didn’t care.
“I’m cumming, Ci, I’m coming.” Her orgasm had a melody—soft moans, rising cries, and a breathless chant of my name that was more beautiful than any song I’d ever written. I stayed with her, my tongue working her through every shudder, until she finally collapsed back against the sheets, her hands loosening their grip on me.
The way her body shook, the sounds she made—it was all I needed.
I kissed my way back up, leaving her body shivering in the wake of my lips. I stopped at her breast. I sucked her right nipple, taking it between my teeth and tugging on it gently. I hovered over her, watching her squirm.
