And then he leaned back, stretching his arms over the couch, completely unbothered.
Jordin’s eyes flicked toward him again, her lips parting like she was about to say something—but then she stopped herself.
I didn’t know what the hell was happening, but I didn’t care. Not when she was this close, not when her lips were still swollen from mine, not when every nerve in my body was screaming for more.
Fuck it.
My hands slid up her thighs, and I could feel the way her body responded, the way she arched into me like she couldn’t help herself.
Ciarán’s low chuckle echoed in the background, but it was distant—like white noise now.
All I could focus on was Jordin—the way her breath hitched when my fingers brushed against the bare skin of her thigh. She wasn’t wearing any panties and was already slick.
She pulled back just enough to look at me, her eyes dark and unfocused, her lips slick and swollen.
“Do you want this?” she whispered, her voice barely audible over the music.
“Are you willing?”
I didn’t even need her to elaborate. She was asking me to share.
“This is why I’m here?”
She nodded.
I didn’t trust myself to speak, so I just nodded too, my hands sliding up to cup her face, my thumbs brushing over her cheeks.
And then she was moving, her hands sliding down to the hem of her dress, pulling it up and over her head in one smooth motion.
My breath caught in my throat as she tossed it aside, leaving her in nothing but a pair of lace panties and the faint glow of the dim light.
She was beautiful—always had been—but like this, with her skin flushed and her chest rising and falling with each breath, she was breathtaking.
She leaned down to kiss me again. This time, it was harder, more desperate—like she was trying to pour everything she couldn’t say into the press of her lips against mine.
I could feel Ciarán’s eyes on us, could hear the faint rustle of fabric as he shifted on the couch, but I didn’t care. Not when Jordin was straddling me, her body moving against mine in a way that made my head spin.
Her hands slid under my shirt, her nails dragging lightly over my skin, and I groaned, my fingers digging into her hips as I pulled her closer.
She broke the kiss, her breath coming in short, uneven gasps as she leaned her forehead against mine.
“I need you,” she whispered, her voice trembling.
I had to ask. I was so fucked up and insecure, I wasn’t sure who the fuck she was saying it to.
“You miss my dick inside you? You want me to fuck you?”
She whimpered, “Yes,” nodding. And God, I nearly cried.
I didn’t need to be told a third time.
My hands slid down to her thighs, lifting her just enough to adjust her position. I pulled her panties to the side, and then she was sinking down onto my dick—warm, tight, and wet.
She let out a soft moan, her head falling back as she moved, her hands gripping my shoulders for balance.
“Oh fuck,” I groaned, my grip bruising on her hips. “Baby, I’ll do anything—just don’t stop. Please.”
The music was still playing, the low, sultry beat of the R&B track filling the room, but it was background noise, drowned out by the sound of her breathing.
