Page 25 of The Spiral
Chapter 9
Jack
Selma.
Warm skin and gentle fingers adorn my face once more, her lips gracefully meandering her way around mine. My heart lurches, hastily trying to hold onto its rhythm while she falls into my arms again. This makes no sense, but there’s nothing here but love and commitment. Nothing but times past and feelings of worship for the woman I love as we hover in strange shadows around the room. She’s here now, resting in my arms and desperately moaning her need for connection.
She moves, pushing herself into my embrace and deepening us. It’s enough to rid me of whatever last shred of reason I’m clawing onto as I skim under her t-shirt and tug at the hem.
“Jack.” I can’t tell if it’s real or not, don’t care. All I can hear is her echo in my ear.
That’s enough.
I turn her onto the floor, feathering her with as many kisses as I can for fear of losing her again, and draw the fabric up her body. She smells so good, flooding me with more memories and thoughts as I lick across her stomach. I bite into it gently, wanting to hear the groan, feel the reality of her between my teeth. She moans instantly, screwing into herself then straightening and presenting herself for more. My hand trails up her legs as I move up her body, pushing her open and inching my hand to the top of her jeans to flick the button.
“Yes,” she hisses, her hands still in my hair, tugging me about as she begins to grind into my frame.
My fingers gently run over her as I push the zip down, inching my hand in bit by bit and moving my body up to her face to gaze at her. Fuck, I love watching her come. Always have. No one has ever looked as she does. I love the rapture in her eyes, the way she grits her teeth, and the way her cheeks blush on the final scream.
I sink my hand downwards as her mouth parts, air filtering onto my face from her mouth, and breathe that in, too. It reminds me of her scent, as a shadow looms over the pair of us, casting us further into darkness. The sun might have gone, but the vibrancy of it hasn’t. It’s here, beneath my hands and waiting for me as I delve my first finger in.
She moans, instantly widening her legs for access and squirming against me. I relish the feeling of her gripping and twisting to help me get deeper, and forge another finger in, widening her further and languishing in the sound of her moans.
“You always were greedy,” I murmur, lowering my mouth and swallowing her moans as our lips connect again.
She writhes beautifully while I probe her as I used to, wanting to give her every second of my adulation and waiting for the squeal to come. She always was a squealer, little temper tantrums getting in the way of our playtime. I push on her clit, helping her on her way and rubbing it back and forth as my fingers continue delving in and out. Everything is still so familiar—the sound of her, the smell, the way she moves beneath me as part of me.
“Make me come,” she says, suddenly beginning to wrench at the top of her jeans, barely removing her mouth from mine as she does. I help her with that, too, grabbing at the other side of them to ease their path down her legs until finally, she’s bare under my weight, her body undulating as she strips her top away.
“So fucking beautiful,” I mumble, dropping my head to wrap my tongue around her nipple. She moans aloud, grinding herself down onto my hand and stretching her own out behind her. I smile, remembering the way I tied her hands occasionally, held them down before I knew what I was doing in that regard. “You want me to play?” I ask, not caring in the slightest either way. I’ll do this for hours with no need for kink. She’s enough, anyway I can get her. I’ll simply spend an eternity lapping over her skin and sinking myself inside it.
“Jack, please.Please…”
It’s yet more moaned torment as I turn my hand inside her, watching her writhe against the red Oriental rug as I create more irritation for her. She breathes her pleas like life depends on us making love. She sings them from her soul, just as she always has, nearly scorching the sky with clarity in the middle of this stormy obscurity we find ourselves in.
I increase pressure on her, turning to look at my fingers slipping in and out.
“So fucking sexy,” I mutter, bracing my other hand on her stomach to hold her still. She’s always been a mover, wrangling her way around the floor so I can’t finish her off. And she still is as her legs try to push away from the torment, her stomach muscles propelling her away from my fingers. “Stay fucking still,” I snarl out, rounding her body and lowering myself between her legs. Just a taste.
I chuckle, knowing that I long to be down here for hours, too, dipping my tongue as often as I choose and gazing at her fighting against my mouth. Not this time, though. This time, the first time in so long, I’ll fucking eat her out desperately. Chew down on her and pull her into my mouth, grabbing her to me as I do.
I pull my fingers from her and wrap my hands under her hips, yanking her along the floor and down onto me. The rug crumples with my force, rippling around us as she yelps out in surprise.
“Oh God, Jack, I can’t…” She can, and she will. She will wait until I’ve had my fill of her taste, and squirm until I’m ready to devour her more.
I rub my nose around her, letting the scent of her intoxicate my senses more. Selma. Not one woman has smelt as she does. It drives me mad as I suck the smell in, hardening my dick infinitely as I push my tongue out tentatively. I lap gently at first, desperate to elongate the moment and let her taste linger in my mouth. It’s fucking heavenly on my taste buds, beautiful, like wild flowers in spring woods, all mixed with sensual decadence.
The gentle laps turn ravenous as I let my wide tongue find its way around her again, licking and remembering its perfected course as it surges around. She groans and moans, tipping her hips into my mouth, her hands bracing the floor to lift herself into me.
“Jack.Oh god. Please…”
Lowering one of my hands, I try to undo my belt as she bucks about in my hold. I chuckle again, lifting myself off her and up onto my knees to rip at my pants. She’s still writhing, her frame barely discernible in the shadow I’m casting over her and the murkiness in the room, but I know this woman. I don’t need to see her. I can feel her. Her outline is mapped in my mind. Her curves. The way her body flows effortlessly as she moves. Her long slender arms, her nails and the way they embed themselves in the moment of orgasm. I don’t need visuals. All I need is her sound as she keeps moaning beneath me.
“Jack, yes. More.”
I close my eyes as her hand wraps around my cock, tugging it towards her, delicate hands nimbly grasping at what she wants. I hover in the moment, remembering her mouth’s intensity and the way she swirls her tongue, aching with need for her to do it again and remind me.
“Suck it,” I almost growl, desperate to have her warmth around me again as she begins to stroke me back and forth. She doesn’t; she torments me as much as I have her, the occasional flick of her tongue here, a kiss on it there. I grunt, grabbing at her hair and hauling her towards me with little care for her comfort. She squeals a little, reminding me of her fragility. It’s not something I give a damn about at the moment. I want to fuck my way back into her soul any way I can. Her pussy, her throat. I don’t care how. I just need to join, to remind us both what we’ve been missing.
