Page 109 of Beneath the Hood

“Goddamn, princess. Do you want me inside you?” I run my nose along the side of her neck.

“Jackson,” she mewls.

Positioning myself at her entrance, I plunge to the hilt, my body tensing from the pleasure of being surrounded by her heat.

Fuck. She feels so incredible like this.

I work up a steady motion, thrusting in and out, long, deep strokes that send shivers racing up my spine.

Her hands push against my chest, moving me back on the bed where she can climb on top. My abs tense as she hovers over me. Inch by inch, she drops down until I’m fully inside of her. My cock throbs, pushing against the walls of her pussy, aching to paint her insides with my cum.

My hands grip the cheeks of her ass, squeezing hard as she moves back and forth, her clit rubbing against my pubic bone with every pass of her hips.

She’s close. I can feel it in the way her walls clench and release, fluttering around my dick, her wetness gushing out until it soaks my skin. Heat collects at the base of my spine, my balls drawing up so tight they hurt.

Cum rises through my shaft and pumps out of the tip in rhythmic pulses, my cock flexing inside of her. My head hits the pillow, vision going black from the pleasure that’s cascading through my body in waves.

She moans and throws her head back, her pussy squeezing out every drop as she explodes, shattering around me.

Incredible.

Pulling her to me, I try to catch my breath.

And as we both come back down to earth, my body buzzes, happy as hell this is the last night we’ll have to hide.

She’s choosing me.

49

Blakely

Jackson always makes me feel better, but there’s still this ball of anxiety that’s pulsing in the center of my stomach, making me agonize over our earlier conversation.

Go public.

Yeah, but why not? Everyone’s trying to make decisions based on whattheythink is best for me, and I’m no longer interested in the things they have to say. If others insist on lighting my world on fire, I might as well enjoy the burn.

After we finished making love, I fell asleep, exhaustion wringing my bones. But now it’s almost midnight and I’m wide awake, stomach growling from emptiness, my body feening for a workout. I left in such a rush—was in such a state of panic—that I didn’t bring anything with me.

Getting out of bed as quietly as possible to not wake up Jackson, I head to the bathroom, staring at myself in the mirror. I cringe at what I see, shame clinging to my insides. Black mascara tracks down my face, my foundation streaked, showcasing the path of my tears.

I look around, trying to find something to clean my face, my muscles tightening until they push uncomfortably against my skin, my body ticking as I try to shake off the feeling.

This is the first time I’ve been at Jackson’s house and felt the urge for my routine.

But there’s nothing I can do about it, so I close my eyes and count until the need simmers to something manageable.

It’s fine. Everything will be fine.

I settle for a water wash, taking a hand towel to help scrub the grime off my face. When I’m done I lay the towel down, my face raw from where I scrubbed too harshly, and I stare at myself in the mirror. My finger traces my reflection, an odd sensation filling my gut.

I don’t like the way it feels so I snatch my hand back and leave the room, heading to the kitchen to find something I can eat.

I’m squatting down, searching the bottom of the pantry, my stomach winding tighter with each second as I search for something edible. The last thing I need is something to screw me up tighter and make me snap.

Where is all his food?

“Looking for something to eat, princess?”

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