Page 51 of Crimson Desires

I could focus on nothing but him. Nothing but the way his fingers and mouth brought me to heights I didn’t even know existed.

My body went rigid as my orgasm crashed into me. I opened my mouth in a silent scream. My leg muscles tensed.

Jack continued teasing my clit through my orgasm, his tongue getting harsher and faster with every passing second. Overstimulation crept up on me fast, and soon, I felt like a wild animal, shaking, and crying out for him to slow down before he broke me into a million tiny pieces.

Eventually, Jack allowed me some mercy. He pulled his fingers out, gave my clit one last affectionate kiss, and sighed happily.

Jack climbed up on the bed next to me, wrapping his arm around my hips. He kissed me, and I blushed as I realized that I could taste myself on his tongue.

“Fuck. You’re hot,” Jack said, his voice dark. “Please promise me that I’ll get to do that again soon.”

I nodded, my brain struggling to string together a coherent thought after the mind-shattering orgasm I’d just had.

My hands roamed Jack’s body. He was still fully clothed, which felt like a goddamned crime. I reached for the waistband of his sweatpants.

Jack grabbed my wrist and slowly moved it away.

I frowned, my expression twisting with confusion. Had I done something wrong?

Jack kissed my forehead to reassure me. “Aster. I want to prove to you that this isn’t just a one-off fuck for me.”

“That’s not fair. You made me come. I should make you come, too,” I said.

Jack smiled. His blue eyes met mine—and for a moment, I let myself believe that I saw love in them.

“Believe me. There’s nothing more I want to do right now than fuck you into this mattress until you forget your own name-,” I felt my arousal pulse at the thought. “-but I’m holding off tonight. Even if it fucking kills me to do so.”

Before I could protest, my phone began ringing from inside my discarded jean short pockets. I bit my lip.

“Go ahead,” Jack said, lifting his arm off me. “Answer it.”

I thanked him quickly before hopping off the bed and fishing my phone out of my pocket. My arousal dimmed considerably when I noticed the name flashing across my screen: DAD.

I accepted the call and pressed the phone up to my ear.

“Hello?”

“Hi, dear.” The soft, feminine voice over the phone wasn’t Dad’s. It was Melinda’s. “Now, don’t panic. But your father is at the hospital right now.”

“What?” My voice cracked. I scrambled to slip on my jean shorts and shirt because, for some reason, it felt inappropriate to hear this news naked. “Mel, what happened?”

“It’s not a big deal. Please, take a deep breath for me.”

I did as asked. I inhaled. Then exhaled. It did nothing to quell the anxiety spiking through my chest.

“Was it... was it another stroke?” I asked.

“A minor blood clot,” Melinda said. “We caught it in time, so there’s no need to worry. I just thought I would call and tell you so that you knew.”

“You’re on Dad’s phone. Is he there?” I asked.

Melinda sighed. “He is, but he’s resting. I don’t have your number, so I decided to call you on his phone.”

I pinched the bridge of my nose, nodding. My bliss vanished and stress rushed in to fill its place. Melinda’s call was a harsh reminder that the fun that I was having as part of Wicked Crimson’s tour was only a momentary escape.

Inevitably, I’d have to return to my real life.

My shitty, normal, real life.

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