19. Maggie

CHAPTER 19

MAGGIE

We’re about ten minutes into the movie and there’s no way I’m going to make it to the end credits without spontaneously combusting. Not even dark chocolate peanut butter cups are helping, and that’s bad. Part of the problem is that my favorite rom-com has a few steamy scenes—that’s part of what makes it so good.

But the rest of the problem is JT. Everything he does is stupidly sexy. He’s cracking up at the onscreen antics of the main character and his low, raspy laugh is so rare and so endearing that I feel lucky to have witnessed it. I also feel like leaning forward and licking his neck, right where his Adams apple bobs. But I wouldn’t stop there. My lips and fingers would trace every hard, toned inch of him. I would lick and tease and suck and touch. I would do all the things we did in that bathtub, and so many things we didn’t.

My vibrator is broken. Defunct. Useless. But that doesn’t mean I haven’t been scratching a certain itch. It’s not the same, though. Nothing is. Literally nothing compares to the way he felt inside me. If I close my eyes and let myself go there, damn , I can recall every single second of ecstasy. I can feel the pulsing of his cock, the way my walls closed around him, the way I felt too full, but also like I’d never get enough. I can take myself back to the first moment his fingers grazed my center. His touch was gentle at first, but not timid. It was sure and patient and so fucking good. He nearly drove me crazy with each slow, sensual lingering pass. I was soaking wet for him then, and I’m the same way now. I’m surprised he can’t hear my heart as it threatens to beat out of my chest or that he hasn’t noticed the way I’m clenching my thighs, trying my damnedest to stem the tide of lust that’s about to take over.

Another laugh rumbles from his chest, and I sneak one more glance in his direction. The space between us is filled with the tray of snacks, and that’s a good thing because if it weren’t there, I might just be tempted to crawl into JT’s lap and take him up on his earlier offer. The only light left in the room is from the TV, but it’s more than enough to illuminate his profile. I’m not paying any attention to the movie. Instead, I’m watching with rapt attention as he scratches absently at his stomach, lifting the hem of his shirt just enough that he shows a delicious sliver of skin.

I want to cover his hand with my own. I want to trail my fingers across the waistband of his jeans and then down the length of his cock. I want to draw him into my mouth and take him as deep as I can. I want his hands in my hair, his moans in my ear. I want to know that he’s just as needy as I am.

I’m no expert on flirting, but it doesn’t take a genius to figure out why he sits with me at lunch and just happens to stop by Drip at the same time I do on Monday and Wednesday afternoons. He says all the right words, but the past year has taught me that words are meaningless. It’s action that matters.

Suddenly, I realize that’s the answer.

I can’t keep pretending that I don’t want what JT is offering .

So maybe it’s time for me to take some action.

Before I lose my nerve, I reach behind myself and fish for the light switch. Less than a second later, the room is awash with the fluorescent glow of million-watt lightbulbs.

JT turns toward me, wincing like he’s staring at the sun. “No need for an interrogation. It was me, Maggie. I ate all the gummy worms.”

“Maybe we should,” I blurt, afraid I’ll lose my courage if I don’t just get the words out.

“Eat more gummy worms?” he asks. “Nah. I’m all sugared out.”

“Have sex,” I explain.

“Yes,” JT answers, not wasting any time.

“Not for science, for math.” God, my word salad is just making it worse.

“That makes no fucking sense, but I don’t care,” he tells me, pulling off his white hoodie. “Bed or couch?”

I can’t help but laugh. I’ve been agonizing for weeks over whether it’s wise to give in to whatever this is between us, but JT’s on board right away. “You can’t be ready to have sex right now. It’s been, like, ten seconds.”

Clearing his throat, he turns to face me fully before gesturing to his thick, lengthening dick. “Can’t I? Because I’m sure as shit not hard over gummy worms.”

“Speaking of gummy worms,” I say if only because I need to get my head together, “you said you’re ‘all sugared out’. What the hell does that even mean?”

“Uh, it means I’ve had enough sugar. Enough to last me until Christmas, at least,” he says, moving our snack tray to safer ground on the coffee table. It’s a smooth move, but I’m not done talking yet.

“How? There were, like, six gummy worms in that teensy little dish. How is that enough sugar?”

He shrugs, and the movement does lovely things for his muscled chest and arms. “I told you before, sweets aren’t really my thing.”

The ghost of a smile tugs at his lips before he reaches for me. I’m ready for him to grasp the back of my neck, pull me close, and cover my lips with his.

That isn’t what he does.

The pad of his thumb swipes at the corner of my mouth and with mortification, I realize he must be wiping peanut butter or dark chocolate from my face. But when I look up at him there’s no disgust or even amusement in sight. His eyes never leave mine as he licks the chocolate from the tip of his thumb. “ Fuck ,” he says, the curse an aphrodisiac rolling off his tongue. “Might have to rethink my stance on chocolate.”

He's teasing; I know. But his eyes are heavy with lust, and the way his tongue darts out over his full bottom lip is taking me right back to that bathtub.

I’m wet with arousal, and my nipples are so hard they ache. I can feel my cheeks heat as a breathy moan escapes my mouth. He hasn’t even touched me yet and I’m already closer to orgasm than anyone should be. The effect this man has on me is unreal. “This is just a study,” I say. “It’s purely statistical analysis. For math.”

“Yeah, uh-huh,” he agrees, reaching for me and tracing my face with his finger. “Math…okay.”

“I’m serious,” I protest, the words sounding ridiculous, but necessary, to my own ears.

“So am I,” JT replies, his fingers following the line of my collarbone down to the valley between my breasts. “I’ll prove it, too. You always wear shirts like this—the ones that fall off your left shoulder. There’s gotta be some formula about how the square root of the slope of your neck multiplied by the curve of your shoulder makes me hard as fucking steel.”

“I can promise you there isn’t. That’s not a thing,” I say, loving the banter between us .

“The hell it isn’t,” he counters, taking this moment to pull me close and rock his hips up into mine.

Holy freaking crap .

He’s not lying.

He’s not even exaggerating.

He’s as hard and thick as I remember and my body quivers in anticipation. “So, for the sake of m-math, I’m thinking we should…oh, god…” My words trail off because he’s still pumping into me, despite the layers of clothing between us. He’s leaning back on Viv’s couch and I’m straddling him like I’m some sort of cowgirl. My right knee is wedged between a gap in the cushions and my left foot keeps bumping against the corner of the coffee table, but that’s all just background noise.

“We should take your shirt off,” he says, finishing my sentence for me. “You know, to do that equation.”

It takes me two seconds to pull my shirt off and toss it to the ground.

JT’s eyes shutter closed and his tongue darts between his parted lips. “I need to taste you, Maggie,” he tells me, cupping my lace-covered breasts in his palms.

Wordlessly, I arch into his touch as his mouth closes over the nipple of my right breast. His wet, hungry kiss sends a jolt of electricity through me. I inhale sharply because god, it almost hurts, but the more he sucks and the more his fingers move over my flesh in a gentle kneading motion, the more I crave. Now I’m the one rocking into him, driving our bodies together, practically shoving my chest in his face. But JT hardly seems to mind as he tugs at the straps and pulls my bra down so it encircles my waist like a lacy, useless belt. His mouth is all over me, licking and kissing. He’s got one hand pressed at the small of my back while the other is working its way into the waistband of my sweats. His deft fingers slip under the barrier of my lacy thong and cup my pussy.

Oh. My. God .

His fingers glide through my folds as I ride his hand.

I should probably be paying attention to his cock or kissing his neck or anything other than grinding on his fingers like my next breath depends on the orgasm I’m chasing. I don’t know if it’s JT or just the freedom of our situation—the fact that we’re unattached to each other— but everything seems heightened tonight. My pleasure is more pronounced, my body more aware of his.

His thumb flicks my sensitive clit while his fingers drive inside me. Those sensations alone would be enough to push me to the edge, but he’s even more obsessed with my breasts than he was the last time we were together. It’s all too much in the very best way and I cry out as my orgasm crashes over me.

“Fuck, yes, Maggie,” he mutters, his lips vibrating against the sensitive flesh of my nipple.

And those must be magic words or maybe JT just has a magic mouth because before I can fully recover from the pleasure that’s radiating through me, my body detonates a second time. My inner walls contract, squeezing his fingers as I shudder with each wave of release.

I look down at his handsome face to see his brow dotted with sweat. I’m sure mine is the same way, and my hair must be a tangled mess. But none of that matters. The only thing on my mind is getting naked. And getting JT naked, too. Theoretically, we’re both scratching an itch, giving into something that’s been driving both of us crazy for weeks. There’s nothing long-term or serious about this, and yet I can’t help but feel the intimacy between us as he pulls my joggers down and cradles my body to his. My thong goes next, and his jeans and boxers follow. We barely fit together on this couch, but the crazy thing is, we fit together. The hard planes of his body press into the softer curves of mine. The fact that we’re on borrowed time doesn’t stop me from wanting more, from momentarily wishing that this was real and that men—even the handsome, irresistible ones—can be trusted.

But now is not the time for logic or good sense. Now isn’t even the time for wondering if we could make this work. Not as a relationship, of course, but more of a …situationship. It works for Viv, I’m pretty sure.

“Wrap your legs around me,” JT says, and it takes me a minute to catch up. I follow his directive and then loop my arms around his neck as he stands up. If I weren’t wondering what the hell he’s up to, I’d be impressed by his strength alone.

And I am impressed. But I’m also a little scared he’s going to drop me. As if he can hear the thoughts in my head, his grip tightens around my backside.

“I’ve got you, Maggie. Always.”

I will not read too much into those words , I vow.

“Hold tight,” he says, bending at the knees and reaching under the couch to press the lever that always takes me at least seven tries to conquer.

Damn this man . With a flick of his wrist, he’s popped out the hide-a-bed where I crash once or twice a week. Letting out a whistle, I tease him. “Have a lot of experience with fold out couches?”

As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I wish I could eat them back up. Am I trying to make this awkward? And his prowess with pop-up beds is none of my business. Afterall, this is just a study. An experiment. A night of sex with a not-so-stranger.

Rather than dropping me on my ass for my rudeness or giving me a pitying glance and a lecture about how we’re just casual, all of which I’d deserve, he nods. “Slept on this same model my senior year of high school. But it was at least ten years older, had a few questionable stains, and a wonky spring that followed me when I slept. I swear, no matter which way I’d turn, that damn wire poked at me. But I’m not worried about that now, because I don’t plan on sleeping. You’re not tired yet, are you, Maggie?”

I shake my head. “I’m not tired at all.”

“Good. Because I plan to wear us both out.”

JT’s definitely a man of action, because after that pronouncement, he turns and lowers me to the mattress, his hands on my waist as he slides me toward the center before crawling in to join me.

We have no blankets or sheets, and the only pillows to speak of are the scratchy cushions that match the couch. But I don’t care, and clearly, neither does JT. Gripping my ankles, he bends my legs at the knee and presses my heels back so they’re nearly touching my ass. Instinctively, my legs fall to either side. That’s all the invitation JT needs before he moves to the juncture of my thighs.

“I’m gonna kiss you, Maggie. Right here between your legs, and here,” he says, tapping my sensitive clit. “I’m gonna eat you out like it’s all I’ve been dreaming of for weeks.”

His words ignite a flood of heat and I hear him curse again. “You been thinking about it, too?” he asks, though he already knows the answer. I’ve never been this wet in my life. I’ve never been this turned on in my life. Never been this needy, either. Hungry for more contact, I lift my hips as he lowers his head and buries his face between my legs. His kisses are languid and through, like he’s got a roadmap to orgasm number three and he’s going to enjoy the ride, maybe even take the scenic route. His confidence drives me a little crazy, but I have no complaints. He can take the leisurely path because I know he won’t get lost or distracted or bored along the way. JT has a singular focus, and right now, I’m it. Well, at least my pleasure is.

“So fucking pretty,” he praises, coming up for air as he slips two fingers into my channel. My only answer is to thread my fingers through his hair, just as I fantasized about earlier tonight .

“Oh, hell, that’s good,” he croons as my fingers massage his scalp, gently pushing his face right back where I want it.

He wants it, too because his mouth consumes me. My body should be oversensitive. I should be overstimulated. I’m not, though. I’m blissed out as he fucks into me with his tongue. I’m delirious with pleasure as his fingers find my sweetest spot and hit it again and again. I’m on the edge and it feels so good. My vision blurs and I know that floaty feeling is just seconds away.

And that’s when he retreats.

JT pulls away from me, leaning back and bracing his hands behind him on the mattress. His lips are wet with my desire, his eyes heavy, his cheeks flushed, his breathing labored.

He says nothing to me, just licks his lips and looks his fill at my naked body. I want to scream at him, to shake my head, to ask if this is some kind of fucked up joke. But it isn’t, that much is clear. JT’s not done with me yet.

Lifting his left hand to his face, he scratches absently at the days’ worth of stubble before letting his hand drift down his body to rest at the base of his cock.

“Do you think about me, too, Maggie?” he asks, stroking his length, and I know exactly what he means. He’s not asking if I daydream about having his babies or if I doodle his name—his initials, really— in the margin of my notebook during class like an infatuated middle-schooler.

He wants to know if I touch myself to thoughts of him. If I try to put my fingers where his have been. If I try to replicate the pressure and the rhythm and the pace. If I rock onto my own hand the way I rocked on to his.

There’s no embarrassment here, no judgment. I’m not afraid he’s going to laugh at me or look at me like I’m some freak.

So I nod, telling him the truth.

“Thank fuck,” he says, choking the base of his cock with his fist. “I only got a taste of you, and it wasn’t enough. I fuck my fist to thoughts of you more often than I should admit,” he says, rubbing the swollen head of his cock with his thumb.

I’m entranced. I can’t look away. The scene in front of me is erotic. It will play out in my head tomorrow morning in the shower. I can guarantee I’ll come at least once while thoughts of JT jacking himself run on a loop through my head.

But that’s tomorrow, and right now, I want the real thing.

I’m not sure if I say the words aloud or if we’re just on the same wavelength, or if my neediness is written all over my face.

He reaches for his jeans and curses, and I have to bite my cheek to keep from laughing. Now is not the time to tease him about the look of abject panic that crossed his face when he realized he didn’t have a condom.

“There’s a hidden drawer. In the coffee table,” I begin, but the man must have some sort of second sense about birth control because he finds Viv and Lynley’s stash with ease and rolls a condom on a few seconds later. Lining himself up at my entrance, he meets my eyes.

“Is this what you want, Maggie?”

“So much,” I answer.

“You want my cock? You want me to fill you up? To fuck this sweet pussy the way I’ve been dreaming about?”

“Yes,” I cry as he thrusts inside me. We lose ourselves in the rhythm and this time, we don’t have to hide, not really. He’s driving into me, his thick cock hitting that spot deep inside while his fingers find my clit.

I’m early there. I’m teetering on the edge, and if he pulls back now, I might cry. But instead of leaving, he leans in close and kisses me. “You want it, Maggie?”

I nod because every brain cell in my head is focused on the orgasm that’s so damn close.

“I want it, too,” he says. “I want to feel you let go. I want to hear you cry out. I want to come right after you do. ”

His words push my pleasure over the edge. I feel myself falling into oblivion as he drives into me one last time. He shouts as I moan. I shudder as he pulses deep inside me.

My body is alive with pleasure, but my mind is exhausted. I don’t have the bandwidth to think about what we’ve done or where we go from here. JT’s forehead is pressed to mine, and he kisses me softly before rolling over and reaching for the blanket. He covers us both and this is probably the part where I should get him a pillow or put a sock on the door, or something. But I just kiss him back, let my eyes flutter closed, and drift off to sleep.