Deathless

Chapter 50: Millie

I like that I'm nervous. That there are small bubbles of panic amongst the excitement fizzing in my belly. I like that as time ticks down, the slow, clanging clock counting the minutes till fate greets me, that there's something that can make me feel. That Jackson's kiss, his touch, has the power to keep me in the moment, and to feel beyond that.

I'm scooped into his arms, my feet kicking wildly as he lifts me into the air and I laugh, throwing my head back, gazing as the city lights play with the shadows on the ceiling. He drops me gently, lovingly onto the bed, before moving over me, his elbows on either side of my head. His smooth skin, the hard flesh of his shoulders and chest above me for my eyes to feast on.

It's me that moves first, lifting my head to find his lips, my fingers sliding through the raven silk of his hair. My lips part his and our kisses grow hungry, tumbling one after the other and into the next. His touch is everywhere. His lips graze my jaw, his teeth drag against the tender flesh of my neck, his fingers travel up my ribs as they seek my breasts. There's no part of my skin left untouched, caressed, explored. He takes his time, even though we have so little and I savour every second, each stroke, each caress. He drags moans and cries from my lips with ease. Our limbs tangle, the cool sheets warm under our bodies.

He moves lower, his lips writing love letters down my body. His fingers trace the outline of my bra, tugging down the soft lace. I can't stop moving. My body seems to rise to meet his touch of its own volition. I have no control here. And I love it. His lips, and then his tongue, circle my nipple and I cry out, my fingers clutching the silky sheets. He chuckles, and I feel that wicked sensation against my skin. He watches my responses with dark, seductive eyes.

He keeps up the pleasure, his lips teasing me on one breast, his fingers on the other. Heat grows in my belly, the ache between my thighs increasing at a delicious rate. I'm a whimpering wreck when he moves lower, his lips against my stomach. I raise my hips, and he tugs off my jeans and underwear in one swoop. He rises to look down at me, his hungry eyes travelling over my shimmering skin. My stomach is knotted in steel. I'm breathless, impatient, desperate for him to move. Gazing at him, my eyes travel down his body. At the hardness of his chest, his stomach, his hand gripping himself through his boxers. The moment lingers on, but I want this too much. I can't wait anymore.

"Jackson?" My voice is low and husky.

He shoots me his slickest, whitest grin. It's pure Jackson. And I'm so dazzled, I gasp when he finally moves. His hands hooking under my thighs, parting me. And then his mouth is on me.

My cry splits the silence, the sounds of the city, of our bodies as they move together, all drowned out by the sound of my pleasure. It doesn't take long. The tension grows and rises within me. And all I know is him and his touch. His fingers still gripping my thighs, hard enough to bruise, holding me down as I move against him. As my body tenses, his tongue flattens against me. I feel myself rise higher and higher, the tension too much. My back arches and my fingers grip his hair, keeping him close as I shatter. Call his name, over and over again as I fracture, falling apart under his touch. His movements slow, staying with me as I tumble back to earth.

I'm still panting, limp and sated when he climbs off the bed, slipping his boxers down his hips as I watch him hungrily. Bubbles of excitement burst into my belly. Any nerves, any fear have faded away to nothing now. He slips back onto the bed and rises over me, his eyes glinting metallic in the moonlight. He positions himself between my thighs, his eyes ever never leaving mine. I feel him against my entrance, his hardness against my sensitive softness. He moves the hair from my face, running his fingers over my swollen lips.

He moves slowly, inching into me. I see the concentration on his face, the tension in his jaw. He's keeping steady for me, but I don't want him to hold back, not even for a moment. So I move my hips and we both gasp as I take all of him inside me. My head snaps back. I cry out. I am full with him—it's too much and not enough all at once. The pain is sharp and then it's gone. For a moment, he's still—watching me, waiting for me. Sweat shimmers on his forehead. When I can focus, when my body adjusts, I look up at him.