~Ava~

"J-Jacks—" I tried to say something, anything, but the words just scattered like confetti in my head. The pressure inside me kept building and building—and then, suddenly, there was more. A new sensation. His finger sliding inside me, gentle but firm, and—

Oh my god. That. That was my clit. He found it. And he knew exactly what to do with it.

His mouth went deeper—licking, sucking, doing things I didn't even know were possible. I had no clue what exactly he was doing, but holy hell, it felt insane. My grip slipped from my underwear and ended up tangled in his hair instead. My thighs tried to close around him on instinct, but his hands kept me open, held wide and helpless in the best way.

I wanted to beg him to just fuck me already, but he was working me like his whole mission in life was to ruin me with his mouth. Up until this point, the best oral I'd ever gotten was from a rose toy.

"Don't stop," I gasped, and the next thing I knew my hips were rising off the bed, my grip in his hair tightening as I pushed his face deeper like I was trying to drown him in me—not on purpose, but he had me chasing something electric, something blinding.

And then it came to me—I came. Hard.

The kind of orgasm that makes your toes curl and your soul momentarily exit your body. I moaned his name, high and breathless as my body twisted in ways that made me feel like I needed an exorcist. 

Holy shit. I was absolutely writing this down later.

Jackson finally pulled up, his hands still hooked under my thighs, lips glistening and smug. My fingers were still tangled in his hair, just looser now, like even my grip had short-circuited. "I can keep going," he said, a teasing little lilt in his voice and a languid smirk on his lips, "just need to catch my breath for a second."

I was sure he didn't need a compliment or thanks. I mean, my orgasm on his face should've been enough of a review. 

Five stars. Would recommend.

But then a different thought slipped in—he was really good at that. Like, really good. And I hadn't even needed to guide him. No whispered instructions, no helpful nudge. He just... knew.

That's when it hit me. This was definitely just a regular one-night thing for him. Of course it was. There was likely someone else last week—and someone else waiting next week. Which probably explained how easily he agreed to a hookup with me. No strings, no drama, just a means to get off.

God, Ava, I scolded myself, don't turn your jealousy into slut shaming. You're better than that.

But I was still left with the question: why me?

"Hey," his voice cut through my spiral, his hand brushing over his mouth before releasing my legs. He leaned in, hovering above me, his body warm and firm and very much still hard against my thigh. His arms braced on either side of me, but his eyes—those warm brown eyes—weren't hungry anymore. They were soft. Curious. Concerned.

"Where'd you just go?" he asked, brow furrowing. "Did I do something wrong?"

"No, no," I said quickly, my hands drifting over his shoulder to rest lightly against his neck. God, why was he so hot? This felt like one of the fantasies I would only ever experience in my writing, not in real life. My voice came out smaller than I meant it to. "Is this a pity fuck?"

He blinked. "A what?"

"A pity fuck," I repeated, swallowing past the knot in my throat. "It's... it means exactly what it sounds like. You're hot. I'm not exactly the kind of girl most guys like you chase after. I know what I look like, and I am not your type. So—"

He cut me off with a tilt of his head, his brow arching like I'd just told him I believed the Earth was flat.

"My type?" he repeated. "What exactly do you think my type is?"

I hesitated. How did I say this without completely falling apart? Without making this night—this moment—some embarrassing, emotional landmine I couldn't recover from? It's not like I didn't know I was beautiful—I did. It had taken me a long time to believe it, but I'd gotten there. Still, I was grounded enough to recognize when two people just didn't look like they belonged together. And we didn't.

"I just... I don't look like the kind of girl who belongs with someone like you. You look like you belong in a Calvin Klein ad. You should be with someone who also looks like they just walked off a runway."

He blinked. And then laughed—a soft, stunned kind of sound that made me immediately flush with shame.

Here we go. Self-destruction: level unlocked.

"You're right," he said, voice steady. "You don't look like a model."

Oof. There it was. The fatal blow.

But then he added, "You look like a fucking goddess, Ava."

I stared at him.

"There's no pity here," he said, his tone serious now. "Unless... you want it to be. Want me to pretend it's a pity fuck?" His voice dropped an octave, and goosebumps prickled along my skin. "That I'm just here for your pleasure, letting you use me to get off?"

He started to move off me, like he was giving me space to decide—but I didn't want that. I didn't want the space. I wanted him. His warmth. His body pressed against mine. His words grounding me when my thoughts were trying to spiral.

Jackson stripped off the rest of his clothes, all tan skin and carved lines like a Greek god. He walked to the bedside table, opened the drawer, and pulled out a condom with the kind of casual confidence that should be illegal. His bicep flexed as he brought the wrapper to his mouth, teeth tearing it open before sliding the latex out. One hand gripped the base of his cock as he rolled it on, slow and practiced. I didn't even know it was possible to put on a condom sexily until now.

Then his eyes met mine. Caught. That's how I felt. Like a pervy little voyeur getting away with nothing. But all he said was, "Sit up."

And I did. Without hesitation. My body moved like it had been waiting for his voice to command it. I shifted on the bed, kneeling as he lay back beside me, all confidence and open invitation.

"Sit on my cock," he said, voice low and steady, "and use me."

Oh. So that's where this was going.

I hesitated, my teeth worrying at my lower lip. He was big. Not scary-put-me-in-the-ER long, but thick in a way that made my brain short-circuit and my pussy ache. 

I never liked being on top. I never knew where to put my hands, how to move my hips without looking like I was having a medical emergency. And truthfully, I'd always been afraid I might crush someone's ribs. I wasn't a size two—I had curves. Real ones. But then again, Jackson wasn't exactly fragile. The man could probably throw me across the room and make it look like a feather toss.

I edged closer, heart pounding. His hand slid up my thigh, warm and steady, before slipping a finger beneath my underwear and giving it a playful tug.

What did I have to lose at this point? If I sucked at this, I'd just avoid eye contact for the rest of my life—or at least every time he came by to drop off Malaya. If I didn't suck... well, then my ego would have a nice fill. Just like my body was about to have with that thick, beautiful cock inside me. 

I slid off my panties—they were completely soaked. No way I was putting those back on. I'd definitely be going commando when I left.

Climbing onto him, I straddled his waist, his cock pressing against the curve of my ass as I rested my hands on his chest. His skin was warm, smooth, annoyingly perfect. I felt my face start to redden under his gaze—so full of expectation and anticipation. That made it worse somehow.

"Don't laugh at me... but," I muttered. "I've only been on top once, and it... wasn't a great experience."

He didn't laugh. Instead, his voice was calm, encouraging. "Well, cowgirl's supposed to be about you. You decide how much you take, how fast, how deep. If you want to grind, go for it. If you want to bounce, also good. It's your ride, make it the experience you want." His fingers brushed my thighs, slow and comforting.

"But... where do I even put my hands?" I pressed down a little harder on his chest before letting up. "This seems like it would hurt you."

I braced myself for a joke, but he stayed soft, steady. "You could lean back, rest your hands on my thighs," he offered.

I wrinkled my nose. "That sounds like it'd give you an unflattering view."

"It doesn't matter where your hands are," he chuckled. "On my chest, my thighs, in the air—you're on top. I'm getting the full view of your tits either way. And there's nothing unflattering about that."

"But," He caught my wrists gently, sliding my hands a little higher up his chest. "If this feels better, press here. I promise it won't hurt me."

I stared at him for a beat, too aware of how not bold I felt right now. Not bold. Not athletic. Not the girl who made this look easy.

His hand moved to my back, and I instinctively tensed, expecting him to pull me down onto him without warning. But instead, his other hand cradled the back of my head and he sat up slowly, our bodies aligning, my legs still draped over his thighs, his cock nestled between my cheeks, thick and hot against my skin. My breasts pressed to his chest, and I swallowed hard.

"Would this feel better for you?" he asked, voice low, hands gripping the backs of my thighs. "We can move together. I'll help you find a rhythm you like—and then, I'll let you take over."

I didn't answer with words. Just nodded, my fingers curling into his shoulders like I was hanging on for dear life.

His hands slid up the backs of my thighs, firm and warm, half cupping my ass as he gently lifted me. "I'll need you to put it in," he murmured, voice slightly strained with anticipation. "I'm hard but... I don't want it to slip."

He let out a light chuckle, but for some reason, the statement made my cheeks flush. It shouldn't have—it was just sex—but something about his honesty and the way he asked made it feel intimate.

My hand slipped between us, fingers wrapping around him as I lined him up to my entrance. I held my breath as I slowly sank down. His breath hitched the second his tip slipped inside me.

I gripped his shoulders, grounding myself as he helped guide me lower. A soft moan escaped my lips as I leaned in, my breasts pressing into his face. This was the second time I tried to smother this man with my body and he didn't seem to mind.

Jackson kissed along the curve of one breast, his hands adjusting my pace as he lifted and lowered me, inch by inch, deeper each time.

"You're so tight," he groaned, voice deep and thick.

I started to move on my own, picking up the rhythm he gave me. He loosened his grip, letting me take control—and I wanted it. I wanted all of him. I rode him faster, my movements more confident, each drop sending him deeper inside me until—"F-Fuck," I whimpered, halting suddenly as I hit a spot that made every nerve light up. I felt stretched and full in a way that made my whole stomach clench. My thighs trembled but I didn't stop—I couldn't stop. I needed more.

"That's it," he moaned, "Look how good you're taking me." His hand cradled my breast, squeezing gently as his hips began to move with mine in perfect sync.

His fingers tangled into my hair, guiding my head down until our lips met. His mouth claimed mine, hot and open, and when I slid my tongue into his, he welcomed me like he'd been waiting for it.

"Fuck, Ava," he breathed against my lips. "Your pussy feels so good wrapped around my cock."

God. Jackson Reyes. He was ruining me for future hookups. He made me feel desired. Sexy. Powerful. But this was supposed to be just sex... right? Then why was my heart fluttering like it was auditioning for a romance movie?

My lips parted from his as he pushed deeper again—just a little—but it was enough. His grip tightened on my ass, and I felt his cock throb inside me as he groaned against my mouth.

He came. I made Jackson come.

And that did something to me. Something wicked and wild and confident. I rolled my hips harder, chasing that deep angle again while he was still thick inside me, still sensitive. His moan rumbled in his chest as I moved faster.

He wanted me to use him, and that's exactly what I did.

My nails dug into his shoulders when I came again, the second orgasm crashing through me like a damn miracle. Two in one night. That was a personal record. Sad, but true.

His arms wrapped tight around me, and before I could process what was happening, he stood. I clung to him, my legs instinctively wrapping around his waist. His cock slipped out of me with a wet ache that already made me miss him inside me, even though I could tell I was going to be sore as hell.

"Would you like to shower with me?" he asked, his voice gentle as I buried my face into his neck.

"If you put me down, I think my legs will collapse."

He chuckled. "What about a bath then?"

"With you?"

"If that's alright with you?" he said, pressing a kiss to the top of my head.

I nuzzled his neck. "Do you have bubbles?"

"Yes," he laughed softly.

"Then yes."

Oral. Two orgasms. And now aftercare? This man was setting dangerously high expectations for my next booty call.