I cover her mouth with my hand so she can’t say it.
“You don’t. I want you to set the pace, not the moon.”
She’s talking behind my hand, so I pull it back.
“Pretty sure I’m ready,” she says.
Her eyes are glassy, her pupils are huge, and she’s panting.
When I was a kid, I was a handful. My grandmother used to tell my parents we should move to a round house so the devil couldn’t keep cornering me. It feels like I’m being backed into a corner now and this could, for sure, be used against me.
Are the pills kicking in? I’m still hard. Too fucking hard. But I’m hanging onto my self-control instead of giving in to what would undoubtedly be the best thing to ever happen to me.
But it could backfire.
“Not like this.”
“Jason,” she whines and rocks against me.
She keeps rocking; she’s dry-fucking me. She’s panting, clinging to me. And my cock is fucking weeping for her.
But fuck… if I do what I want to do, it could be held against me. Because it was the moon that made her come here tonight. Because she forgot to wear the scent mask they gave her. Because I’d be using the lunar event to my advantage and she could have strong opinions about it tomorrow.
Plus, what if I’m too rough because I want her so fucking bad and held off too long? What if when the levee breaks, I break her? Though if that could happen tonight, it could also happen a week from now.
Shit.
Yeah, the pills must be working because I’m not ripping my clothes off. I’m not ripping hers off. I’m not going into the rut. I’m not kissing, sucking, and fucking her. I’m just hanging onto her while she rocks against my cock.
And it’s hot as sin, the way she’s hanging onto my shoulders, digging her nails into my skin, and breathing against my throat while she rocks back and forth over my erection, riding me like her life depends on it.
She’s so wet, so ripe, like the juiciest most delicious fruit. Her scent has entirely invaded my senses. I feel the heat of her pussy through my jeans. The sounds she’s making… fuck, it’s sexy.
“Jason, please… please take me. Please. Just… I need you.”
That does it. I’m … coming. I’m coming in my jeans. My vision blurs as I feel how her body quakes and she grips me harder, nails breaking my skin while she arches her back, presenting her throat for me as she unfurls.
“Jason,” she whimpers, “Fuck, Jase… Oh! Ah! Ah! Fuck!”
She goes limp like a ragdoll in my arms. She’s still panting, trying to catch her breath.
I grip her tighter, smelling her hair, her pussy, her overall essence, feeling bliss gliding through my veins like warm water. My nose slides up and down her neck from behind her ear to her collarbone. But my canines are retracted. The pills saved her from me. They saved me from risking it all.
On shaky legs, I rise with her and put us on the couch. She’s sniffling. No, worse. She’s full-on crying, trying to hide her face in my shirt.
“Bailey?”
She shudders.
“Hey...” I whisper.
She pulls her glasses off and drops them beside us, wiping her eyes with both hands.
“Jase… I…” She starts crying harder, burying her face in my throat again.
So I hold her tight. I soak in how fucking good it feels to finally, finally have her in my arms. Loose. Melted into me. And best of all, my jeans soaked with the both of us.
She sniffles and nuzzles into my neck, saying my name against her ink.