I don’t want that. Him thinking so hard that he’s capable of putting a lid on this. I want him undone, like I was the other night. I want him messy and loud. Even if this moment is all I can ever give him, I want him to be free.
Sol, I want you to fly.
I need more contact than his dick. His jaw calls to me again and I wrap my free hand around it, my forearm to his throat, his pulse hammering so hard I feel it against my skin, as I presscloser, looming over him, making room for myself between his thighs.
Sol groans. “Jackie…”
What? What do you need?
But I’m beyond words. Beyond reason. Beyond everything except the battle my best friend is still fighting beneath me.
He’s losing, I know he is.
But it’s not enough. His body is showing me the truth, but the resistance thrashing his head from side to side, it has to go.
I slow, deliberately, giving him an out.
Sol’s eyes fly open and I grip his jaw harder, applying heavier pressure to his throat.
“Tell me you want this. Fuck, tell me you need it, Sol. Let me fucking hear it.”
The growl spills out of me as if we’re long-time lovers. Irrepressible instinct.
And Sol…he melts into it, flexing into my still-pumping hand as he labours for breath. “I want it—I need it. Don’t stop, Jackie, I need you?—”
His confession cuts short with a strangled, pleasured groan. Soft enough for the walls of my bedroom to contain. Loud enough to echo in my cavernous brain until the end of time.
I love that fucking sound.
And it’s all the answer I need.
Sol’s resistance dissolves, into me, into the sheets beneath us, blurring the line we’ve crossed. The bedframe creaks as his grip tightens and his body arches, and he says everything I need to hear all over again.
“Don’t stop.Jack.”
My full name on his lips does something primal to me. Something ancient. I hold him down, pin him with that pressure on his throat again, and work him with an intensity that feels fucking reverent.
I drink him in, my own cock aching with need and my mouth craving something that blows my fragile mind. I stroke him with my hand over and over, seeking the same friction from his clothed thigh, deep groans snarled in my throat. And I don’t look away, don’t blink. I don’t miss a second of it—ofhim, coming undone beneath me.
The way his breath stutters and his face twists, not just with release butrelief.
Sol comes as though I really am setting him free, and as scalding warmth coats my hand, and his low wrecked cry shatters the air, something sacred slots into place.
We were made for this.
A thought I can’t shake as Sol trembles in the aftermath of release, chest heaving, lashes a mile long against his flushed cheeks. Ruined, real, and impossibly beautiful.
I did that.
The ruined part. And I like it—I love it—even as reality starts to bite the edges of the glorious fucking mess we’ve made of my bed.
I hover over Sol, as if I don’t trust the ground not to give me a hard landing. To not shift so fast it shatters what we’ve done.
I’m crushing him. I ease back, releasing his jaw and his throat from my weight, giving him space without breaking the thread between us. My hands fall away, but I don’t like how the cold air hits him, so I stay close as we tumble into the kind of silence that kills things.
The room hums with it.
Wehum with it.