CHAPTER 31 


“I suppose… if…” 
 
Sadie narrowed her eyes. “If what?” 
 
“If you read it to me.” 
 
“I’m sorry?”  
 
“If you don’t want to…” JC turned to head up the steps. 
 
“Wait!”  
 
He stopped. 
 
“I mean, I’ve never… I’ve never read the stuff out loud before.” 
 
“No dirty talk for you?” 
 
“Well… no, not really.” 
 
JC laughed as blush crept over her cheeks. “You write all this and you can’t dirty talk? I don’t believe that for a second.” 
 
“I’ve just never… I don’t know, it’s different when you’re typing.” 
 
“Come on,” he said, and extended a hand to her. She took it in hers and he dragged her upstairs. 
 
JC sat on the bed, back against the wall, and Sadie sat at the foot, pages clutched in her fist. She looked terrified, he thought—like he did six years ago, when they first performed in front of arena crowds in Germany. Of course, his stage fright only lasted as long as it took to run out on stage; the more intense the fright, the more intense his performance. 
 
He hoped the same went for her. 
 
“Where should I start?” she asked. 
 
“Wherever you want.” 
 
“OK. Um. OK.” Sadie ducked her head and leafed through the pages, scanning the text, shaking her head, turning to the next page. She’s trying to find a good one, a voice whispered to him, and he felt blood flood his torso. She looked so sensual, her robe open at the top, revealing one round curve of breast, her leg curled under her, a fierce, focused statement on her face, lost in her own words. That reminded him of himself, too—the focus, the intensity. He swallowed and heard a dry click in his throat. 
 
Without warning, her face relaxed and she smiled. 
 
“OK. I found a good part.” 
 
“They’re all good parts, aren’t they?” he asked, and she laughed.  
 
“Well, yeah, but here’s a really good part.” 
 
“Should I be frightened?” 
 
Sadie looked up from the page and sent him a cocky grin that had the force of a punch to the stomach. “Oh, my, yes.” 
 
“Well, let’s hear it, then.” 
 
Sadie cleared her throat, sat up straight, and read. His cock surged up as he listened to her voice, soft and sultry, and watched her lips move. He didn’t dare touch himself yet; he wanted to hear this for as long as possible, and once he started, he had a feeling he wouldn’t stop. 
 
“‘Anna leaned forward and touched the tip of her tongue to JC’s ear, drawing a slow path around its curves and ridges. Her nipples tightened when she heard his sigh, and she tightened her grip on his hair.” 
 
JC did sigh, then, and Sadie stopped, eyes darting up from the page. 
 
“Keep going,” he said through a dry throat, and allowed his hand to move down his body, trailing across the muscles of his abs, the fine hair below his navel. 
 
“‘You’re so fucking sexy,’ Anna whispered in his ear, and bit on the lobe, tugging at it with her teeth. She gasped as his lips came down on her neck, and she instinctively arched her head back, baring her throat to his assault.’” 
 
JC hissed through his teeth as his fingers wrapped around his cock. He stroked, slowly, felt the tension build, and felt her words move through him. He closed his eyes and threw his own head back; Sadie’s voice grew deeper as she read, clouded with her own desire. He opened his eyes to watch her read, and saw that she had lain down on the bed, propped on one elbow, robe open to bare one breast, a flash of tummy, a few curls between her thighs. Her eyes darted from the page to him, and her breath quickened as she saw him touch himself. 
 
He slipped his left hand between his legs, cradling his sac, kneading the flesh there and squeezing the head of his cock. God, this was perfect, too good, watching her there, reading words to him that she’d written about him, him and her. 
 
The muscles in his arms tightened as he stroked, pulled, squeezed, and he felt so close, so close, but he slowed again; god, he wanted to stay here forever, like this, and as Sadie read about his length slipping into the body of a woman—a woman that wasn’t her, but was, kind of, and fuck, but he wanted it to be her, and he stopped, abruptly, dropping his hand away from his cock, throbbing with want and need. He needed her. Not himself, not some girl in a story, but her. 
 
Sadie looked at him, her eyes confused, and sat up. 
 
“Didn’t you like it?” she asked, and he heard the tremor in her voice, a mix of fear and wanting.  
 
“Come here,” he said, and she crawled up the bed to lay beside him, propped on one elbow. 
 
“You didn’t like it,” she said, disappointment evident in her voice. 
 
“God, Sadie, I loved it,” he said, and stroked her cheekbone with one finger. “But I want you, not some girl in a story.” 
 
She smiled, a tentative, small curve in her mouth, and his heart leaped. She kissed his finger. 
 
“Well, here I am,” she said. 
 
“OK,” he said, and flipped her over on her back. She gasped at his erection prodded through the bathrobe to her core, and she strained her hips up.  
 
He kneeled above her, cupping her face in his hands, and found himself unable to talk, or breathe for that matter. She searched his face and touched his jawline with the tip of one finger. As he watched, she drew invisible lines on his face, tender, burning paths that traced every bone, every crevice.  
 
“Oh, Sadie,” he said, and was surprised by the wistful, longing tone in his own voice. She blinked once, hard, and he saw the wetness in her eyes, and wondered if he looked the same. God, she was beautiful.  
 
He leaned over her and touched his lips to hers; she breathed into his mouth, and he kissed her, making love to her lips, smoothing her hair back from her face, relishing the sweet syrupy flavor of the pancakes, the musky taste of her mouth, the feel of her nails digging into his scalp. He sat up, pulling her to a kneeling position, and removed the bathrobe from her arms, tossing it off the bed, and kneeled before her.  
 
Their bodies melted together, hot flesh against flesh, and he kissed her neck, her shoulder, nibbled along her sculpted clavicle, licked the hollow of her throat. His hands roamed over her back, memorizing every contour, every curve, loving the gasp he elicited when he grasped her ass and pulled her forward. She, too, allowed her hands to wander across his body, and desire shot through him from every point of contact; he felt like seaweed in the current, a slow, undulating mass of nerves. 
 
He bent forward to take her breast in his mouth, and she tugged at his curls. He licked circles around the nipple, using his hands to knead her ass and other breast; she tasted like salt and sweet and musk, and he loved it. He loved all of it. 
 
“Oh, god, Josh,” she whispered, and he moved up, settling a series of small kisses along her collarbone, her shoulder, and down her arm, touching his lips to her inner elbow, the sensitive part of her wrist, the palm of her hand. He sucked gently on each of her fingers, and when she began losing her ability to stand up straight, he slipped an arm around her waist and held her up. He moved to her other arm, repeating the kisses, and when he was done with that hand, he kissed the curve of her waist, her navel, her sex. 
 
She gasped again, and, his arm supporting her back, he straightened and pressed their bodies close. He sucked in air at the sensation of her breasts and belly, soft and cushioned against his chest, touching him, and her arms wrapped around his neck, and she buried her face in his shoulder, begging him please, please.  
 
“Please what?” he whispered, and she only shook her head. 
 
“Just... please,” she said, and he moved his hand to between her legs and felt the wet heat there. Her body tensed and she cried out with that barest of touches, and he knew it wouldn’t be long for her. 
 
He pushed her back to the bed, and she reached her arms above her head, gripping the headboard. Her body felt afire, thrumming with energy, and when he touched her clit again, he felt her body tighten, her legs shake. He circled it once, twice, and already he recognized her signals—her breath shortened, her legs trembled, her back arched.  
 
When it came, her body tensed so that he saw the muscles in her stomach clench, her legs straightened and her toes curled, and he felt the warm fluid on his hands, saw the pain and ecstasy on her face. She lay for a moment, mouth parted, eyes closed, barely breathing, and he reached for a condom, slipping it on; while she lay there, half-conscious from her climax, he pressed the head of his cock against her soaked core. She opened her eyes and breathed, a great gasp of air, and turned her head to him, arms extended, reaching for him. 
 
“Closer, closer,” she said. “Please.” 
 
He slid into her with agonizing slowness, feeling her lips close around him, taking him in, her walls tight from the orgasm, and hissed. Pleasure seeped through him, not blasting through him like usual, but creeping, trickling through his body, leaving no nerve center untouched, a full-body sensation. He opened his eyes and watched her face, her eyes closed, her mouth open, breath coming in long shudders, and she seemed to be moving in slow motion, too. He pulled out again, almost fully, and bit on his lip from the friction; and he slid back into her, half-inch at a time, body undulating, the seaweed in the current again.  
 
Her hands clutched blindly at his shoulders, his neck, his hair, and then let go; her hands froze in the air, her face amazed and agonized at once; and he pulled out once more, hips receding into the space behind him, and when he next entered her, shifted his position so he came into her from further below, nudging against the ceiling of her body, and she gasped, and bit on her knuckle, and he pulled out again, a little faster this time, feeling his own pleasure build deep with him, and thrust again, harder, so that he could feel the back of her, too, and she cried out this time.  
 
He moved his hips back, and pushed forward, and he cried out, longing for control, but she wrapped her arms around him, gripping his lower back, his ass, and pulled him forward. “More, god, more,” she whispered, and he matched the movements of her hips, faster, the friction increasing exponentially with each second, her hands grasping at him, begging him, and he lost it and slammed into her, hard, kicking himself for not making it last longer, but she cried out, “oh, fuck, yes,” and then he couldn’t slow anymore, he needed her, wanted her, and he slammed into her again, again, pounding into her dark heat, feeling the thundercloud gather in his pelvis and behind his eyes, swelling, lightning flashing bolts across his vision, and now she was crying out his name, really crying now, and he moaned and heard himself say fuck and oh sadie and the thundercloud became a hurricane, whirling him about, as he plunged into her, again and again, tossing his consciousness to the wind, abandoning all thought of control or time or tomorrow, and then the cloud burst open, and he shuddered, emptying everything he had into her, into her tightening walls, crying out her name, and then he collapsed on top of her, body heaving, sweating, and spent. 
 
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