Hopeless (Chestnut Springs, #5)(76)

We both freeze.

“Fuck.” I groan, feeling her pulse around me.

Her head rocks slowly from side to side on the pillow as she chants my name.

I’m standing at the edge of a cliff. One half of me says jump. The other says maybe grab a parachute first.

I pull out and press that same inch back in, watching her spread for me.

God. It would be so easy to just—

No. I don’t want to be careless with her. It’s not just her body. Her first time. It’s her heart.

It’s my heart. It’s my hang-up on faking it. It’s my control in question.

Which is why I pull out and reach for the toy that’s lying forgotten on the mattress beside us.

I replace myself with it and watch her writhe.

“Fuck!” she cries out as I work it into her.

It’s not as large as I am, but she still shakes when I push it all the way in.

My fist is painfully tight around my girth, like I can somehow cut the blood flow off and keep myself together by squeezing tighter.

“Bailey, baby, use your hands. Show me what you do.”

Eyes on me, she trails her hands down her torso until she’s holding the silicon base.

She presses somewhere, and the thing hums and vibrates. Wetness leaks out from where her body grips the skin-toned toy as she cries out instantly.

“You like that?”

She nods in response, and I use my free hand to graze a finger over her lips, stretched tight around the vibrator.

“You look so fucking pretty like this.” I wrap my hand around my cock and pump once, and she moves in time with me, easing the toy out and back in.

It’s the worst tease in the world, watching her fuck herself and wishing it were me. My body aches with it. Low on my back. Behind my hip bones.

“What do you think about while you do it?”

“You.” Fuck. She doesn’t even hesitate. Lips parted, both hands working between her legs.

I swipe a thumb over her clit. Her legs shake, and she moves the toy in a more even tempo.

“You pretending I’m fucking you right now, Bailey?” I can’t look away. We’re a jumble of limbs and wetness.

“Yes,” she whispers and licks her lips.

I keep at her clit, palm sliding over my dick as I imagine what it will be like to fuck her how I want to. Rough and messy. Claiming her.

“I don’t know, Bailey. I’m bigger than that toy. You think this tight little cunt can take me?”

She gasps as she shoves the toy in harder. “Yes, Beau. Fuck. Give it to me.”

“Give what to you?” Our words are choppy. Breathless. So is every movement. Every muscle and tendon strung up tight. Everything about this moment is ready to snap and crumble down around us.

“Your c-cock,” she stutters slightly, doing her best to keep up.

I don’t miss the deep blush on her cheeks. Listening to her say things she probably never has makes me harder. I’m the lucky fucker who gets to hear her try them all out.

“What about my cum, Bailey? Would you settle for that tonight?”

A strangled groan catches in her throat as she shuts her eyes for a beat. Then her lashes lift lazily, and she takes a quick bite on her full bottom lip before she says, “Yes, sir.”

That’s all it takes. I blow.

One hard jerk and I’m coming, hand now braced on her inner thigh, spreading her open. The first rope lands on her toy, the one she doesn’t stop fucking herself with even as I mark her. The next on her clit, dripping down onto her lips.

She works my cum into her pussy with the vibrator. And I watch her do it.

“Oh god,” I groan, losing it over how fucking good she looks. Another rope hits the freshly trimmed triangle, the next her hand.

She doesn’t stop thrusting her toy. She watches, lips parted, legs shaking against mine, as I make a mess of her in the basest way possible.

She’s hot and pink and trembling. All it takes is me wiping the slick of my cum off her hand and pressing it against her hard clit, rubbing it in one firm circle, for her to fall apart right before my eyes.

Bailey screams my name as her head falls back, exposing the elegant column of her throat.

“Oh god, oh god, oh god,” she repeats. Her body goes impossibly taut, then impossibly slack.

She tosses the toy away before slinging an arm over her face, but otherwise doesn’t move to cover herself.

I press her clit once more before my hands explore more of her exquisite body. Palms over her inner thighs. Her stomach. I shape her waist. Gently cup her breasts. Then kiss each one.

And she lies there, letting me. A stillness rolls over us. A peace.

“You’re perfect,” I murmur as I kiss my way down the valley between her breasts. “Every inch. Every look. Every word.”

Her hands move to my hair, fingers trailing over the shell of my ear. The back of my skull.

“I’m so fucking hung up on you, it’s not even funny,” I confess quietly, and then press a kiss to her belly button. She shivers, fingers gliding down the back of my neck.

I don’t expect her to say anything. Or to feel the same way. I’m too old. She’s too young. Too good for me when it comes down to it.

Which is why it sends me reeling when she whispers, “Wherever you’re hanging from … I think I’m on the same hook.”