Powerless (Chestnut Springs, #3)(73)

I watch in rapt fascination as his impressive cock bobs over me, his boxers discarded. Last night he shoved me to my knees and told me how to suck his cock, just like I asked him to. I came from his dirty words and the pressure of my thighs squeezing together while I sucked him off. It was definitely the first time anyone talked me into an orgasm.

I lick my lips as he drops his cock to my face and gently adjusts my positioning. Then he’s propped over my body, hands braced on the bed on either side of me.

The panels of his button-down shirt fall like curtains on either side of my face. I open my mouth eagerly, and his smooth length slides between my lips. His fresh and earthy scent swirls around me. It’s a heady combination.

“Play with your tits, Sloane. I wanna watch you while I take your mouth.”

I moan on his length and start plumping my breasts. Tweaking my nipples. Losing my mind as he sets a slow rhythm between my lips.

This angle is new for me, and my eyes water from how far back he’s able to push, but he’s always careful with me. Careful not to push too hard or too far. Careful not to hurt me or alarm me.

And yet he pushes me further than anyone ever has, which I love. At school I pushed myself harder. With ballet too.

“So fucking good. This hot little mouth, Sloane. Sucking dick like you were born for it. You have no idea how good you feel wrapped around my cock. It’s fucking addicting.”

He thrusts in hard, and I make a light gagging noise, tears blurring my vision as I pinch my nipples. “That too far, honey?”

I shake my head vigorously and hum on his length, squeezing my legs together and feeling the wetness between them slip. I mean, it is too far—logistically speaking.

But I’m into it. Really, really into it.

He chuckles, hand shaping my waist. “So fucking hungry.” His fingers rap lightly on the top of my thigh. “Open for me.”

His hand presses to the inside of my thigh, guiding it back to the bed so that I’m completely exposed to him as he steadily fucks my mouth. Far, but not so far that I gag again.

“Whose pussy is this, Sloane?”

He slaps it, and I can hear how wet I am over my moans. I offer a muffled “yours” from around his cock since he doesn’t pull back to offer me a reprieve.

“That’s right.” His voice is so low I almost don’t hear him. There’s too much. I feel too much.

He’s too much.

His expert fingers run through my core, and my hips buck toward him, lifting from the bed. I’m ready to come, ready to let him pull me apart piece by piece and watch it happen.

If I’ve learned anything in the last couple of days, it’s that Jasper enjoys telling me what to do and watching me do it.

That alone can get him hard. That alone can get me wet. So I guess it works for us. Just like this position does.

His cock is in my mouth and he’s matching that rhythm between my legs with only one finger. It’s not enough. I want more. I want that fullness when I explode. And I’m so damn close.

My body must give me away, the arousal dripping down my legs a perfect match for the saliva on my cheek.

“Do you love me stuffing you full, Sloane? It seems like you do.” He leans forward, pressing his wicked mouth to the top of my bare pussy. “Seems like you’ve been spoiled though.”

His scruff hits all the right nerves as he dusts his mouth over my lower stomach and makes me writhe beneath him. “A spoiled little princess who needs to learn some patience.”

With one last kiss to my navel, he withdraws from my body.

From the bed, from my space, from my mouth.

He leaves me empty, throbbing, and so fucking needy.

“Jasper!” I whimper his name. “Are you kidding me right now?”

I hear the rustling of clothes behind me before he says, “Let’s go, Sunny. We need to hit the road.”

“I just need—"

“Sloane.” The cool tone in his voice stops my hand from sliding further down my body. “I know I don’t need to tell you that you’re only allowed to touch my pussy when I say so.”

I can’t help it. I laugh and throw my hands over my face in exasperation. “Lord help me, Gervais. I wish I could go back and tell my teenage self what she’s in for ten years down the line. She’d have keeled over on the spot.”

I hear his deep chuckle, the one that warms me to my bones. The one that reminds me of the adolescent, bashful version of him. The one that’s still a facet of the complicated man he is today.

“If you go back, make sure you tell her she’s got drool on her face and that it’s time to get her fine ass out of bed.”

“I hate you,” I laugh back at him.

But I always laugh at the wrong moment. And right now I laugh because I don’t hate Jasper at all.

I love him. I love him like that girl ten years ago never could have imagined.





“Are you missing dancing?”

Our conversation started off stilted on our long drive home because all I could think about was holding Jasper down and riding his cock until I got this pesky consuming orgasm out of the way. Eventually his erection subsided and his jeans became less strained. Sadly for me, I think my underwear might not be salvageable.

But then we started talking about hockey, and I got interested in something besides the ache between my legs. He told me about his plans for when he gets back to Calgary. The training. The sports therapy. He eats specific types of meals, which sound like an awful lot of turkey and salmon.