Chapter 233: 'Don’t You Want Me Too?'

The words stopped Jordan completely.

He’d already been tempted past reason, and those shyly spoken, unmistakably inviting words did absolutely nothing to help him regain control.

"You..."

His voice came out rough.

"...You’re sure?"

Aren swallowed, then nodded.

"...Don’t you want me too?"

The question felt so much like a challenge that a short, helpless laugh tore from his throat.

"Oh, God, Aren."

Words alone couldn’t possibly convey how much he wanted her.

The daisy panties finally came off and landed on the floor. He rose onto his knees and moved closer, resting the thick length of his cock against her swollen, glistening pussy.

"God knows how much I want you."

The contact made both of them inhale sharply. He was hot and heavy against her, the rigid underside of his cock sliding over her wet folds, and Aren stared down as if mesmerized by the sight.

"Not just here."

His face had grown redder, his expression more strained as he dragged his cock slowly along her slit, letting the tip brush her clit in a way that made her stomach tighten.

"Not just inside you."

He tapped the head of his cock against her pussy, almost as if punishing that warm, wet place for making him ache so badly.

"Every bit of you."

Aren felt caught in that moment, pinned beneath his words as much as his body. He looked thick enough to hurt, and yet the weight of him rubbing against her clit made her thoughts blur until fear and want became almost indistinguishable.

"Jordan..."

Her body clenched around nothing.

"...Please."

That was all it took.

He’d never liked making her wait, and now he couldn’t wait much longer himself.

His hands settled on her thighs, parting them a little wider, careful despite the urgency burning through him. When he guided the tip of his cock to her entrance, he did so with deliberate care. Aren held her breath as she watched him.

She was wet and waiting, open for him, hot enough that he could feel her before he was even inside. But when he pushed forward, the true challenge began.

"Fuck—"

The word broke out of him as soon as the head of his cock slipped in.

She was warm. Wet. Tight in a way that stole the air from his lungs. Just the first inch inside her was enough to make him gasp, every nerve in his body drawn toward that impossible grip.

’So this is what it feels like.’

He’d never known a woman’s intimate heat, never known the way a pussy could cling to him so completely. Already harder than he’d ever been, he was nearly undone by the sensation.

Beneath him, Aren was overwhelmed by the stretch too.

Her mouth opened soundlessly. Her fingers tightened against the sofa. The fullness was startling, almost too much at first, but the ache quickly became a deep, trembling need.

"Jordan..."

Her eyes lifted to his, hazy and pleading, begging him to move even as her body struggled to adjust.

"Please, Jordan."

Her voice was just as pleading.

"Go deeper. A little deeper."

There couldn’t have been a greater temptation in life. Jordan was certain of it.

No divine trial, no impossible challenge, could have matched the way she looked beneath him at that moment, flushed and open and asking for more of him.

Sweat dampened his forehead, and he had to brace himself to keep from driving in all at once. Instead, he forced himself to move slowly, inch by inch, giving her body time to take him and himself a chance to stay in control.

’Oh God.’

His muscles strained.

’I’m barely inside and she’s already killing me.’

He was not going to come early.

There was no way he was going to come early.

But every warning he’d ever heard about a man’s first time suddenly felt viciously true.

He took a deep breath and pushed in a little deeper, then deeper still, trying to steady himself against the tight, slick grip of her pussy. It clung to every inch of his cock like some impossible, seductive vise, sending sensation through him so sharply that his vision almost blurred.

Worse than that, she started moaning.

Softly.

Sweetly.

So damn cutely it hurt.

"Yes, Jordan..." she gasped. "Yes."

His cock throbbed hard inside her.

So hard he had to squeeze her thighs to anchor himself.

Unfortunately, there was no mercy in staying still. No relief in remaining there, buried in her heat while both of them trembled. So Jordan gathered his courage, drew back slowly, and pushed in again.

This time, he went deep enough that her back arched off the sofa in surprise.

"Hah—"

The little broken sound startled him so badly that he froze.

"Aren." He searched her face, panic cutting through the haze of pleasure. "Are you okay? Aren."

She blinked up at him, then let out a small, breathless laugh.

"I’m okay." Her hands slid over his forearms, stroking them gently. "You’re doing really well, Jordan."

Disbelief flickered across his face.

"Am I?"

"Yes." Her hips shifted beneath him, testing the way his cock moved inside her, and her lashes fluttered. "Please. I wanna feel you more."

Jordan groaned, the sound almost a helpless laugh. In every fantasy he’d ever had, he’d imagined this.

Or he’d thought he had.

But nothing in his imagination had prepared him for the reality of Aren beneath him, wet and flushed and asking for more in that trembling voice. With her permission given again, and no part of him willing to leave her aching like this, he began to move with more confidence.

The first few thrusts were careful, slow enough for him to feel every inch of her. The drag of her pussy around his cock made his jaw tighten. Each time he sank back into her, her body yielded a little more, accepting him, pulling him deeper.

"Ah! Hah—Jordan!"

Her moans grew louder.

"Ah, Jordan, please—"

That was when his restraint began to fray. He leaned down and kissed her, swallowing her next cry while his hips drove into her more firmly.

"Yes, Aren," he breathed against her lips. "Keep moaning like that. Keep saying my name. I wanna hear you say my name."

Aren did exactly what he asked.

His name left her again and again, sometimes clear, sometimes broken by gasps, sometimes nothing more than a desperate little sound against his mouth.

Jordan’s control thinned with every one.

He fucked her harder.

Deeper.

Somewhere in the blur of it, his hands found the hem of her shirt, dragging it up with impatient urgency.

"Please, Aren," he begged. "I wanna touch more of you."

"...All right."

She lifted herself enough to help him, still panting as he pulled the fabric away and tossed it aside. Her bra followed soon after, his fingers clumsy with need until she was bare beneath him.

The sight nearly ruined him.

’Oh, fuck.’

Her breasts moved with every thrust, soft and flushed, her nipples hard from arousal and the cool air. His hands came to them at once, squeezing with a reverence that couldn’t disguise his hunger.

’God, I wanna make you feel so damn good.’

’So damn good, Aren.’

He kissed her again, thrust harder, unable to decide whether he wanted to devour her mouth, touch every part of her, or bury himself so deeply inside her that neither of them could think.

Aren came apart beneath all of it.

Her body opened to him completely, no longer shy in the way she moved against him.

"Yes, Jordan."

Her hips lifted to meet his.

"That feels so good."

Her hands clutched at his back.

"Please, a little faster."

Jordan’s control thinned to a thread.

"...You want faster?"

"Yes."

She nodded, her eyes wet and dazed.

"I want you faster inside me."

Jordan gave a rough, overwhelmed laugh, then tightened his grip on her thighs.

"God."

His hips snapped forward, his thrusts faster and more relentless, the sound of skin against skin filling the room.

"Here’s faster, Aren."

"Ah—"

She cried out, her back arching, her breasts pressing against his chest as pleasure tore through her in sharp, rising waves.

Her moans came so close to his ear now, soft and helpless, each little sound making him bite down hard on his lip to hold back the urge to come.

He could feel it in her.

The way her pussy tightened around him. The way her breath kept catching. The way her fingers tugged at his hair as if she no longer knew where to put her hands.

"Please, Aren."

He ground the words out against her mouth.

"Let go, Aren. Come for me. Please, come for me."

Her thighs tightened around him.

"Jordan, I... I—"

"Don’t hold it back."

He drove into her again.

"Come all over me, Aren. Come as much as you want."

"Ah—!"

She came beneath him with a broken cry, her whole body trembling, her pussy clenching so hard he nearly lost himself then and there.

"Urgh—God, Aren—"

Jordan groaned, burying his face against her neck as he fought the urge to spill inside her. He kept moving through it, panting, feeling every flutter of her orgasm around him.

"Oh God..."

His voice was ruined.

"I don’t think I can hold it much longer."

He really couldn’t.

He pulled out with a rough gasp, his hand closing around his cock. He stroked himself once, twice, and then pleasure crashed through him with such force that his whole body locked.

"Hargh—"

His face tightened, his mouth open in a soundless cry.

For a moment, he could do nothing but watch his cum spill over Aren’s bare stomach while she lay beneath him, flushed and panting, looking completely dazed from the pleasure he’d given her.

"Hah... hah..."

He braced himself over her, his whole body shaking with each breath.

"I’m... I’m so sorry, Aren."

He panted.

"I... I couldn’t hold it. You felt too good. I should’ve... I should’ve..."

Confusion crept through the lingering haze of Aren’s pleasure. She lifted one trembling hand to his face and stroked his cheek gently.

"...What do you mean?"

He leaned into her touch, still caught somewhere between bliss and guilt.

"I mean... I should’ve... I wish I’d lasted much longer. Made you feel good for longer. But I..."

Aren frowned, her confusion deepening.

She couldn’t quite make sense of what he meant. He’d made her feel good. He’d come too, which was a desired objective. And here he was, apologizing for coming almost at the same time as her.

"Jordan..."

She stroked his face again, more gently this time.

"You made me feel really good. So please don’t be sorry."

The reassurance brought a small, relieved smile to his face. He bent down and kissed her for it. Her cheek, her lips, her jaw, her neck — soft, scattered kisses pressed everywhere he could reach, as if his body still had too much feeling inside it and nowhere else to put it.

"...It was good?"

"It was really, really good." Her smile grew a little shy. "...Was it good for you too?"

"Oh God, Aren..." He gave a hoarse laugh, still struggling to breathe. "You don’t even have to ask. It was so good I came too early."

Aren blinked.

"That was early?"

He gave a weak laugh.

"I don’t know. Perhaps."

She considered it with a seriousness that made his chest ache.

"Hmm... I don’t think it was."

"No?"

"No."

Jordan kissed her shoulder, ridiculously happy.

"Then that’s good."

His kisses scattered over her skin until, eventually, his strength gave out and he collapsed onto the sofa beside her.

He wrapped his arms around her bare waist, his hand drifting over her stomach in slow, absent strokes, his mind still lost somewhere above the ceiling.

Aren was no better.

This was supposed to have been a break, and yet they’d spent themselves completely. Going back to the workshop now felt less like returning to work and more like being torn out of a dream they’d barely begun to share.

For once, her usual love of weapons and work did not win.

She didn’t want to go back at all.

She wanted to stay exactly like this, naked on the sofa, with Jordan holding her from behind and his fingers stroking her skin as if he still couldn’t quite believe she was there.

"Jordan?"

"Hm?"

She reached down and touched the hand moving over her stomach.

"Would you like to come see my next fight? I’d love to have you there for my first endurance match. Well... mostly because of the desserts afterward."

Jordan was still panting, but he nodded against her shoulder.

"I’ll try to arrange my schedule. Surely it’s another easy fifty million for me. I wouldn’t say no."

Aren chuckled softly.

"I’m afraid it’s not that easy anymore. Since I’ve won so many times, the odds have changed quite a bit. Some people even suspect my matches are staged, and they’ve complained so much that Mister Castellano has started suggesting I compete at a different venue to prove otherwise."

Jordan felt his pleasant mood sour at the mention of "Mister Castellano."

"A different venue?"

"Yeah." Aren nodded. "Perhaps at fight clubs outside the Castellano chain. And I’ll be facing their fighters too."

For some reason, Jordan didn’t like the sound of that. Though he now had a better idea of the true extent of her skill, the prospect still sat poorly with him.

"I’ll arrange it with Ricci and make sure I can come." He tightened his hold around her, already calculating how much extra work he’d have to do to free up that evening. "Hopefully I can get a night off without him complaining for the next full week."

Aren gave it some thought.

"Maybe we can go back to the workshop and ask him together. Ricci must be sending people to find us by now."

Jordan felt as if the words had physically struck him.

He dragged a hand down his face, suddenly imagining Ricci sending soldiers through the halls, having them reported missing, or standing in the workshop with that flat, terrifying expression of his.

"Yeah..."

He let out a rough breath.

"Perhaps we really should go back."

Reluctantly, he pushed himself up, only to discover one very specific problem.

His cock was still hard.

Jordan stared down at himself.

’Fuck.’

’Why isn’t it going down?’

When his gaze drifted back to Aren, she was still lying partly turned away from him, naked and flushed, her skin marked with faint redness where his hands had gripped her thighs.

Worse yet, her ass curved softly beneath his gaze, too close, too tempting, still carrying the heat of what they’d just done.

His throat worked.

"...Aren."

His hand reached for her before his better judgment could stop him. He squeezed her ass gently, then with a little more need.

"Do you, um..."

His face burned.

"...Do you think we could call in sick?"

Aren turned to look at him in surprise.

"Call in sick? Jordan, are you feeling unwell?"

"No. It’s not like that." He hurried to explain, then immediately regretted everything. "No, never mind. It’s nothing."

"Jordan?" Concern softened her face. "Are you sure you’re all right?"

She pushed herself up, turning toward him to check.

That was when she saw his cock.

Still hard.

Still standing upright against his stomach, thick and flushed and unmistakably unsatisfied.

Her gaze paused.

’...Oh.’

’I see.’

Based on her limited but rapidly expanding experience, that seemed to mean one thing.

’He’s not satisfied.’

Without hesitation, she climbed over him before he could think of a way to stop her. She settled across his lap, straddling him with her knees on either side of his hips.

Jordan went completely rigid.

Her breasts were so close that if he lifted his head even a little, he could take one of her nipples into his mouth. He tried very hard not to focus on that problem, because there was already a much bigger one.

She was rubbing her wet slit along the length of his cock.

Slowly.

Experimentally.

The slick glide of her pussy over him made his head spin.

"Aren..."

He grabbed the sofa hard enough to strain the fabric.

"Y-you want to...?"

"Yes," she said simply, already reaching between them to take his cock in her hand.

She started stroking him, and Jordan threw his head back, unable to hold back a groan.

"Urgh, Aren—"

"You still don’t seem sufficiently satisfied," she said, as though identifying a practical flaw in a machine. "That might be a problem even if we go back to the workshop. So I thought perhaps we could handle this problem first. Don’t worry. I’ll explain to Ricci later."

Jordan’s eyes went wide, partly at how bold she was, partly at how badly that boldness turned him on. But there was one tiny, particularly troublesome detail in her proposal that concerned him more than anything else.

"Aren, wait a moment, about Ricci—"

It was too late.

She’d already lifted her hips and sunk down onto his cock, stealing the last of his coherent thoughts.