Puck The Halls | Jack Hughes

FIFTEEN

MIRACLE
_______________

heavy smut warning

"JACK," HIS NAME SLIPS FROM MY LIPS BEFOFE I CAN STOP IT. He's hovering over me, his frame radiating warmth that makes my skin tingle. He looks gorgeous, from the mess of his hair to the deep blue of his eyes that enrapture me. He's got this tiny grin on his lips that I've seen a million times before, a smile that I love. Slowly, agonisingly so, his fingers trail down the skin of my neck, brushing over my collarbone, down my chest, into the canal of my breasts.

My breath hitches at the feeling, and suddenly, he's looking up at me through his lashes.

"Jack," I whisper again, arching my back, brining our bodies up to meet. There's no barrier between us, no clothes, and I subconsciously run my hands over the bare skin of his tanned chest.

He presses a gentle kiss to the spot below my ear, whispering. "Patience, pretty girl."

"I-I can't," I tell him, once again trying to bring us together. He chuckles, low and wondrous, the sound vibrating in my chest, then his fingers are brushing over my skin again, feather like and gentle. Teasing me, but also breathing life into me. "Please, Jack."

His lips are grazing my skin, blessing me with his touch. He's trailing them down my stomach, over the skin of my hips, kissing my waist and hip bones and the dip of my thighs.

Looking up at me with a lust so deep I have to remind myself how to breathe, he says. "I love every inch of you, Miracle."

And that's how I know this was a dream, because, in real life, Jack would never say those words to me, would never worship me the way he was now. The feeling of his hands gripping my hips, his breath causing goosebumps on my skin, all of it felt so real, but it wasn't.

I didn't want to wake up, not even, not if my dreams were like this. He pressed his lips to another tender place on my skin, teasing me relentlessly.

"Jack," I begged, my voice soft, distant. "Don't stop."

"Wouldn't dream of it," he responded, fingers brushing the inside of my thigh. He blinked up at me, silently asking for permission, but he didn't need to, because my answer would always be yes. I nod regardless, pushing my hips up to meet his lips, and earning another one of his tiny smiles that I loved so much.

His tongue is flat against me before I can ask for it, working at a pace that has me shaking, my thighs clenching and my hands fisting the sheets. His fingers find their way inside me next, pushing in and out so slowly I can feel every inch of him.

I can feel myself coming for him, breathlessly moaning his name, and my eyes snap open, revealing my dark bedroom, and no Jack. My heart pounds as the undeniable ache between my legs continues to torture me.

I want to call him, to tell him to come over, to ask him to help me, but it's six in the morning, and he would definitely still be asleep.

And so, with a pounding heart, I slip two of my own fingers between my legs, cursing myself for not being able to reach places that he could. Knowing that his fingers were bigger, and they'd do a better job. His name tumbles from my lips freely, so many times I lose count, and I'm fucking myself so hard I have to bite down on my spare wrist, and clench my eyes closed.

God I want him, I wish he'd just walk in, see the mess I'd made of myself, clean me up, fuck me properly. But that wasn't going to happen, so this is what I've got.

By the time I'm done, it's nearly seven, and I truly have made a mess, thanks to the boy next door. I sigh to myself, knowing the house would be asleep still, and that if I worked quickly, I could clean up without going noticed.