Friends

Chapter 42

A/N: Chapter 43-85 along with other exclusive content can be found on my Patreon!

Marcqwuan's POV:

We're pulling out of the parking lot, and I'm completely sober. The cool night air helped, but the weight of what just happened in the car...that sobered me up faster than anything.

Jasmine sits beside me, doing exactly what I told her to. The willpower it takes to keep my eyes on the road instead of watching the masterpiece next to me—it's unreal.

All I hear is heavy breathing. Wet, rhythmic sounds that remind me of stirring macaroni and cheese. The soft moans spilling from her lips send goosebumps down my arms.

This is the longest five minutes of my life.

And now, as we pull into the driveway, her moans grow louder. Her breath quickens. She's close—so close.

She did what I told her to. Every. Damn. Second of it. And the way she responded...

I throw the car in park just as her breath hitches—sharp and shallow.

And then I hear it.

A gasp. A soft whimper. Then a low, broken moan as her body shudders beside me.

She's coming.

Right there in the passenger seat.

And she's not trying to hide it.

Her thighs tense. One hand grips the edge of her seat, the other disappears between her legs, slowing but not stopping. Her eyes are shut tight, lips parted, her chest rising in shallow, stuttering breaths.

Fuck.

I've never seen anything more beautiful.

She finishes with a quiet, shaky exhale—like her body's finally allowed to let go. Her head tips back against the seat, eyes fluttering open, dazed but glowing.

She looks over at me, and for a second, neither of us speak.

We don't need to.

I can feel it radiating off her—what just happened wasn't just physical. It was trust.

I unbuckle my seatbelt slowly, lean over, and brush my lips against her jaw—not to tease, not to dominate—but to let her know I see her.

"Let's go inside," I murmur, voice low. "We're not done."

I open the door and step out first, walking around to her side. She's still sitting there, legs pressed together, breath steadying—but her eyes are glassy.

She swings the door open and stands—wobbly.

I catch her before she can stumble.

"Whoa," I say, steadying her with both hands on her waist. "You alright?"

She blinks up at me, smiling. "Yeah... just a little dizzy."

More than a little.

She leans into me like her body's finally admitting it can't hold itself up.

I wrap an arm around her and guide her toward the apartment, every step telling me more than words could. She's not falling over—but her balance is off, and she's giggling at nothing. Her fingers tighten around my arm like she knows it too.

I exhale slowly.

She's drunk. Really drunk.

And as much as I want her—still do, still aching for her—this changes things.