Friends

Chapter 63

A/N: The Book is FINISHED! Read the entirety of it on my Patreon along with other exclusive content if you want to check those out!

Jasmine's POV:

I'm seeing stars.

Like, actual stars—dancing behind my eyelids, twinkling in and out of focus. My head is spinning, but not in a bad way. It's like I've just been dropped from another galaxy, and I'm still trying to find gravity again.

My head feels fuzzy, my vision is spotty, but I feel—alive.

And I know I should feel crazy or something that I'd rather black out, but I don't.

Because I meant it.

I wasn't going to stop. I wasn't going to tap out. He told me yellow, red, wrists—he gave me the out. But I didn't want it.

I would've rather passed out than quit.

There was a kind of conviction in me I've never felt before. Not for a man. Not like this.

It wasn't just the heat or the thrill—it was the safety. The way Marc makes me feel like I'm allowed to go that far, push those limits, and still be held. Still be protected.

That's why I didn't panic. Why I didn't pull away.

Because somewhere deep inside, even while I was seeing stars and drifting to the edge, I knew he'd catch me.

I've never felt that kind of trust in someone's hands before.

He could've broken me—but I knew he wouldn't. And that kind of security? That kind of care, even in the most reckless moment?

It made me willing to go wherever he took me.

Because with him, I know I'll be okay.

With Marc?

I've never felt so wanted. So seen. So completely, utterly consumed.

And not just by his hands or his body—but by his attention. The way he watched every reaction. Adjusted. Matched me stroke for stroke, breath for breath, like we were dancing with fire and neither of us wanted to put it out.

I blink slowly, trying to focus again. My heartbeat is still hammering in my ears, but it's starting to slow.

He's still hovering over me, his expression caught somewhere between awe and guilt.

"Are you okay?" he asks softly, brushing the hair from my face.

And I don't even think before I nod.

"More than okay," I whisper, voice quiet but sure.

Because I am.

And not only am I okay...

I'm more than okay.

Because I felt it. The way his dick pulsed uncontrollably in my hands. The way his whole body tensed like he was trying—and failing—to hold it back. That throbbing pressure building and bursting under my fingertips like he couldn't help but give in to me.

God, I loved that.

I loved every twitch, every pulse, every sound that came out of him.

And then he came.

Hard.

More than I ever expected. More than I've ever seen in real life. It shot out of him like his body had been holding it in for weeks—thick and hot and messy, spilling across my chest, my neck... even my face.

And instead of feeling gross or flustered, all I could feel was proud.

Turned on.

Amazed.

Because I did that.

I forced him to cum. I'm that bitch.

And I never knew how much I'd crave that kind of reaction until now.

Marc leans over, still catching his breath, brushing a stray curl off my cheek with a look that makes my stomach flip.

"You're amazing," he murmurs, his voice still rough, breathless. "You're unreal."

I blink, lips parting slightly as I try to process the words.

I'm unreal? No. You're unreal.

You just came more than I've ever seen in my life, and somehow... you're still hard.

I glance down between us, eyes widening as I take in the way he's still throbbing—heavy, thick, unapologetically hard like he didn't just give me everything a few seconds ago.

It's mesmerizing.

Almost intimidating.

But more than anything... it's hot.

What kind of man cums like that and still has more to give?

My fingers twitch with the urge to wrap around him again, to see if I can get another reaction out of him. To see if he'll break a second time.

Marc pulls back slightly, eyes trailing over me with something between awe and affection. "Let me get a warm towel," he says, already starting to move.

But before he can even get up, I dip my fingers into the mess he left on my chest and cheeks—scooping it up slowly, deliberately.

His eyes freeze on me.

I bring it to my mouth, tasting him.

Warm.

Salty... and yet, surprisingly sweet.

God, why is this so good? Why does everything about him taste good? Feel good? Why does this feel right, like it's mine to take?

I lick the rest from my lips and fingers, not looking away from him once.

It's like I'm savoring victory. But also... claiming him.

Not out of obligation.

Out of want.

Out of something hungrier.

Marc doesn't say anything at first—just watches me with this look in his eyes like I'm the most intoxicating thing he's ever seen. And then, before I can fully process it, he's back on top of me. His weight presses me gently into the couch, not crushing—just grounding. Securing me there.

He kisses me like he needs it to breathe.

Slow at first.

Then deeper.

Hungrier.

I feel the warmth of his breath against my cheek as his lips drag to my ear.

"Your turn," he whispers, voice low, rich, and filled with so much promise that my thighs instinctively press together.

Goosebumps ripple down my arms.

Then his mouth starts its descent—kissing down my jaw... my neck... my collarbone. His lips linger at every curve like he's worshiping it, committing every inch to memory.

By the time he reaches my stomach, I'm already squirming.

Every nerve in my body is pulsing. Every part of me is aching.

He kisses just below my belly button, and then he looks up at me—like he's asking without words.

And all I can do is nod.

Yes. Please. God, yes.

He smirks.

And just like that, I feel something I've never felt before.