Friends

Chapter 65

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:

"Fuck, Daddy—I'm about to cum."

I don't even recognize my own voice. It's breathless, high-pitched, raw.

I don't know what Marc is doing with his tongue and his fingers, but I've never felt anything like it. Nothing this intense. This deliberate. It's not just the way he moves—it's how in tune he is with every reaction my body gives. Like he's orchestrating a symphony and I'm the only instrument that matters.

There's a pressure building inside me—huge, mounting, inevitable.

Like a ball of heat swelling up in the pit of my stomach, growing tighter and tighter until there's nowhere else for it to go but out.

And then it does.

It explodes.

I see stars.

My toes curl, my spine arches, and a scream rips through my throat. But even as I let go, my body keeps trembling, wave after wave crashing through me like I'm being electrocuted by pleasure.

Everything goes white for a moment.

Just for a second, I swear I black out.

And when I come back to myself, I'm breathless, weightless, floating in the aftershocks.

I look down and he's still there—still watching me. His face glistening with me, his eyes locked on mine with a look that says he's not even close to finished.

And all I can think is: fuck.

I've never felt this alive.

"It's too much," I whisper, voice trembling.

My clit is throbbing—so sensitive from cumming that every stroke of his tongue feels like a jolt straight through me. It's tender, raw, almost too much to bear—but at the same time, it's addicting. I can't pull away. I don't want to.

Usually, after I cum, there's a break. A pause. A moment to breathe and come down from the high.

But not with Marc.

There's no recovery. No reprieve.

If anything, the intensity only builds.

I feel him insert a second finger and I gasp—shocked, overstimulated. And then his mouth is back on me, even more ravenous than before.

He's not giving me space to come down. He's dragging me back up.

I try to move—try to run from the sensation, the pressure that's already forming again—but he doesn't let me.

His arm wraps around my thigh, locking me in place.

He's holding me there, determined.

And I know what's coming.

I'm about to cum again.

The ball is swelling up inside me again, ready to burst.

"Don't run," he growls. "You were talking all that shit earlier—take it."

"Yes, Daddy," I whimper, trying to hold still.

There's a fire in me now—part fear, part lust. For the first time ever, I've never been dominated like this before.

I've always been stubborn. I've always pushed boundaries and gotten away with it. No one ever held me accountable in the bedroom—no one ever made me yield.

But Marc?

He doesn't let me run. Doesn't let me get away with defiance. He puts me in my place.

And I like it.

Marc's energy makes me submissive. Makes me want to obey.

Every fiber of my body is screaming, but I force myself to stay still. To look at him.

Because I know if I don't, he'll punish me.

And the thought of that only turns me on more.

The pressure builds—higher, tighter, hotter—and this time when it explodes, it shatters me.

It's electric—like lightning shooting through my veins, short-circuiting every nerve in my body. I can't think. I can't breathe. My legs lock around his head, and my fingers claw at anything I can reach. I'm trembling uncontrollably, completely at the mercy of every pulse, every aftershock.

It's like my body is numb and overstimulated all at once—everywhere he touches is too much, and yet I'm aching for more. My skin is on fire, my mind is blank, and all I can do is ride the wave as it crashes again and again, tearing me apart in the best way possible.

But even in the middle of the pleasure, I realize I'm struggling to breathe.

My chest tightens, not with fear, but with the sheer force of sensation. It's like I can't catch my breath, like every gasp is stolen by the next surge of ecstasy. I try to speak, to say something—anything—but nothing comes out. I'm drowning in it.

And Marc doesn't stop.

He's still devouring me, still relentless. There's no space to recover, no time to come down. It's like he knows I'm on the edge and he wants to keep me there, suspended in this place where it's all too much and not enough at the same time.

I'm helpless now. His tongue and fingers have me paralyzed

It's like I've left my body—watching from somewhere else as I'm consumed, overwhelmed, wrecked by pleasure. I want to move, want to speak, want to breathe—but I can't.

All I can do is feel.

My third orgasm barrels through me without warning, even bigger than the last.

Time stops.

I don't know how long I've been holding my breath—it feels like hours—but just as the climax peaks, Marc finally lets up.

Air rushes into my lungs like I'm breaking through the surface of water.

And I scream.

I scream like I've been holding it in the whole time.

"Oh my God," I cry out, my voice shaking with release.

My entire body trembles uncontrollably—every muscle twitching, every nerve lit up.

I can't stop shaking.

I swear I can feel a heartbeat on my clit

And all I can do is lay there, wrecked, breathless, undone.

Before I can fully catch my breath, Marc's voice cuts through the fog of my overstimulated mind.

"Get up," he growls, his voice low and rough. "I'm not done with you."

My eyes flutter open, barely able to focus. My limbs feel like jelly. My body is still buzzing, twitching in the aftermath of everything he just put me through. I'm limp. Boneless. Spent.

But something in his tone—commanding, possessive, hungry—ignites another spark in me.

Still, the only thought I can string together is:

For the first time in my life, I don't think I can keep up.