Friends

Chapter 71

A/N: The book is FINISHED! You can read the entire story on my Patreon. I also post exclusive standalone smut scenes for free there if you just want to read those.

Jasmine's POV:

Twenty minutes.

My mind still can't wrap around that number.

It feels impossible. Unreal. Because my body feels like it's been through hours—no, days—of the most intense, raw, soul-shattering sex of my life. And all of it happened in twenty minutes.

I'm laying there, limp and trembling, still trying to catch my breath. My thighs are sticky, my chest is flushed, and my skin is buzzing like electricity is trapped beneath the surface. Every inch of me feels like it's been touched, tasted, devoured. I can still feel the echo of him inside me. That steady throb—not just from the orgasms, but from the heartbeat between my legs. It's pulsing, almost like it's alive.

And I can still feel him, too. Marc. His presence. His weight. His scent. The heat of his body next to mine. I'm so used to being the one with energy left over. The one rolling her eyes, wondering why my partner is already knocked out. But now?

I'm the one fighting sleep.

My eyelids are heavy, my body too spent to move. I feel like I ran a marathon I wasn't trained for, like every nerve ending is short-circuiting, trying to recover from everything he just did to me.

And the crazy part? I loved all of it.

This was more than just sex. This was everything I'd read about in the books—the scenes I used to think were exaggerated or unrealistic. The kind of sex where someone studies your body like a map and explores it like they have all the time in the world. Someone who's attentive and creative. Someone who's confident enough to take the lead, to match your freak, to put you in your place, and still look at you like you're precious.

I thought that kind of sex was fantasy.

Turns out I just had to wait for the right person.

Marc didn't just match my energy. He exceeded it. He stretched the limits of what I thought I could handle, and then went even further. I always thought I could go on and on for hours. I thought I had the highest tolerance for pleasure. But three orgasms before penetration? Multiple after that? In twenty minutes?

I've never been this wrecked. Never been this full. Never been this completely undone.

And what fucks me up the most is the comparison. Because for so long, Kendrick was my standard. My benchmark. I told myself he was the best I'd ever had, and I clung to that like it meant something. Like it made our relationship more valid. Like it gave all the pain some kind of worth.

But now?

Now I know better.

Marc didn't just raise the bar. He obliterated it.

And that makes me happy. Giddy, even. Because it means there is better. It means I'm moving on to something richer, deeper, more satisfying. But there's also this quiet ache in my chest—a grief for the girl who believed she had already reached the peak. Who settled for less because she thought that was all there was.

She was wrong.

And thank God for that.

Because this?

This is everything.

And it's only been twenty minutes.

And now, as if the universe needed to drive the point home even harder, Marc leans over and gently wipes me clean.