Blackout ✓

28 | the little death

A / N :

This update is a bit late because I got major smut-writer's block. I was trying to write this glamourous sex scene, and the characterisation and dialogue suffered for it.

Then as soon as I wrote Viv like Viv and Jamie like Jamie, the filthiest thing I have ever written just poured out. Ever. Like. I don't even think I want to claim this.

(enjoy/good luck/i'll be screaming into my pillow)

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JAMIE TANNER WAS GOING TO be the death of me.

He wasted no time peeling off my lingerie, discarding them over his shoulder like they were merely insignificant scraps of lace. His eyes glinted hungrily when he perused my body, wandering from my face to my breasts, over my navel...

Tracking the movements of Jamie's hazy green irises, I realised he'd refrained from glancing any lower when he was once more making eye contact with me. His face was taut with desire, jaw slack and eyelids heavy. It sent proud shivers all over my body, inspiring that expression.

I wondered if I looked the same, if I'd written my desire across my face in the same visual scrawl as Jamie. Or did I look less awed and more feral?

One solitary finger reached out and journeyed the same path Jamie's stare had blazed, skimming downwards from my temple. A contented sigh left me. When he traced over my lips, I tipped my head back against the pillow—craning for harder pressure, more friction, but his touch was feather-light. Fleeting. Reverent.

I bit my lip at the playful flicker in his eyes, shoving away my impatience and enjoying the show.

I'd always preferred sex with the lights off until Jamie. Even if the men I slept with didn't even know my last name, even if I knew I'd never speak to them again, even if the sex was as impersonal as sex could be—I still felt too exposed, too criticised. But Jamie was my biggest supporter instead of a critic. There was no part of me he hadn't already seen, physical or spiritual.

In the dim light of my desk lamp, I watched Jamie kneeling on the bed, both of my legs splayed on either side of his knees. By the time his forefinger slid down my throat, lingering over my thundering heartbeat, and circled my nipple, it was a combination of internal thoughts and external sensation that sparked a deep tremble in each of my nerves; I love him and I love this in equal proportion.

I grabbed Jamie's wrist and pulled, flattening his palm over my chest. His gentle touches were driving me crazy. "Are you scared I'm going to break or something?"

"No," Jamie murmured amusedly.

"So touch me harder."

Jamie blinked. Then lips stretched into a sly smile.

He braced his weight over me with a muscled forearm planted by my ribs. The scent of his shampoo, of clementines, wafted into my head and crowded out all other thoughts.

With his free hand, he cupped one breast and sucked my nipple into his mouth, his tongue hot against my sensitive skin. The yelp caught at the back of my throat when his hand shifted to the right, squeezing my other nipple with equal intensity. Hard. Electricity shot from my breasts to my pussy.

"God," I wheezed. I pressed my thighs together, achy throbs emanating from my heat.

Jamie only chuckled into my skin, his attention divided. Wonderfully divided in two. I raked my fingers through his silky hair, eyes fluttering shut. With wet kisses trailing down my torso, Jamie made his way further down the mattress. At this moment, I stole a look and my heart spluttered.