It always starts the same way.
Seven past midnight on the dot, and he's always right on time. The one time you always know you'll be able to rely on him.
He always comes.
And you're always waiting, right by the door in the dark foyer, waiting for him to appear on your doorstep.
He never has to knock; the door is open to him before he can even lift a hand. You know you shouldn't, but you can't help it. You never could help yourself when it came to Jake Berkeley.
And so, you let him in.
No salutations, no pleasantries. Nothing except the slamming door echoing in your ears and the slight, addictive pain as his fingers tangle in your hair, pulling you close to claim your lips in a bruising, crushing kiss. Your heart pounds with anticipation, desire, and you can't help but bury your fingers in the fabric of his shirt. Sometimes a tee that would require you to break the kiss in order to remove, but tonight, a simple button-down that you might rip from his muscled torso if you hadn't ruined so many of his shirts like that already.
Your fingers work at his buttons while his hands slip beneath your cotton tank top, smirking against your lips as he finds you braless, nipples pebbled in anticipation. And then you moan as he cups your breasts, teasing those pebbled nipples with his thumbs; you moan, and he chuckles against your lips.
He paws at you as if it might be the last time he touches you – even though you both know it won't. Your hands aren't innocent, though; they roam over his body, your nails scraping over his muscles and drawing a gasp from his mouth. And then it really begins.
"So sexy," he growls, sending what are guaranteed not to be the last of the shivers that night through your body. His lips close over your throat and you moan quietly, knowing that you're his now – not that you were ever not his, but that's not the point. He's in control, and you know it.
His body presses you against the door, hot and hard and completely, utterly Jake. Greedy kisses and roaming hands continue, leaving you dizzy, overpowered by the scent of him, the sensation of his body against yours.
You tremble uncontrollably; your chest heaves as you gasp for air, not finding it but finding something much more potent, much more necessary as Jake's strong hands shove at your pants until they fall from your hips. His mouth covers yours, muffling the cry you issue as his fingers slip past the hem of your panties, sneaking lower and lower until he finds you. Warm, wet, needy.
His tongue pushes its way past your lips as his fingers plunge into you below, making you moan against his lips. Your own trembling hands struggle with the zipper of his jeans, unable to keep much of a hold on anything while his fingers drive you hard to the edge of oblivion. You know what he's doing; he's trying to drive you crazy, and you also know damn well that he's going to succeed, whether you want it or not.
But there was never a time that you didn't want it. Never a time that you didn't want his body against yours, never a time that you didn't want his tongue battling with yours. Never a time that you didn't want to feel him deep inside of you as you both raced toward the precipice.
That thought driving you, you manage to undo all three of your obstacles- his belt, button, and zipper, a monumental feat considering what he's doing to you. His thumb presses hard against your clit, leaving your knees buckling and your mind melting. He does it again, and again, and again and you cry out, forcing your mouths apart so you can breathe or at least attempt to.
"Jake!" You gasp, too far gone to make yourself care about the lusty, cocky glint in his eyes. Too far gone to care about the desperate lilt in your voice as you babble against his sweet torment, begging him for more, for just a little more, for that release that dances so close to your grasp, yet completely outside of your control.
"What do you want?" he growls, his voice hitching on the last word as your fingers wrap around him. He shudders momentarily as you give him a devilish squeeze, but brushes it off and instead doubles his assault on your senses, your arousal, making you lose your hold on him completely.
He twists his wrist, changing the angle of his fingers, and suddenly you're crying out louder than before. Once more, he's found your spot, that spot, and suddenly your body is squirming against him with every thrust of his fingers. "Jake – Jake – please!" you babble, the words lost in a jumble of moans and whimpers and pleading cries. You scratch at his skin, his shoulders, his back, his hair, anything you can reach, but it does nothing to coax him into granting you release. "Jake…"
Leaning forward, he nibbles at your collarbone, knowing that it's one of your many weaknesses – your entire body may as well be your weakness against his hands, his lips. Moaning loudly, you call out his name, your voice shaking more than you'd like to admit. You need him, and badly.
But Jake only smirks, swiping his tongue across your skin. "Tell me," he murmurs, his breath hot against your flushed skin.
And by now, it's all you can do to see straight, let alone ignore his command. By now, it's no longer a battle against giving him what he wants; you're begging him to take it. Begging him to take you. And you can't even feel the least bit shameful as the words tumble uninhibited from your mouth. All you want is to feel him deep inside you, thrusting hard and fast and the way you know you both need. Your thighs quiver at the prospect, and a low moan slips from your swollen lips as you feel his teeth scrape lightly over the junction between your shoulder and your throat.
He needs not to be told twice. With a smirk that under any other circumstances would've had you blushing, he grips at your hips with his strong hands, and you wrap your arms around him as he lifts you up. Your legs automatically wrap around his waist, and simultaneously you both moan, you feeling his hard length against you, him feeling your heat.
One second passes, then two, then a couple more. And then you open your mouth to protest the wait, but all that comes out is a soft cry as you finally get what you've wanted – needed – this entire time. Your head goes back against the door as he thrusts deep, filling you in one stroke. "Fuck, Calleigh," he groans, and you can't help but feel a little smug in knowing that you affect him just as much as he affects you.
But you don't get the chance to linger on that. Before you can even physically react, Jake moves.
No sweet preamble, no slow easing into a rhythm, and you're so close that you doubt you could handle that anyway. He grips your hips and pushes hard, setting a demanding, ceaseless rhythm. In and out, in and out again and soon the foyer is filled with low grunts and drawn-out moans, pleas and cries, whimpers and gasps.
Your hands bury themselves in his hair, gripping at it so tightly that Jake grunts and thrusts even harder, leaving you wondering whether you'll even remember your own name at the end. He closes his mouth over the pulse point in your throat, sucking hard enough to leave a mark, but you don't care as long as he doesn't stop. You're delirious, desperate, your body so close to the breaking point. With every thrust you cry out, sometimes his name, sometimes a plea, other times a wordless shout as you find yourself unable to articulate.
Without even realizing it, you tug at his hair and direct his lips away from your throat and to your own mouth. He doesn't protest; his kiss is greedy; hungry, and it sends shivers racing down the length of your spine. Your body feels as though on fire; burning with lust for this man, and it's a fire that you don't want to ever have put out.
His tongue engages in a battle with yours, clashing together much like the motion of your hips. It's rough, brutal, even, but you can't even bring yourself to care. All you want is more.
"You're close." It's not a question as he tears his lips from yours, much to your disdain. Doesn't have to be a question – he knows damn well just how close you are; knows how to keep you there too if he doesn't get what he wants. You hate that about him…but you don't know how to subsist without it. Your eyes are clouded over with lust; your skin flushed with sweat as the heat between your thighs continues to grow and grow. Droplets of sweat bead over Jake's lip, and all you want is to lean forward and swipe your tongue across it, tasting salt and heat and Jake, but you can barely do more than hold on as his hips piston against yours, thrusting faster, deeper, harder.
You gasp for air as his hardness strikes your spot, and immediately you see the cocky flash in Jake's eyes. He's got you right where he wants you and he knows it, and knows that you enjoy every last minute of it. "Jake," you gasp on a sharp intake of air, your nails digging into his shoulders.
He gazes deep into your eyes, his own eyes dark and wild with desire as the words tumble from his mouth, a growled command from those lips that you just can't get enough of. "Come for me."
You whimper his name, your body trembling uncontrollably as you balance on the edge, needing just that one push to send you flying over. With a deep grunt, he leans forward and you gasp in anticipation. His lips wrap around your earlobe, sucking and nipping and if he hadn't been holding you up, you know you would've tumbled to the ground in a quivering, needy heap. Crying out, you feel him chuckle as he releases your earlobe, his warm breath feeling fire-hot to the dampened skin. "Come for me," he whispers once more, breathing as hard and as heavily as you.
And it's all you need. One more thrust and you're flying over the edge, his name on your lips as you come hard around him, feeling his thrusts become erratic, hearing his grunts become low moans as your muscles coax him to that point as well. Lost in the throes of your own climax, there's very little you can concentrate on, but you hear the moan of your name as it leaves his lips all too clearly as he comes inside of you, his body twitching and jerking erratically with his climax.
It always ends the same way.
Kisses to your collarbone, your jaw, your temples.
Fingers clasped together.
Kisses exchanged from parting lips between deep breaths of air.
His fingers gently stroking your damp hair back from your face.
Soft whispers, quiet sighs.
And only when breath has been caught and heartrates returned to normal does he pull out of you, eliciting a low whimper of protest from your kiss-swollen lips. But rather than set you back on your feet, Jake pulls you close, tucking your head against his shoulder where you happily close your eyes, feeling him stroke your back as he walks.
He continues to whisper to you, but the parts of your brain capable of processing words may as well have been melted. You know nothing but sensation, until he slowly lays you on your bed, covers already turned down for you. And as he tucks you in and kisses your forehead and turns to leave, you whisper the only three words your brain can comprehend at that moment.
"Stay with me…"
You never have to ask twice.
And you always fall asleep with his arms around you, your head tucked against his chest, his heartbeat echoing distantly in your ears.
But you wake to emptiness.
Empty bed, no note, no sign that he'd ever been there at all save for the permanent scent of him that lingers within your sheets. But even so, as your eyes open to find bright sunlight and no Jake, you don't feel lost. Helpless. Confused. None of that.
You've never been able to predict anything about him before…until this. And you know beyond a shadow of a doubt that he'll be back. Back to assault your mouth with kisses, back to take you against whatever surface you manage to be closest to, back to complete you, even if just for the night; back to carry your exhausted body caringly up the stairs and to bed, back to tuck you in and hold you while you sleep, back to whisper words of affection to carry you through to daybreak.
And you'll wake alone, starting the sequence all over again.
It's a vicious cycle, a brutal game of lust with no end in sight.
But you're addicted.
And instead of walking away as you know you should, you're there, waiting again by your door for him the very next night.