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jakeyt · 1 month

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Covet: Chapter 11 (Sneak Peek)

a/n: this is only half of what this scene is in chapter 11... buuuut, this is a scene that has been imagined for a hot damn second... and i kind of went crazy with it when it came time to write it. soooo, here's a (long ass) sneak peek of the scene that's been planned as a reunion of sorts for our two (angsty) romantics <3

i hope it's enough to tide you over until chapter 11 drops. and, ohhhh friends.... chapter 11..... it's a doozy (that includes something that many have been itching for... what could it be?)

buuut, until then, here is your little taste (🤭) of chapter 11!!

Warnings: smut (18+ MINORS DNI); oral (f! receiving); pregnancy; insecurities; anxiety; slight jealousy, i guess?; pregnancy hormones out the wah-zoo lmao (emotions, libido, etc)

-🌼🌼🌼-

“Oh, so you didn’t get it out of your system with Maya that night?” You clipped, not ready to just ignore the fact that you’d had to suffer through that shit. How damn livid you’d been.

“I was angry, and she was there for me,” he explained, before sighing deeply. You could imagine he was shaking his head with the action. “But I was thinking of you. You and your beautiful fucking body that’s growing my kid.”

God. You felt your core flex and continue to drip with arousal at his words. You were not in the mood to be the one in the right anymore. You didn’t want to be smart about your choices. . . you wanted his mouth on you and you wanted to let him do whatever the fuck he had in mind.

It would be one time.

And. . . . it would technically be him helping you to benefit the baby. . . the less stressed you were, the less stress the baby felt. And God only knew how fuckin’ stressed you were lately.

And there was only one way–one person–you wanted to relieve that right now.

Fuck morality.

“Who’s to say you’ll want me when you actually see me like this?” You genuinely wondered.

You couldn’t believe you were actually giving this fucking idea any substance. There really was no way it could end well.

But your thoughts just kept trailing to how it could end well. . . very well. . . With you moaning his name as you finished against his tongue or around his cock . . .just for tonight. And, dirty as it would be to her, technically Maya did tell him to help with whatever you needed, so it wasn’t entirely against her wishes.

Although, you were one thousand percent sure this was not what she meant. . . . at all.

“Try me,” he challenged, voice rasping with the two daring words.

You were in no place to turn him down for such a thing. Your body was in no place to deny his help much longer. So, with wobbly legs and weak knees, you stood up. Your ass tingled, hurting just a bit and you were trying so hard to not somehow slip on any water on the shower floor. You decided to lean against the opposite wall, holding on to the plastic bar built into the middle of the longer wall, adjacent to him.

It was clicking that he was about to see your naked body in a way he’d never seen it before. . . you needed to make sure you looked as good as you could with puffy eyes from crying and a red face from the heat of the shower.

So, you did what you could and bent one wet leg at the knee, thankfully feeling silky smooth from your shave. You worked to accentuate your curves, in a body that didn’t always feel like your own anymore. You wanted to cross your arms over your chest, but knew the pressure would hurt like a bitch if you did that. The other option was tucking them behind your back, so that was what you did, holding the plastic bar in the wall with both hands, pushing your chest up a bit with the action.

You couldn’t conceal the whine that slipped from your lips when you crossed your thighs, pushing them together, adding a little bit of pressure where you needed it so badly.

But, no matter how much your body felt literally pulled to him, you couldn’t help asking. . . “Are you sure about this?”

“Um, yes,” he said, no doubt in his tone at all. Though, after he said it, he paused, ready to await your words. “. . .Are you?”

Guilt was what you should’ve felt in this moment. But, right then and there, guilt was as far out of the window as it could’ve possibly been. This felt real. Natural. Nowhere near wrong any longer – only right. So fucking right.

So, if he thought it was okay, so did you.

“Yes,” you breathed, whining on the word without warning, your legs having rubbed together once more. Your swollen chest was heavy with each breath you took, waiting for him.

“Let me see you,” he beckoned.

Needing the curtains gone from between you, but scared to move and end up falling, you huffed, snorting a bit at the thought of falling again. Pregnancy and POTs were not a good combination for a clumsy-ass like yourself.

“I’m afraid I’ll land on my fuckin’ ass if I move,” you explained, a little giggle following the words. “Um, c-can you–?”

And before you could even finish the request, the thin barrier between you suddenly vanished and. . . standing before your naked, wet body. . . was him.

Your eyes didn’t instantly find his face, suddenly shy in front of the man who’d seen you naked so many times before. So, you focused fully on his body. He was still fully clothed, but completely there, right in front of you.

And, from what you could tell from the outline of his dick in his dark jeans, he was definitely wanting you. He wanted to help in this special way. . .

“Oh my god,” he rasped, so low in his throat.

Instantly, you snapped your glance from where you’d been eyeing his body to see his face. He was staring at your legs, which still looked as they had before the baby, for the most part.

But, very slowly, his eyes trailed from your legs, all the way to your midsection – a part of you that had definitely changed. Round as could be at 17 weeks along, his expression became primal; his stare, so hungry for what his eyes were feasting on that you felt it with every harsh beat of your heart.

You felt extremely vulnerable in his presence, under his gaze. Felt weak at the sound of his voice. The way you were bared completely to him, and him liking what he saw. . . made the blood in your veins red hot.

The blush crept up on every part of you – your cheeks and chest, burning. You felt yourself becoming restless for him, your heart beating so quick you felt almost nauseous at the way his eyes had darkened. His lips stayed pursed as his jaw flexed. You felt your chest react further, as your nipples peaked at his nearness. As if sensing it, his eyes moved to watch your fuller chest, your breathing hitching on each breath.

Time was moving in slow motion.

And the way he bit his lip, as he finally locked his dark eyes with yours, would forever be etched in your memory.

“Holy fuck,” he breathed. “You are so—.”

The heavy beat of your heart was lodged in your throat, your breath catching. “Kiss me, Jake.”

And without question, he was stepping over the ledge of the bathtub, still fully clothed, until his boots were sloshing in the shallow puddle of water that swooshed to the drain. His hands found your body soon, chilly against your heated skin. He held your waist the best he could with the new addition of the baby bump, but still managed to hold you in such a way that you felt like he was in charge. The way he held you reminded you that you were nothing more than putty in his strong hands.

He started leaning in, his grip on you, so firm, steady, sure. . . .

The last time you’d seen him so close to you had been far too long ago. The night in the kitchen when you’d spilt the water, it had been too dark – and you’d been turned away from him. But, you were not turned away right now. Quite the opposite.

No, right now, you could see every detail of his plush, pink lips as he leaned in further to you. Your heart fluttered in your chest.

You were ready to feel his lips on yours.

He was close enough for you to see the stubble coming in above his lip. Though, suddenly, his hands dropped from around your waist and his eyebrows dipped as he started backing away.

No no no no no please –.

“I–I can’t–,” he shook his head, now drenched from the spray of the shower. You followed his action, backing up, too, your eyes looking over his body as he stood before you, unmoving. Just far enough away to not touch each other.

He wasn’t getting out completely, but he’d distanced himself.

Was he already regretting this? God, your heart started to split in your chest. . . you’d opened yourself completely up, only for him to decide against this – against you.

“Do you not want me?” You asked, voice mixed with hesitation and hurt. Your line of sight landed on your own feet, refusing to look at him. “Because, fuck, Jake – I told you! I told you we shouldn’t have– but now you have me fucking shaking and — goddammit, Jacob! It’s not fair for you to get me to admit those things and then bail as soon as you–!”

“Y/n,” he growled your name, commanding your eyes to land on his. His stare was no different than before. The irritation was flaring, again, though. Just a bit. You could tell. He stepped closer by one step. “I’m not going to fucking bail. I told you I wanted to please you and I plan on keeping my damn promise. I want to taste you so badly. . . I just– ugh.”

Your pulse was pounding in your ears, your chest hot and your heat clenching at nothing. . . You didn’t know how to respond.

You continued to buzz with anticipation that wouldn’t dissipate in the dense, humid air of the shower. Doing the only thing you could do, you decided to admire what was in front of you.

His shirt was opened to the middle of his abdomen on what you knew to be a chilly December evening, daring him to catch a damn cold.

But. . . the sight made you anything but cold–no, seeing his perfectly toned chest heaving and soaking wet. . . it made your entire body flame. His shirt was light blue, the water soaking through the material to make it nearly transparent. It gave you a glimpse at everything beneath his shirt. . . You saw his toned pecs that you needed to put your hands on again. You needed to feel the smooth skin of his chest–with your hands, tongue. . . anything.

Needed to feel him.

So, you did what your body told you to do at that moment.

Taking one wary step forward, you reached your hand out slowly, letting him stop you if he needed to. But, he didn’t stop you. When you glanced up at his face to read his reaction, he was watching your hand move, mouth agape at the action. You could feel his warm breath on your cheek as you took one more step towards him. Without any more thought, you placed your delicate hand on the exposed part of his tanned chest. And, daring to feel more, you slid your palm underneath his button-down shirt to feel one of his toned pecs.

His breath caught at the motion.

It felt like home to be touching him like this again.

His chest flexed under your hand with the sharp intake of breath. Your breath was choppy, too, not daring to breathe too harshly to scare him away. This moment felt so eerily similar to a moment so long ago – that damn game night. The moment you’d been dared by a stupid ass card game to touch him.

But this time–this time felt worlds different.

There was history–a baby–between the two people in this moment of time and you knew how to read his body.

So, it was no surprise to you when he took a step forward, nearly meeting the front of your body with his. You knew it was going to happen before it did; you knew that his hand would reach up to touch your chest as well.

You watched his hand as he followed through. Though, he didn’t touch your breast like you expected. No, he balanced his hand right above your heart, where it beat furiously for him.

“Jake,” you begged, his name saying everything you couldn’t say. Your thighs rubbed together of their own accord, desperate. “Please.”

And there it was. His hand immediately went to hold your full, sore breast. It was like a weight was lifted off your chest, literally. You were finding that the only relief your chest could find was from his touch.

Your legs continued to work at creating friction with every movement of his gentle massage on your breast. The way your chest heaved, nipple so sensitive and taut beneath his palm, your body was pleading for more. Still. You needed more. His hand moved away from the nipple and he held the underside of your left breast.

“Jake,” you were whining, outright. It was pitiful as hell. But – you couldn’t give two flying fucks.

“I–I can’t kiss your lips,” he explained, voice gravelly and low above you, floating directly to your ear. You looked up, waiting for him to continue. There was more he wanted to say, it was obvious. “That’s–I have to keep something that is unique and sacred to my relationship. Does that make sense?”

“Yes.” It did. It made complete sense and you admired his feeble attempt at saving something for her. . . but, you couldn’t help that it cracked your heart the slightest bit that you weren’t able to feel his lips against yours.

The tears were welling in your eyes all on their own–couldn’t stop them if you tried. Although, you couldn’t tell if they were from baby hormones or an honest result of the new crease left in your heart at him so obviously not being yours.

He belonged to her – not to you. And the lack of kissing was a painful, blatant reminder of that.

Kissing him had been something so normal and familiar only a few months ago, you could have kissed him any time you wanted (well, almost any time. . . but still). And . . . you’d given that up.

Given him up.

So what could he do?

“What can you do?” Your voice broke with the wetness in your throat, a tear stupidly trickled down your face.

His grip on your breast stayed firm, his hand kneading the supple flesh just right. “You okay, honey?” He asked, meeting your question with his own. He reached a hand up to hold your cheek and swipe a few more stray tears. “Shhh,” he hushed gently as his hand still worked to soothe your heavy chest.

You sniffled, body sparking, growing goosebumps rapidly at the way he was stimulating you so deliciously. Your thighs worked hard to ease the throb between your legs. Playing it off the best you could, you offered him a half-assed response. “Don’t ask me why the tears are happening–it’s–it’s the baby hormones,” you sniffed again, willing the tears to go away.

Thankfully, they did. And, after they’d subsided, he went to touch your other breast, your hand still on his chest, now clawing at his skin with each measured press of his hand at your aching breasts. Your hand trailed up to hold his neck, thumb smoothing at the flesh behind his ear. God, you’d missed holding him and you really loved that spot behind his ear. . . couldn’t explain it.

“How does it feel?” He soothed, licking his lips once at a sigh you emitted with one particular graze to your tight nipple.

“So fucking good,” you grit out, your hand gripping gently at the roots of his long hair, darkened and soaking wet from the water flowing from the showerhead. “How do you know how to–? They hurt when anyone else holds them. . . but not with you– how?”

“I don’t know,” he replied with a hoarse chuckle. “I have been doing research on how to–,” he coughed, his other hand coming to join the one on your chest, doing his best to give equal treatment to both of your tits. And dammit if he wasn’t doing the best fucking job at it.

You gasped a whine at the additional pressure, his dark eyes finding yours as soon as you’d made the sound. The smile you gave him was bashful, cheeks flaring a deep pink in the soft moment.

He continued his words as he worked his hands so intentionally against your swollen, aching chest. “I’ve been reading on how to pleasure pregnant women– what to do to make them feel better. . . since your body’s changing and shit. And you told me that your tits have been sore, so I’ve been reading on how to help that specifically. I didn’t think I’d get to try it out on you – but, here we are,” he smirked, his eyes connecting with yours once more as he raised a brow.

Didn’t think he’d ‘get to try it out on you’.

You blushed, his eyes going back to watching your tits as he softly swirled a thumb on your nipple, you moaned, following his eyes with your own. God bless America. Watching him do it was worse. Your nerves were on fire and you felt your muscles tighten at your core, needing his touch in a million places at once.

“And, when pregnant women have sore tits, it apparently helps to massage them,” he continued, informing you of his research. “So, I thought I’d try that.”

“What else did you find in your research?” You asked, watching his hands move just so, his thumbs rubbing purposefully light circles around and over your nipples. Fuuuck yes.

“For sore tits or overall pleasure?” He pondered, eyebrow raising again as he caught your line of sight.

“Pleasure,” you breathed, feeling his hands come to a devastating halt on your chest, smoothing over your sides before he dropped them.

Goddammit, Jake. Don’t stop.

“Well, I know that some pregnant women really like being touched and have a pretty high libido,” he paused, bringing his hands up to push his soaking wet hair back. Your hand dropped from behind his head. “But I also found that other pregnant women experience the exact opposite – have an aversion to sex.” He eyed you, squinting with a knowing smirk. “I could probably guess which type you are by how much you loved that just now, but . . . I want you to tell me. High libido or low?”

“Well,” you paused, your legs suddenly feeling like Jell-o. So, not wanting to fall or some shit, when he’d successfully pushed his hair back, you reached both hands up to wrap around the base of his head, your fingers working at your own massage on him. “I–I haven’t really felt a high libido for anyone but you. . . I don’t think I’d want it from anyone else right now. . . So, I don’t know what that makes me. High, maybe?” You pondered aloud, wanting his opinion of your predicament. “. . .If I only want you, a high libido for you?”

“Fuck. Are you serious?” You watched one hand reach between you to rub against the strain at his zipper. The other hand came to your hip, pulling you into him further.

He brought you as close as you could come with a new belly in the middle. He glanced down at the growing bump, his eyes gazing at it, so gently. He didn’t reach to touch it—not yet. . . Seeming to wait on you for permission, but not saying it. But. . . you just felt now was not the right time.

So, instead, you surveyed him.

The sight of him admiring your belly was almost too much to process. . . He was looking so carefully and affectionately — he got it. He felt it.

You sniffed, biding your tears the best you could. And at the sniff, his eyes flicked to you. . . His stare said something you thought daily.

That’s my baby, he seemed to say with only a simple twinkle in his eye. His dark irises became so light, his under eye circles seemed to disappear with the wonder in his stare.

He winked at you and sent you into a minor frenzy. As your heart worked to pick back up, he began moving his hand down to your ass to pay attention to the muscle you’d told him was sore earlier.

Your sighs filled the air, your senses overwhelmed by him. He rasped his next question, back on the topic from earlier, voice so low between the two of you. “You only want me?”

“Only you,” you confirmed, the honest words brushing against his face with your quiet, sighed response.

“So, if I were to be wanting to. . . help you, you know. . . you’d say you have a high libido?”

“So fucking high.”

“Thank fucking God,” he growled. And with one more push of his hand against himself, he moaned under his breath, and with one more squeeze to your ass, he grasped both of your hips, holding you to him tightly. Your belly, pressed between the two of you, still so foreign in a moment like this.

“Well, there are countless positions to try, but right now I can’t really–.”

“Don’t tell me you’re going to cut it off at all of the other shit, too,” you said, backing away from him, his hands dropping from you as you let go of his neck. “No kissing, so what’s next? What can’t you do? You never answered that.”

He started unbuttoning his sopping wet shirt. And when it was finally completely off, he reached up to drape it across the bar of the shower head. Your eyes tracked every. single. movement. The way his bicep rippled slightly with the stretch, the way his tanned abdomen flexed. . . every muscle, so beautiful in its prominence beneath his soft skin.

When he was back from his task and looking at you again, shirtless and solid as a brick wall, you couldn’t help but let your eyes wander. He cleared his throat, bringing your attention to his face once more. The smirk on his lips and the way his eyebrow was arched pissed you the fuck off. Was this amusing to him?

“You think it’s funny? How turned on I am and you can’t do a damned thing about it? Even though you led me to believe you could?”

“Who said I couldn’t?”

“You just said you can’t–.”

“You didn’t let me finish, y/n,” he reasoned. “I was going to say I can’t do that right now because I need to focus on you before we get to sex.”

‘Before we get to sex’. . . was he planning on . . . more?

Deciding to ignore that dangerous train of thought for the time being, you huffed, your arms still crossed at the top of your slightly rounded abdomen. “Well, I’m just confused.”

“The only thing I told you I can’t do is kiss your lips,” he reminded you, the calloused pad of his thumb coming up to briefly touch your plush lips. His eyes followed his action, your lips still pursed in annoyance as you challenged him with your expression and stance.

But you were wavering by the second, especially any time your eyes followed a drop of water from his shoulder, all the way to the waistband of his dark jeans. And every time you caught sight of the raging erection in his jeans. . .

“Y/n.”

Embarrassed and flushed, you flicked your eyes back to his face. You covered it up with indignance and frustration, your arms tightening in their position. “What, Jake?”

“I will do anything else you need,” he reassured, taking a tentative step towards you, boots clicking against the floor of the tub – where you’d managed to press yourself against the opposite wall of the shower. Your body betrayed you, your nipples once again peaking at his proximity. “And. . . I never said I can’t kiss other parts of your body. I can very much kiss you. . . elsewhere,” his eyes trailed to where your thighs were still pressed to relieve the persistent pulse of your center.

“Goddammit, Jacob,” you breathed with a roll of your eyes, arching yourself off of the wall towards him, just in time for him to meet you halfway. “You should have said that.”

His eyes bugged, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips until a bright white smile appeared in a laugh. “I tried! You didn’t let me.”

He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you tightly to him, your belly between you not letting you get quite as close as you used to.

“Then do something–please.”

He leaned forward, kissing behind your ear, right where you liked to kiss him. Then, he trailed his mouth down the column of your throat. He alternated pecks and open mouthed kisses, all the way to your shoulders, collarbones. . . You sighed, completely at his mercy. When he found your left breast, he gave it the most attention.

He licked around the sensitive nipple of your left breast, mirroring it with the right. At which, he elicited a moan from you that quickly progressed into a very whiny wail. “Fuck! Fuck, yes!” You cried, grasping his wet hair, not sure how to stop yourself if you fell – your shaking knees were bound to betray you, you could feel it. “This is so fucking wrong.”

“I. Don’t. Care,” he growled against the wet, supple skin of your breast. Every word, emphasized with a lick around your tender, hardened flesh.

Your train of thought was halted as you lost all thought in your brain at him full-on kissing your nipples, rather than giving them little kitten licks. No, now he was giving them kisses just like he would your mouth. Tongue and all. You were going to finish from this alone. . . You watched him in pure astonishment, his eyebrows knit in concentration. Then, as if things could get any worse (better?) he moaned – the action vibrated against your skin.

Your hips jolted up into his. Both of you groaned in unison at the contact, his hard dick enticing you as you felt it, only a thin barrier of clothing between you. . . You felt yourself flex at nothing, your thighs feeling the wet result of your arousal.

You knew you were damn close to finishing.

“Don’t cum yet,” he commanded, mumbling around your nipple.

Of course he knew you were on the verge.

Your nipples, usually so fucking sore, felt like they were made of sparklers, electric under his soft mouth. “‘M not done yet.”

“But– I can’t– a-ah-ah!,” you moaned, your body beginning to lose its fight to stand up straight, near to giving out. “I can’t hold on for much longer, Jake. Please. I promise I’ll cum again for you,” you swore, your fingers lacing tightly into his long, chestnut locks. “Please, baby.”

The pet name slipped from your lips without thought of repercussion. But, you didn’t really care that you’d let it slip since it didn’t seem to deter him. In fact, it had spurred him on even more.

“Not yet,” he bit out, his dark eyes meeting yours from their place at your full breasts.

Then, he winked, making you throb from that gesture alone. Fuck. You were a goner. You weren’t sure you could do as he said.

He went back to giving your body kisses, this time trailing back up to your face, little pecks covering every expanse of skin on your flushed face. Then, with one gentle kiss to the tip of your nose, he reached a hand up to hold your cheek.

His eyes held yours, open and vulnerable under his stare. So soft, he spoke to you with fervor in his tone. “I promise it’ll be better if you just wait, baby.”

Him returning the pet name didn’t help matters and only made you more desperate to fall apart.

So, rather than saying anything in return, you decided you’d try your best to follow his instructions. The only thing you could think to do was pinch your eyes shut and lay your head against the wall in frustration. “Fine,” you griped, hands tightening in his hair.

His mouth worked, venturing down once again, giving sloppy kisses from your collarbones all the way to your hips.

Once there, his hands replaced his mouth and started kneading at your hips as his mouth kept moving downward. His hands did a stellar job at holding you against the wall to prevent a fall.

His hold on you was strong and intent. And, while holding you, as he simultaneously massaged your hips. . . it was fucking heaven. His thumbs moved and pressed with purpose, working the tired muscle at your joints.

Fuck– he really had done his research to know that your hips could hurt like a bitch. And God knew yours did.

“My hips– Jake, god. . . thank you,” you sighed, your eyes closing at the way your body felt weightless under his hands and mouth.

Suddenly, his mouth was on your thighs, going back and forth between each leg until he reached your calves, his hands having to move down your legs with the action, still holding you upright as he knelt before you.

You opened your eyes, suddenly desiring to see him again, and you watched as he gave your legs unrelenting attention.

You watched in wonder as he very slowly started to work his way up to where you needed him most. But, once he got there, he gave you a look that made your knees buckle. . .

Then, he began on you, wasting absolutely zero time. There was no warning for his mouth meeting your searing hot, wet heat.

“Oh-oh-oh, J-Jake, f-fuck, yes!” You were nearly incoherent, but who would expect any different when you had Jake Kiszka making out with your wet and waiting pussy.

You’d been aching and waiting to have this again for so fucking long. . .The slew of curse words and moans that escaped your lips were useless, as they all came out as jumbled non-words. Utterly incoherent.

He was doing figure eights with his tongue, inching closer and closer to your opening, not even daring to edge towards your clit yet. Didn’t want you to fucking finish yet, goddammit.

You clenched your jaw, a growl coming from your lips, unable to do anything but watch him. Your eyes couldn’t dare leave the sight in front of you. He was taking his time to lap at your folds, soaked and fluttering for him. Your hips jerked forward, not able to stop the way his lips and tongue were setting you on fire to the point of retaliation.

You were trembling, your body not working on its own at all to hold you up. You were dependent on his death grip, now back on your hips, steadying you. He was pressing you so hard to the wall – you fucking hoped that he left bruises in the wake of his fingertips.

He kept on with his work for a bit longer before the water started turning cold. Fuck no.

And, of course, as if on cue, Jake backed away, wiping the corners of his mouth with the pad of his right thumb, his left hand still holding you to the wall.

“I swear to god, Jacob Thomas, if you fucking stop because of some cold wa– oh!”

He was back to licking up every bit of early release at your heat, flattening his tongue against your slit. You couldn’t catch a breath to finish what you were saying as he replaced his tongue with his fingers. He twirled his pointer and middle fingers through your soaking folds, until he met your entrance.

But, he stopped there.

And you knew why. He could tell you were cold – obviously shivering from more than his mouth and hands.

He could read you so well. You didn’t know if it was because of the connection you had to him by carrying his baby or what, but his instincts of your impending reactions came incredibly quick in recent days.

As he spoke, he kept his fingers at your core, spinning them to continue eliciting stimulation. The calluses of his fingertips were the perfect addition of friction to your swollen heat. . . you bit your lip, your head laying against the shower wall. You could barely concentrate on the fact that he’d begun talking.

“You’re shaking, y/n,” he clarified, as if you didn’t know.

Which, in true fashion, pissed you off. But, still hazy from his ongoing touch, you closed your eyes to center yourself.

When you leaned off of the wall the best you could, you opened your eyes. Instantly, it felt like you were going to slip with the movement. But, just when your foot dared to lose balance, his hold on your hip tightened. His fingers were still spinning against you, just on the precipice of entering you. So, you were sure he’d felt your walls flutter at the way he grasped you.

But, he didn’t say anything. He was too focused on your chilliness and your center, your body straight-up shaking from the now-cold water. Turning around, fingertips still tucked between your folds–still not fucking inside of you yet–, he switched the shower off.

“Jake!” You complained for no reason whatsoever. Well. . . you knew why you were complaining. You were worried. “Please, don’t let this be the–.”

“I’ve kept my fingers where they are to show you I’m not fucking done,” he responded, tone equally lacking tolerance for your attitude. “Can you just be fucking patient?”

“You’re not being patient!”

“How in the hell am I not being patient?!”

“Your voice tells me so,” you argued, hearing the way it sounded ridiculous as soon as you said it. You shook your head, body shaking from the cool nip of the bathroom air and your soaking wet body. He was also trembling, his body nearly as wet as yours.

He removed his fingers, further aggravating you. . . but you couldn’t stay mad for long as he was eliciting a gasp from you, yet again, within seconds. You watched as he removed his fingers from you, bringing them up to his mouth to suck your arousal from them. Closing his eyes and moaning in the process, his opinion of the way you tasted apparent.

Holy fucking hell.

“Taste good?” You asked, trying to sound snarky, but failing from the way your breath had escaped your lungs.

When his fingers left his mouth, he slowly started to stand, eyes connecting to and never leaving yours. His grip on your hip not giving up a single bit in the process. Once he was standing at full height again, he slid the shower curtain open, eyes staying hooked on yours.

He grabbed the towel hanging on the wall rack, momentarily leaving your gaze. But, as soon as he had the towel in his hands, his eyes snapped back to your waiting stare.

“Fucking delicious. You taste better than anything – always have. . . No other woman compares. But. . . it’s–it’s even more-so now,” he paused, releasing your hip and motioning for you to come towards his arms with the fluffy, waiting towel. You turned your back to him, his breath sliding through his teeth. “Your ass. . . Fuck it all.”

You giggled, feeling so incredibly wonderful for the first time in so long. Holding your arms out a little, he wrapped the towel at your back and handed you the rest to finish wrapping yourself.

He kept talking as you cinched the white towel around yourself, your breasts not appreciating the way you tucked the material tight around your chest. You winced at the feeling, pissed with the fact that your body was so sore.

Jake’s eyebrows knitted together in worry. “You okay?”

You nodded grumpily. “Yes,” you grumbled. “It’s my boobs. They just hurt.”

There was no missing the way he bit his lip, licking them soon after before he responded. “I’ll help you feel better, baby. Don’t worry.”

The buzzing in your veins was impossible to ignore, and you didn’t trust yourself to give a valid response with how lightheaded he was making you feel.

All you could do was nod, eyes hopefully communicating your excitement.

“Anyway, I read about the taste of a woman’s release, too. . . when women are pregnant, they have the tendency to taste sweeter than usual. And I can safely assure you, it’s the motherfucking truth,” his voice was hoarse with the last sentence. He kept on, locking his Amber-brown irises with yours. “And it’s fuckin’ erotic that you taste like the sweetest thing while you’re growing my baby. . . I can’t even explain it, y/n.”

You were positively twitching, your body threatening to unravel at any given moment. Now warm from the towel, you knew most of your shivering was solely from him.

“You don’t have to. I get how hot it is. Trust me,” you assured, your mouth dry from it hanging open at his words.

Swallowing purposefully, you shook your head before stepping out of the shower. And, once you’d towel-dried your body enough, you bent to tie the towel around your hair, turning away from him. As you made your way to the mirror, leaving him to check yourself, you realized just how red your face was. “Ah! God, Jake, I look like fuckin’ Elmo.”

He belly laughed at that, the sound making your tummy ignite in a swarm of happy butterflies. “No you don’t. Trust me,” he said, still giggling at what you’d said. “. . . ‘look like Elmo’. You’re fucking hilarious.”

Not able to help the laughter bubbling in your chest either, you turned to face him to enjoy the moment together.

Well—.

You first saw all of his soaked clothes, in a neat pile ready for the laundry, next to him. His belt, rolled tight on the toilet seat.

And, Jake, completely naked.

Your body reacted immediately, suddenly ready for the most. Your tone was way too eager when an inward ponder was spoken aloud. “Are we going to have sex?”

Dear God, y/n.

He smirked, shaking his head as he leaned past your naked body to get in the cabinet under the sink for the spare towel you kept underneath the sink. His fingers brushed your ass in the process and you didn’t want to discuss how quickly his touch heated your skin. You turned away from him, leaning towards the mirror to check out the two pesky spots on your face that threatened a pimple.

“Was that on purpose?” You shot the other question his way, followed by a statement of your own. “My ass has increased in size, just like the rest of me, so . . . wouldn’t be surprised if it wasn’t on purpose and just because it’s huge.”

“It was most definitely on purpose,” he replied, causing you to lean back so you could give him your full attention. The response made your cheeks blush crimson red, barely visible through your slowly lightening skin.

When you swiveled his way, you found him towel drying his hair, his dick still fully erect and tempting the fucking hell out of you. You bit your lip, and he continued on, eyes closed as he focused on drying his hair. God, he was so handsome. “And I don’t know what you mean by the rest of you increasing in size or huge. God. You aren’t huge by any standard, and all I’ve noticed increase in size are the three things I enjoy watching as they get bigger.”

You flushed, turning away once more to work on towel drying your own hair before you left the steamy room. You’d want the towel to wrap up in the chilly hallway.

Suddenly intrigued by the fact that you were talking so openly with him, you kept going. “The Three B’s? Boobs, belly, butt?”

Jake was laughing again at that, his snort unmistakable, even as you were bent awkwardly at the waist to towel dry your own hair. “Yes,” he chuckled, lighthearted. “That is correct. Did you make that up?”

Damn, I missed this, your mind absently trailed. He was everything wrapped in one.

“I don’t know,” you smiled, your body buzzing with all things him. “You didn’t answer my sex question.”

“No sex,” he promptly replied. Your heart fell, but obviously being oblivious to it, he kept on. “I’ve got a job to finish tonight that doesn’t include my dick.”

“What if I want it to include your dick? Aren’t you doing this to please me?”

How had the conversation just picked up like you’d never stopped being the two of you? The awkward air that had persisted, on and off since the wretched day in the kitchen in August — it was seeming to float away day by day with his knowledge of the baby in your belly.

But, before that line of thought could run off, he was responding to you.

“Are you saying you weren’t pleased with what I started in there just now?”

“Of course I fucking was, Jake,” you rolled your eyes. “But, still–.”

“You just answered the question yourself.”

You huffed with a roll of your eyes.

“Would you just finish drying your fucking hair so I can continue eating you out?”

The way your body temperature rose inexplicably at his words was not something you wanted to admit to, so you went with a simple response to keep you on level ground with him, rather than a quivering mess.

“Aye aye, captain.”

Another snort, followed by a chuckle. “Shut the fuck up.”

“We’re not naming our baby Black Beard,” you stated jokingly, standing up to full height, eyeing him. “I know you love pirates and I love watching the documentaries with you, but. . .,” you grinned at him.

“God, fuck no,” he wrinkled his brow, shaking his body in an air of distaste. “We don’t hate the baby. We love the baby.”

And, for the umpteenth time that evening, your heart rate spiked ridiculously high.

He loves the baby.

-🌼🌼🌼-

a/n: hmmm... Reader is convinced it’s a one time thing. buuuut does Jake? how do you think things will go in the bedroom once we've left the bathroom? ;)

Taglist:

@joshym, @gretavanfleetposts, @alyson814, @fretaganvleet, @lallisonl, @writingcold, @gvfpal, @twinszka, @jessicafg03, @reesetrippingthelight, @sacredjake, @laurenlovesgretavanfleet, @gretavangroove, @222headedcalf, @dreamssingold, @carbondancingthroughtime, @raviolilegs, @way-to-go-lad, @jakekiszkasmommy, @katgvf, @objectsinspvce, @jaketlover, @vanfleeter, @thetroublegetssoloud71, @seditabets, @jakekiszkapunchmeintheface, @jaketlove, @ohgodthefeeling-gvf, @starcatcher-jake, @anythingforjtk, @lucimoo, @indigostreakmorgan, @gretavanbear, @katelynn-gvf, @alwaysonthemend

@aintthatapity, @bowievanfleet, @fwzco, @takenbythemadness, @cherry-icecreamsmile, @laneygvf, @hi-hi-hello11, @sinarainbows, @jakesbarbarian, @mybussyinchrist, @becinabubblegvf, @heckingfrick, @danigvf, @pinkandsleepy1934, @derrangeddumpsterfire, @klarxtr, @josh-iamyour-mama, @abby-gvf, @cassyface, @gretavansabotage, @sacredtheslay, @alienobsever, @hollyco, @age0fwagner, @raceb14, @stardustcatcher, @styles-canvas, @ladywhimsymoon, @earthgrlsreasy, @peaceloveunitygvf

@torniturntomyarrow, @joshsbonnet, @llrosee, @starshine-gvf, @itsafullmoon, @gvfmarge, @creadliz98, @mackalah, @lek-gvf, @carlyfleet, @profitofthedune, @mefiorini, @welllauragvf, @highway-tuna, @dont-go-home-without-me, @sarah-gvf01, @polemicandcontent, @ageofbajabule, @texas-bbq-pringles, @builtbybrokenbells, @sacredtheslay

(please remind me that you wanna be tagged if i forgot to tag you!)

#hehehehe #jake is such a good helper huh #;)#doing exactly what maya told him to do #LMAO #covet #sneak peek

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jakeyt · 1 month

Text

This… just… please read it. I can’t do justice explaining how beautiful this one shot is.

But, I do want to share my favorite line from it (made me make an inhuman noise while I was proofreading it):

‘“My love,” he murmurs, setting the portrait back down before he gently brushes his lips against yours. “You inspire me endlessly, every single day.”’

Are you kidding??? Artist!Jake is precious (while also being in fucking charge—you’ve gotta read the whole thing to see that part 🤭😏).

My sister, everyone….. just. wow. The talent that travels from the ends of your fingertips, onto the keyboard will forever astound me. Every Jake you write is splendid and I can always see him so fantastically well in my head as I read him!

Muse

Pairing: Jake Kiszka x f!Reader

Summary: Your struggling artist is desperate for some inspiration.

Word Count: 3.4k+

Warnings: smut (18+ ONLY), unprotected p in v, oral (f! receiving), a smidge of sir kink, some spanking, a lot of fluff because i can't help myself, Jake draws a naked portrait of you (let me know if i've missed anything)

a/n: special thanks to this lovely anon for this brilliant idea. this was way too much fun to write.

this was inspired heavily by that scene from the Titanic. (you know the one.)

as always, thank you to my favorite editor/motivator, @jakeyt.

i hope you enjoy. ♡

“I want you to draw me wearing this.” You reach into the lapel of the robe, retrieving his coin that now hangs from your neck. “Only this.”

.⚘🀢⚘.⚘🀢⚘.⚘🀢⚘.

His frustration is palpable, evident in the nearly incessant huffing emanating from behind the closed door of his studio.

It's moments like these that leave you feeling utterly helpless. There’s nothing you can do, no inspiration you can provide that will pull him from his artist’s block.

He's been holed up in there for hours, since the early dawn, lost in the depths of his imagination, sketching away. You know better than to intrude; he's never been keen on sharing his work until it's finished.

In fact, he's never once allowed you a glimpse into his creative process. "It's the strange doodlings of a mind overrun with ideas. It's not to be seen until it's in its final form," he's reminded you countless times when your curiosity gets the better of you.

Still yet, you're consumed by the desire to witness his beautiful mind in action, crafting masterpieces in real-time, each stroke flowing from his soul through his tireless hand on his Somerset velvet sheets.

But, like any artist, he’s his own worst critic. He’s never truly satisfied with anything he creates, though you are left utterly speechless after each piece he finishes. His mind is a beautifully profound chasm of endless wonder, manifested through his artistry.

You hate when he has these moments of doubt, these instances when he questions whether he’s truly capable of such greatness.

And you especially despise days like today, when he spends the better part of it feeling as though he has a mental brick wall in the way of his ingenuity, hindering his hand from bringing to life what his mind so desperately longs to conceive.

Commissioned pieces, like his project today, always hold the most weight for him— from the need to earn a living, to his persistent worry that his art might not meet the expectations of the client.

It’s not that he doesn’t love doing them, or that he’ll ever stop taking them; quite the contrary, they’re his favorite pieces to work on. They provide him with an added pressure that elicits some of his best work.

But, reaching that point can be rather strenuous for him. It can at times take days, weeks before he discovers the creative impulsion he needs.

And right now, he’s in that very rut, awaiting the surge of inspiration that will reignite his dulled spirit.

There truly is nothing you can do when he’s lost like this, and any effort you’ve attempted in the past has always proved useless.

The one thing you can do, however, is prepare him some dinner.

He’s hardly left his studio today, and you know he’s not eaten much, if anything at all. Perhaps a morsel of sustenance will ignite the dormant embers of his mind.

.⚘🀢⚘.⚘🀢⚘.⚘🀢⚘.

After a quiet tap to the door, he invites you in with a serene voice.

He looks tired, but lovely as ever. The golden hour has officially set in the sky, and the opened curtains on the windows have allowed for a warm hue to encompass his studio, enveloping him in its delicate lume.

“That smells absolutely divine,” he remarks as you enter his studio, his plate and yours delicately balanced in your hands.

“I figured a little homemade pasta would do you some good,” you tell him while you pad across the floor to his work station.

With a sly disposition and a playful glint in your eye, you aim to steal a glance of his day-long project, but alas, you’ve been caught. Your sweet Jake misses nothing.

"Not yet, my love," he murmurs, flipping the page over as he takes your hand, planting a tender kiss over your knuckles. "You know the rules."

“I know, I know.” Your response holds a bit of remorse. You know better, but can’t begin to help the relentless desire to see his mind at work.

Setting his dinner on the desk he’s working from, you move yourself across the small office to the green chaise lounge that sits across from him, silently seeking his permission with your gentle glances. The smile in his eyes tells you that he’s more than happy to be graced with your company for the time being.

After taking a bite of the spinach tortellini you prepared, he unbuttons his white striped shirt, removing it from his shoulders and stretching his arms high above his head as though he’s ridding himself of the weight of his frustrations.

You can’t help your glare, watching him do something so normal yet so intriguing all at once.

His skin is velvety smooth, his chest rising and falling with every breath he takes, his chestnut wavy locks sitting atop his broad shoulders. You’re in awe each time you look at him; the sheer magnitude of his beauty never fails to steal your breath away.

And his necklace, his most cherished piece of jewelry that he wears each and every day. The precious coin, a relic salvaged from a centuries-old shipwreck that hangs against his chest.

The way it sits on his bare skin is nothing short of elating, sexy. It’s a wonderful addition to his already captivating aura.

He’s flawless. Everything about him.

Once he catches your gaze, he responds with a sly wink, eliciting a blush that paints your cheeks a bright shade of pink.

Then, a thought begins to swirl around your mind for a brief moment. One that you’re shocked you’ve not conjured until now.

The vision of the pendant against his bare skin sets your own imagination alight.

“I’ve got an idea,” you propose, your voice soft and sultry, trying to pique his interest even just a little, something that may help the rusted wheels of his mind turn at full capacity once again.

While his focus remains on his work, his right eyebrow arches ever so slightly, and you catch the hint of a grin daring to curl in the corners of his mouth.

“And what might that be, my dear?” he asks with an unknowing, devilish smirk.

As you get up, he hastily flips the page back over to hide his work from you once again.

“Don’t worry,” you say as you move behind him, placing your hands on his bare shoulders. “I won’t peek.”

You glide your fingers along his skin, feeling the subtle rise of each goosebump in the wake of your gentle touch.

He hums inquisitively as you delicately take hold of the clasp of his necklace in between your index and thumb, undoing it in one fluid motion before slowly slipping it from around his neck.

“Be right back,” you say as you head towards the door. “Don’t move.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he responds, a myriad of questions splayed across his features.

With light steps, you make your way down the wooden floors of the hall towards your shared bedroom. Hanging on the back of the door is your sapphire hued satin robe, adorned with a delicate lace detailing along the hem—the one Jake has always fawned over.

The satin drapes coolly against your skin as you slip it on, wearing nothing underneath, save for the weight of Jake’s necklace resting against your chest that you hide beneath the fabric.

You run your fingers through your hair, adding a subtle tousled look, before applying a light blush to your lips and cheeks to impart a bit of natural color to your complexion.

And with that, you're poised and ready.

.⚘🀢⚘.⚘🀢⚘.⚘🀢⚘.

As you turn the corner to face his studio, you see a very weary version of your Jake. His head sits in the palms of his hands, his leg bounces up and down at a rapid rate—a clear sign of the mental battle he’s waging.

This is as good a time as any for your little idea, and you’re hoping that it’ll be the very thing he needs to find some much needed initiative to keep going.

“Hi, baby,” you venture, leaning your body alluringly against the frame of the door.

As he looks up, a familiar twinkle dances in his eyes—a sight you've longed for all day long. It's a glimmer that tells you he's rather fond of the vision before him.

“And what exactly is your idea?” he inquires softly, slowly standing from his chair. But you stop him, motioning for him to stay just where he is as you saunter towards the chaise you were seated on just moments ago.

“My idea,” you begin, making a very slow, deliberate attempt to untie the sash holding your robe together at the waist. “...is for you to draw me.”

As if your thought has affected him physically, his posture immediately straightens, and his once tired eyes hold a renewed sense of life as they watch you intently.

“I want you to draw me wearing this.” You reach into the lapel of the robe, retrieving his coin that now hangs from your neck. “Only this.”

Your robe suddenly falls to the floor, revealing your fully nude figure that was hidden beneath.

“Oh…” he utters, his tongue wetting his lower lip before tucking it between his teeth. “You can’t do this to me, baby. I can’t look at you like this an–”

“Consider it a commission,” you interrupt, tracing your fingers lightly up and down the skin of your torso. “And when you’re finished, if it’s to my liking, you’ll receive a full payment.”

With a raised eyebrow, his gaze sweeps up and down your form, while his index finger lightly grazes his chin.

“You’re quickly becoming my favorite client,” he quips, wiping a stray bead of sweat away from his forehead, tousling the front of his hair in the process. “Consider it done, ma’am,” he continues with a confirming nod of his head.

You lay yourself down on the forest green velvet cushions, positioning yourself sensually across the chaise. Your body is turned slightly to the side, your leg gracefully crossed over the other, an elegant display of your curved silhouette.

The warm glow that is so beautifully cast upon Jake, is now cast upon you, the aura laying over your nude body like a golden blanket of light.

“Is this okay?” you ask him, draping your arm over the back of the chaise, making sure the coin sits meticulously atop your chest before your other arm falls to rest against your body.

He simply grins while nodding his head, his eyes drinking you in, a mix of surprise and desire evident within his expression.

“Yeah, that um…that’ll do just fine,” he tells you, the slight crack in his voice eliciting a smile from you, a break in his professional facade.

With a deep breath, he takes his prized Faber Castell 9000, carefully sharpening the tip just a bit before putting it against a blank sheet.

And then, as the true artist you know him to be, he begins without a hint of hesitancy. The gentle sound of the lead scratching away at the paper fills the quiet room— a sound you’ve come to cherish, a sound that signifies his craft is steadily blossoming to life.

He seems charmingly nervous, his hand gently brushing against his nose every so often between a series of strokes from his pencil, clearing his throat more than usual. His eyes flint to you, then back to the paper, then back to you, a succession of his adoration and determination, ensuring that the likeness captured in his art closely mirrors your essence.

You try to keep your face composed, a seductive allure about your features. But as you watch him, immersed in his passion, the way he’s studying you so intently, it becomes nearly impossible to suppress the beginnings of a smile upon your lips.

But despite your efforts, he takes note of the curve adorning your flushed lips, mirroring it with his own. “Relax your face for me, beautiful.” The soft rasp in his tone is enough to send a blush throughout your whole body.

Breathing in your nose and exhaling through parted lips, you’re able to reclaim your composure enough to steady your expression.

Every moment you share with him is a brushstroke of beauty, but something about this one stands out. The intimacy of it all, how he must diligently study every inch of your form to convey your image through his art, the intensity behind his focused gaze…your heart is racing in your chest, despite your relaxed demeanor.

.⚘🀢⚘.⚘🀢⚘.⚘🀢⚘.

With the sun almost hidden behind the early moon, he completes the final stroke.

He lays his pencil down, gently blowing on the paper to remove any stray lead before he picks it up, examining it closely while he walks it over to you.

As he holds it out before you, allowing you to at last see his craft come to life, you’re left entirely awestruck.

“Oh, Jake.” The sight before you leaves you nearly breathless. It exceeds every expectation, beyond the boundaries of your imagination. It’s a portrayal of you, but not just that— it’s how he sees you.

It’s the first time you’re witnessing yourself through his eyes, and in that, you feel a profound sense of beauty within yourself that you’ve never known.

“Do you like it?” He asks, a slight tremor present in his voice.

“It’s…incredible, Jake.”

Propping yourself up a bit, you carefully take the drawing from his hands, poring over his vast attention to the detail in your face, your body.

Specifically your breasts, how perfectly he depicted their round curve above your rib cage, encapsulating the fullness and allure of them.

You’re entranced by the way he drew the contour of your hips, how he captured the dip in them that you’ve always looked at with disdain, yet in his portrayal, you’re able to see the beauty in what you’ve considered a flaw.

He encapsulated everything, even the faint freckle beneath the curve of your left breast, and the mole under your belly button. He managed to immortalize all the intricate nuances that you typically overlook.

“Is this what I really look like?”

“Yes, but,” he takes the drawing from you, placing it on the mahogany table beside the chaise lounge. He helps you lay back down, gently caressing your face that he’s just conveyed through his artistry as he props himself above you. “The essence of your beauty defies any depiction.”

Then, his lips envelope yours in a kiss so fervent, so ardent, as though he’s waited hours to finally have you within his grasp.

His hand moves with a swift grace to your breast, fingers toying with your perked bud. This erotic moment with him has you already so flustered, so sensitive to every touch of his hands.

He breaks his lips from yours, only to land them down the column of your heaving chest.

“You’ve no idea how hard it was for me to look at you like this, to look at these,” he mumbles against the tingling skin, hands kneading the flesh of your breasts. “And fight the urge to come place my lips on every inch of this beautiful fucking body.”

And just as he said, he bestows tender yet hungry kisses down the length of your torso, maneuvering his body down the chaise lounge until he kneels before you. He nestles his face perfectly between your thighs, his warm breath tantalizing your wet center from his dangerously close proximity.

“I certainly hope you don’t let all of your clients pay you like this,” you mutter, breathless and yearning for his mouth.

“Only the ones that tickle my fancy,” he says, his words adorned with a playful wink before he delves into you.

He laps away at your pulsing cunt, like he’s been starved for your taste this entire evening. The lewd, lascivious sounds he’s emitting from between your legs only serve to heighten your need for him, causing your back to instinctively arch away from the plush cushions.

And when his lips envelop your throbbing clit, his tongue swirling around it inside his warm mouth, your body trembles and shudders. A rush of warmth encompasses you, starting from the depths of your core, the pit of your stomach, spreading to every inch of your being.

You surrender to the intoxicating bliss, your breath catching in your throat while your heart pounds in a crescendoing rhythm.

He guides you through it, gently holding your hips in place while the movement of his tongue slows in perfect time as with the ebb of your climax.

“Oh, that was so beautiful, my love.” He lovingly kisses the inside of your thigh before he stands, removing the belt from his patchwork jeans. “Turn over for me, baby.”

“Yes, sir,” you quietly utter as you obey his demand, knowing good and damn well what that specific name does to him.

Just as he commanded, you turn your body over to your stomach, placing your elbows against the arm of the chaise, your back arched as much as you can so that your ass is sticking up just right for him.

“Love when my sweet girl calls me that,” he purrs before his belt hits the floor, his jeans and underwear quickly in tow and freeing his impossibly hard cock.

“So, what’s the verdict, my love?” You feel the cushion sink in behind you as he settles himself between your legs, his right hand caressing your hip while the other teases your soaked cunt with the tip of his cock, leaking with precum. “Was my work to your liking?”

You giggle breathlessly, poking your ass out even further as an offering to him for his hard work. “Yes, I believe you’ve earned your reward.”

He steadily begins nudging his cock into you, going slow at first, allowing you to fully adjust to him.

Inch by thick inch, he fills you completely to the hilt, your breath catching in heavy gasps that are robbed from your lungs as he buries himself deeply within you.

Your nails claw at the velvet armrest as his thrusts quicken in their pace, your upper body nearly going limp as you’re no longer able to easily hold yourself up.

His hands hold a firm grip at your lower waist, pulling you into his cock rhythmically, yet becoming more and more disordered as he’s beginning to lose himself to the pleasure.

You cry out a slew of obscenities mixed with his name, begging him to fuck you harder, faster.

Without question he complies, landing an open palm against your ass cheek. “So good for me baby,” he hums, his thighs slapping against the backs of yours as he drives into you just the way you need. “So fucking good for me.”

With one more vigorous thrust of his hips, you feel that familiar rush throughout your whole body as your cunt throbs and pulses incessantly around his cock.

“Fuck, I feel you, baby. Pretty little cunt squeezing me so tight.” You feel the twitching of his cock inside of you, an indication that he's on the very brink of his own release.

“Cum inside me, sir. Please…need you to fill me.” Your voice is faltered, your body still reeling from your second climax.

“Jesus,” he groans, moaning exasperatedly as your words have him spilling within you, filling you with his warmth just as you requested.

He stays buried inside of you as he catches his breath, feeling his release slowly trickling down your thighs as you struggle to fill your own lungs.

You have to fight the urge to protest when he begins pulling himself away from you, not yet ready for the empty feeling he leaves you with.

You practically collapse against the cushion, your body exhausted in the most enthralling way, the kind of exhaustion that only immense amounts of pleasure can bring forth.

“My sweet, beautiful girl,” he whispers, kneeling himself before you as he softly caresses your flushed cheek.

You kiss the pad of his thumb as it crosses over your mouth, summoning the strength to lift yourself up enough to steal one from his lips. “I hope it worked,” you say, gently cupping his face in your hand.

“You hope what worked, my love?” He asks, leaning into your soft touch.

“I was hoping this would help inspire you.” You reach for the drawing, savoring its beauty once more. “I was hoping I could help inspire you, pull you out of your moment of doubt.”

“My love,” he murmurs, setting the portrait back down before he gently brushes his lips against yours. “You inspire me endlessly, every single day.”

His tender smile warms your very soul as he leans in for a deeper kiss, imbued with all the love you could ever want for.

“You’re my perfect muse,” he utters against your lips, “I don’t think I’ll ever get enough of you.”

.⚘🀢⚘.⚘🀢⚘.⚘🀢⚘.

a/n: suffice to say, this inspired the hell out of me when i've lacked inspiration/motivation lately. thank you, anon.

if you have any juicy ideas, feel free to send them my way. ♡

love you guys.

taglist: (let me know if you'd like to be added/removed!)

@jakeyt @objectsinspvce @stayinginthesun @sinarainbows @stardustcordzz @klarxtr @ohgodthefeeling-gvf @highway-tuna @way-to-go-lad @reesetrippingthelight @jakesgrapejuice @sacredjake @notthedroidz @kiszkashousee @psychedelicstardust-gvf @jjwasneverhere @gvf-ficreads @stardust-jake @gretavanbear @gvfmelborne @sirjaketkiszkasharmonica @jaaakeeey @neptune2324 @jaketlove @myleftsock @joshskittytickler @audgeppp @jordie-gvf @gretavansara @gretasfallingsky @jazzyfigz @louiseecraigg @hippievanfleet @blacksoul-27 @sarafrusciante2 @heckingfrick @citylight-delight @electricgoldtendercare @musicspeaks @hollyco @gvfpal @dannys-dream @josh-iamyour-mama @edgingthedarkness @earthgrlsreasy @hernameis-heaven @mackalah @gvfmarge

Masterlist

#lovelovelove #hot #and sweet #both in one #and artist!jake #fuck. yes.#lis <3 #fic rec #jake fic rec #READ IT

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