Chapter 17 #3
I didn’t realize how sensitive I am there. How good that would feel.
“What is it?” Jacob asks.
“What is what?” I repeat mindlessly.
He laughs, a warm puff of breath against my skin.
“The scent,” he says. His lips move, trailing down to my chest, where the fabric of my dress begins. “It’s something earthy? Your perfume or your lotion or…”
“It’s sandalwood.” I reach for the strap of my dress, trying to push it down my shoulder. “The soap from the last hotel. I stole it.”
I can feel him smile, can hear it in his voice. “I’ve been wondering about it for days,” he says. He reaches for my hand, which is still struggling to pull down my dress. “It smells familiar. It reminds me of trips we used to take back to India when I was a kid.”
He tries to help me, tugging at the material, but it doesn’t budge.
“Turn over,” he says, and liquid heat sweeps through me.
He must see it on my face, the way his words undo me, because his eyes flare. “Turn over,” he says again, softly, and I do, his hand still on my shoulder, guiding me as I roll onto my stomach.
My cheek presses against the pillow. I can’t see him anymore, but I feel him behind me. His presence is tangible, heat radiating off him.
His fingers, surprisingly cool, coast over the back of my neck, pushing my hair to one side, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake.
All of this, it feels so…vulnerable. Underneath him like this, facing away so I can’t see him, can’t tell what he’s thinking or what he might do next.
It’s not a feeling I’ve enjoyed with partners in the past, not something I ever thought I would enjoy, but with Jacob…it feels different. Like I can just be here. I can just fall and not worry where I might land.
His lips press behind my ear, and I gasp, barely able to process it before he’s moving, his hands at the top of my dress.
“Can I?” he asks.
“Yes,” I say, and he starts to unzip me, slowly, taking his time.
He doesn’t say anything, but I hear the way his breathing changes, hitching when he reaches the middle of my back.
“What?” I ask.
“Nothing, it’s just—” His fingers move to the clasp of my bra. “I’ve pictured this. Exactly this. And now—” He undoes the hook, and I feel relief as it loosens, as well as a slight chill against my bare back. “It feels unreal. Like I’m dreaming.”
“You dreamed about this?” I ask as he continues to unzip me.
A rough sound escapes him, and I feel a pulse between my legs.
“You know I did,” he says. His hands rise back to my shoulders, and now the dress comes off with ease.
“I did too,” I say as I pull my arms through the straps, as he peels the dress off my body. “I dreamed about this too.”
I hadn’t wanted to, but I wasn’t able to stop thinking about that night. I thought about everything we had done, and everything we hadn’t. Everything I still wanted to do.
He groans then, and his body moves as if of its own accord. His hips move, arching into me, and I press back against him, moving in time with him, reveling in the feel of him, in the proof of how much he wants me.
The rough wool of his kilt brushes against my legs. “You’re wearing too many clothes,” I say, and he lifts up for a moment. I turn to look at him, to help him, but his voice stops me in my tracks.
“No,” he says. I hear the slide of fabric against skin, the sound of his buttons coming undone. “Stay.” He pauses. “If you want to, that is.”
“I want what you want,” I say. “I’ll tell you if I don’t, if I change my mind, but I want it like this. I…I thought about it. When I asked you to unzip me that night. How we hadn’t—how I’d never know how it would feel like this, and—”
I feel a hand on my rib cage and jump at the contact, surprised by how quickly he finished undressing. How quickly he moved.
“Anything you want,” he says, his breath traveling through my hair. I shiver at the sensation, and then his hand slides, moving from my rib cage to my stomach, trapped between my body and the sheets. “Whatever you’ve thought about, whatever you’ve wanted to do—”
His hand slides lower, cupping me between my legs. “We’ll do all of it,” he says, and my mouth parts.
The feel of his hand, pressing exactly where I want him, is everything. Better than the memories I’ve replayed. Better than I remembered. I move against him instinctively, grinding against his hand.
“Yes,” he says in my ear. “Take what you want, sweetheart. Whatever you want.”
“I—” I can’t stop; my hips work faster, chasing, climbing higher.
And he talks to me all the while, his voice deep and rough.
I only hear pieces of it, barely able to process.
Words like yes and just like that and sweetheart.
Words that set me aflame, that have me twisting and pressing and moving until I find my release on his fingers, waves of pleasure that roll through me.
“Jacob,” I say, the word falling out of my mouth on a gasp, my hands clutching at the sheets, and I hear him respond. The words are rushed together, something like so beautiful and I’m right here, and then my body goes lax, every part of me wrung out. At peace, blissfully still.