Chapter 11 #3
I almost laughed. Just him. Good lord. If he only knew what he did to me.
Silly-schoolgirl-crush sorts of things. Blushing cheeks and butterflies in my stomach.
Wanting and needing. Thinking he might be the only person who knew this version of me.
There was nothing that could minimize that.
Not even his whispered reassurance against the shell of my ear.
But the drag of his hand up my leg was grounding. It was the way he’d touched me earlier. I knew it. It was familiar. An unhurried caress, slow and steady, causing my nerve endings to come alive and my mind to settle. To just feel.
Jack guided me toward him. Rolling onto my side, I faced his dark outline in the night, and his talented fingers dipped behind my knee, making me suck in a breath.
Desire coiled neatly in my middle, settling warm and heavy as I reached out and did some exploring of my own.
Jack was all firm lines and soft skin. My hand smoothed over coarse chest hair before following the line of it over a lean midsection.
His hips jerked reflexively as my fingers brushed the velvety tip of his cock where it strained between us.
I wrapped my fist around his length and squeezed.
The sound Jack made against my cheek was rough and desperate, and I wanted to taste it.
Smiling against his mouth, I barely had time to stroke once, twice, and a third time before Jack freed himself from my grasp.
He urged me flat on my back and loomed over me on hands and knees, his big body caging me in as he placed hot, wet kisses between my breasts all the way down to the waistband of my lacy underwear.
Despite my earlier agreement that Jack could kiss me wherever he wanted, I wasn’t ready for this. Maybe I was crazy, but it felt too intimate or too soon; I didn’t know.
So I reached for him, cupping his stubble-covered cheeks and guiding him back up my body. “I want you up here with me.”
He came willingly, bringing his lips to mine in a kiss that left me gasping. But before he could settle himself, he rolled across the mattress, pulling me on top of him.
“You’re in charge here,” he stated roughly. “You set the pace.” His hands smoothed rhythmically up and down my thighs, unhurried and encouraging at the same time.
Some unexpected emotion ricocheted through me. A weird combination of gratitude and fascination. What would it be like to take what Jack offered? To give myself permission? To stop worrying about pleasing everyone else for a change?
I shifted to get comfortable as I straddled his hips. My knee came into contact with something on the bed. I reached over, feeling the smooth edge of a foil packet.
For once, I knew exactly what I wanted.
I ripped open the wrapper and used both hands to roll the condom into place.
Jack’s hands tightened on my legs briefly, but he didn’t move to help.
I rose slightly, sliding my underwear to the side as I positioned his cock at my entrance.
Then I slowly sank down as pressure and heat threatened to overwhelm me.
“Fuck,” Jack cursed, his fingers digging into my hips.
I waited a moment, getting used to the invasion, the size, the way my belly had hollowed at the feel of him. When I could manage a full breath, I rolled my hips experimentally.
Jack cursed again, the sound a vulgar hiss from a tightly clenched jaw.
I let myself smile into the darkness, and then I started to move, doing what he’d told me—taking charge, setting the pace.
A thumb found its way to my clit, using the slickness of my arousal to rub tiny circles right where I needed it. I jolted at the touch, an arrow notching in the bowstring of my desire. Goose bumps erupted on my skin like the AC was going full blast.
“Yes,” I moaned, my movements speeding up, every tilt of my hips pushing me higher and higher.
Jack was moving now, too. His hips rising to meet my thrusts, a perfect counterpoint. His other hand remained steady on my hip, content to let me lead.
“I’m close,” I whispered as my movements fell out of sync.
The thumb at the apex of my thighs stopped circling. The teasing touch bore down directly on my clit, giving me pressure and heat and yes, there . . . right there . . . oh, God.
Through the flash of pleasure, the blinding intensity of it, I felt Jack’s thrusts speed up, his hips snapping inelegantly as he reached his own climax.
He jackknifed up, clutching me to him as he groaned into my neck. I held on just as tightly, feeling raw and untethered, like I needed something to keep me from floating away.
Jack panted against my neck, exhaling heavy and warm. As seconds passed and his breathing slowed, he placed a soft kiss along my jaw.
“I’ll be right back,” he said, words brushing the shell of my ear and making me shiver.
He was careful with me as we separated, helping me onto the center of the bed while being mindful of the condom.
Awkwardly, I adjusted my underwear and attempted to piece myself back together while Jack shuffled into the bathroom across the hall.
My mind felt like a switchboard, warning lights pinging into existence as thoughts entered the atmosphere. I’d done it. I’d had sex with someone—someone who was not my husband. Because I didn’t have a husband, my brain quickly corrected before I could drift into that minefield.
I’d had sex.
And it had been amazing.
Now I was sitting alone as the air cooled my skin, wondering what came next. Would Jack want me to leave? Did friends with benefits cuddle? Was I allowed to stay over?
No, probably not. I should—I should leave before I made things weird.
Quickly, I hopped up from the bed, eyes searching the darkness for my dress on the floor. I’d just bent over and gathered it in my arms when the light clicked on across the hall. I froze like one of those cartoon prisoners during a jailbreak.
“What are you doing?” Jack asked. My eyes hadn’t adjusted to the sudden brightness, so I couldn’t confirm, but I was relatively sure I heard amusement in his voice.
Squinting and blinking, I straightened, using the fabric of my dress to cover my nearly naked front. “Um, well . . .”
Jack was leaning against the doorframe of his bedroom, arms crossed and silhouette backlit. I could make out the laughing tilt of his lips, the arch of one expectant eyebrow, practically saying, This ought to be good.
I could also see that he was completely nude.
He had a full sleeve of tattoos on one arm that I was eager to explore in the light of day.
But despite my best effort, my eyes dipped below his waist, confirming what I’d only felt earlier.
He was so beautiful. Lean and strong. Wide shoulders with narrow hips, and his penis was—
“Bonnie,” he said, definitely entertained.
My eyes jumped to his face as a guilty flush worked its way up my neck.
“What are you doing?” he asked again, stepping into the room and within touching distance.
I closed my eyes briefly, trying to shake off the lust and the instinct to ogle and objectify. He was just so aggressively handsome.
“I don’t know,” I admitted with a humorless laugh. “Should I leave? Am I supposed to leave? I don’t know how to do this.”
Warm hands enveloped my upper arms as he stroked leisurely up and down.
“You should only leave if you want to.” His hazel eyes sparkled before he leaned in and placed a kiss on the corner of my mouth.
“But I think”—another kiss beneath my jaw—“you should stay.” Then he gave a gentle bite to my earlobe. “Because I’m just getting started.”
It was morning before I wanted it to be, my limbs heavy with exhaustion and my mind well rested for once. As I blinked groggily, pale morning light brought the nearly unfamiliar room into focus and, along with it, a sudden awareness.
Clutching the covers to my naked chest, I sat up quickly as soreness registered in my muscles. The kind of ache that reminded me of multiple orgasms and the man very much not in bed beside me.
At least this time, I didn’t have the hangover from hell.
I took in the room, noting things I hadn’t on my previous visit.
The basic white walls, the tidy, spartan space that hadn’t really absorbed the personality of its owner.
The framed paintings were a bit out of place.
Jack didn’t strike me as a watercolor landscape sort of guy.
But I’d learned not to assume things about people and their hobbies.
After participating in and teaching summer art courses over the years, I knew that talent could be found in the unlikeliest of places.
My eyes drifted to the foot of the bed, where a shaft of sunlight spread across the quilt, highlighting my dress and underthings neatly folded and waiting for me. I grinned, my hand rising on instinct to cover the gap in my teeth.
I figured I should probably get dressed and figure out how awkward this morning after was going to be. A few minutes later, I’d smoothed my wrinkled dress down my legs and finger combed my short hair into something resembling order.
With a peek around the doorframe, I found Jack in the same chair he’d occupied the first time I’d snuck out of his bedroom. There he sat with another book—this one a paperback—and a cup of coffee, reading glasses on and feet once again bare.
My stomach did a little back handspring and stuck the landing.
“Hi,” he said, his lips looking like they were on their way to a smile. Like maybe he was comparing the last time we’d been in this situation, too.
“Hi,” I returned, stepping fully into the hallway.
“Come have coffee with me,” he invited.
My feet were already moving. “Okay.”
“Your mug is on the counter.”
Something about the casual words and the ease with which he’d delivered them had my mind stuttering to a stop. My toes nearly tripped me up as my steps faltered momentarily on my way into the kitchen.
My heart shouldn’t be beating this hard over something so minor, so utterly insignificant. But it was.