10. Stone #2
“Stone, I don’t want to think right now,” he says, his gaze locked with mine, his voice low and dirty.
“You want to feel? Tell me how you feel, then. Tell me how you feel right now.”
His eyes blaze with lust. “Infatuated,” he says slowly, almost like he’s tossing it to me.
And I catch it. Take my time with it too. “So infatuated.”
He breathes out heavily, swallows roughly. Whispers in a voice like smoke, “Get over here.”
I am there.
With that invitation, all the meditation and yoga unravel.
Or maybe they’d already unraveled.
Maybe they unraveled when I got in the car with him alone. Maybe they unraveled when I told him about my resistance plan. Or maybe they’re unspooling now as I straddle him, sinking onto the outline of his erection, pushing my hard-on against his.
I curl my hands over Jackson’s shoulders.
Those tense, tight shoulders.
Our eyes lock.
His are blazing with heat and need. He stares at me like he’s dying to touch me. But like he has to as well. Like he’s compelled.
And since I know he likes control, since I know he likes to lead, I wait for him to give permission.
It comes first in his hands.
They snake around me, sliding over my stomach, around my hips, leaving a trail of sparks in their wake, until they settle on my ass.
Those big palms curl over me, and he growls, “Yes.”
His groan is the most satisfied one I’ve ever heard, and that one word of approval makes me throb everywhere.
“You like what you feel?” I whisper, my voice low, raspy.
“I do,” he murmurs, then squeezes again, rough and hard. “Mmm. Yes, I do.”
He’s like a different man after dark. He’s a new Jackson at midnight. He lets go. He shows me who he is. What he wants.
He doesn’t kiss me though. Instead, his hands travel inside the back of my jeans, under the waistband of my boxer briefs. They curve over my flesh, and it’s spectacular—this contact. The way he feels. The way he feels me .
He kneads my ass, and just breathes out hard, like this connection is all he wants. “This ass,” he says on a groan, letting his eyes fall shut. “I want this ass.”
“You can have it,” I say, desperate, grinding against his dick as he palms me. One month has been hell. I am so wound up. So pent-up.
“I know,” he says, his tone heavy, laced with lust. Keeping one hand inside my jeans, he slides the other one up my spine and into my hair, cupping the back of my head.
Jackson licks his lips. Meets my eyes. Then he bends his head to my neck, sliding his lips across my skin.
“Oh, fuck,” I grunt, closing my eyes. “Yes. That’s so good.”
I rock onto his dick, desperate for the contact, even with clothes on, seeking out all the friction I can get from this fantastic ridge of a cock.
He takes his time, all slow and lingering, fully in control as his mouth travels across my neck, his lips exploring me, his five-o’clock shadow rubbing against me. He makes his way to my ear. Bites the earlobe. Whispers, “So infatuated .”
I don’t know if he’s talking about me or him.
I don’t care.
He clasps my face so I can’t move—just holds me in place so he can wander across my neck, my jaw, my chin. Sucking. Biting. Kissing.
He stops at my lips. His are a millimeter away. And then he skims them against mine, and I nearly die from how good it feels.
How soft his touch is.
A gentle brush.
A whisper of a kiss.
Until it’s not.
Until he jams the gas pedal and takes this ride from zero to sixty in less than a second. He slams his mouth to mine, spears his tongue inside me, and fucks my mouth.
It’s wild and animalistic.
He’s ruthless with his lips and his tongue.
He’s a powder keg of lust.
I want him to unleash it all on me.
He kisses me like he owns my mouth. With teeth and lips and passion.
He grabs my face harder and jerks me closer, tasting me, licking me. Holy shit. This man is fire. He is nothing but heat and desire. His hand holds my jaw in place, his thumb rubbing along my stubble, as he strokes that wicked tongue inside my mouth again and again.
My cock aches, and I’m desperate for him to touch me, but I’m desperate for something else too.
For him.
When he breaks the kiss, he runs his thumb across my bottom lip then shoves it inside my mouth. I suck on his thumb ravenously, and he groans, then rasps out, “You look like you want your lips stretched around my cock.”
I groan. “Correction: I want my lips stretched around your gorgeous cock.”
Running his thumb over my top lip now, he lifts his chin, all defiant and challenging. “How do you know it’s gorgeous?”
I answer him with actions. I grind down on his dick, moaning as I feel the length of him against my ass. Groaning as I show him how good I can take it when he gives it to me. Then I answer with words too. “I can tell it’s a thing of beauty by how thick it is. How aroused you are.”
I rub on him again, rocking back and forth, driving him wild.
Like I promised.
And I always make good on my bedroom promises.
He shudders. He leans his head back against the seat, his jaw clenched, gritting his teeth.
“ Stone. ” It comes out strangled, less like an admonition and more like a plea.
I lean closer to him. Bring my mouth to his ear. “Let me suck you off. Let me make you feel good.”
Heat rages across my body. Lust licks my veins.
I slide back so I can drop my hand to his pants, rub my palm across the outline of his erection.
And he hisses.
It’s a carnal sound. It’s the sound of relief, and the sound of wicked want.
Jackson reaches for my hand, grabs it, and presses it firmly against his cock so I can palm his length, and, holy hell, he feels fantastic.
He sounds even better when he utters a harsh command. “Get on your knees. Unzip my pants. And take me to the back of your throat.”
Well, I can’t deny an order like that from my bodyguard.