Chapter 24
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Jack
Taking Maggie to all these different places is more fun than I ever would’ve expected.
Sure, I think a lot of them are cool, too, but there are a lot of things I never would’ve done without her.
And while the Chihuly museum is amazing with installations inside and out, full of glass formed in ways I didn’t realize was possible, watching her take it all in is even more enjoyable for me than the art itself.
I feel like I have a normal amount of appreciation for art—pretty things are nice and I enjoy the different public sculptures I see in cities all over the US and Canada—but it’s never something I’ve ever really studied or gone out of my way to look at or experience.
I’m not sure how much Maggie’s studied about art—though she did mention taking an art history course as an elective in college, so it’s fair to say that it’s more than me—but it’s clear that she really likes it.
Every new exhibit has her staring in rapt wonder at the delicate play of glass and wire.
I’ve seen plenty of stained glass in my time, but nothing like this.
The glass is sculptural, not just pretty windows, with pieces that look like they belong in a coral reef or like someone took what they saw under a microscope and made it huge.
And the colors … I’m not sure I’ve ever seen color so intense as in some of these sculptures.
I get why she likes it, and I’m glad I get to experience it with her, but the highlight for me is the expression on her face the whole time.
That wonder and astonishment—I can’t remember the last time I felt that way about anything, really.
I’ve gotten so jaded over the last few years, doing the same things all the time, rarely looking for or experiencing anything new, much less anything that would make me feel the way this museum makes Maggie feel.
We spend nearly two hours there, and I’m pretty sure the only reason we leave when we do—after a brief stop in the gift shop for me to buy Maggie a souvenir, though she protests that she can buy it herself—is because the place is closing in ten minutes.
She bumps against me as we head out to the car, her fingers laced securely with mine. “Thank you,” she says quietly.
I smile at her. “You’re welcome.”
“I mean it,” she insists, waving back at the museum with the little paper bag in her hand. “I really appreciate you taking me to this and spending all that time there without complaining. After the first hour, I was a little worried you were bored, but you seemed to be enjoying yourself too.”
“I was,” I confirm, though I’m not sure how she’d feel if I told her that I was enjoying watching her look at the art more than the art itself. “I like doing things that make you happy.”
She narrows her eyes at me. “But you weren’t bored, right? Like, you didn’t just go because I wanted to go?”
“I enjoyed myself,” I tell her, squeezing her fingers with mine.
She doesn’t seem entirely mollified by that answer, still studying me with that narrow-eyed look. “I just … I don’t want you doing things just for me and hating life the whole time. I promise you from experience, that it doesn’t end well.”
Stopping, I pull her around to face me, looking into her eyes.
“I promise that if there’s ever something that I don’t want to do, I will be honest and upfront about it.
I will not pretend to enjoy myself while building up resentment.
And I will also not try to stop you from doing things you enjoy even if I don’t particularly like them myself. Okay?”
With her lips pressed together in a tight line, she studies me a moment longer before releasing a heavy breath. “Yeah. Okay. I think I can live with that.”
“Good.” I tip her chin up and brush a kiss over her lips. I’ve managed to sneak in a few kisses throughout the evening, both on the cheek and on her lips. But I’m more than ready to get her alone, especially now that we’re out of the museum.
She kisses me back, taking a second to open her eyes again after we part like she’s savoring the kiss.
“Can we go back to my place?” I ask in a low voice.
Her eyes glittering, she dips her chin in a nod. “Yes.” Her voice is even huskier than mine, and the sound of it has all my blood rushing south.
Wordlessly, we climb into the car, and I navigate the way to my building, reaching over and caressing her knee as I drive. She lays her hand on top of mine, smiling at me when I glance her way.
We eventually manage to chat about the museum and talk about ideas for what we want to do tomorrow.
I’m hoping she’ll stay the night, though we haven’t explicitly discussed it.
I didn’t—don’t—want to assume anything about what will happen once we get back to my place.
But I know what I want to happen. The tension lays thick between us, even though we’re both doing our best to ignore it.
Once we’re finally in my building, we fall silent again as we wait for the elevator and ride it up to my floor.
Fortunately, we don’t encounter either of my teammates who live here.
The last thing I want to do is make small talk with Dozer or Connor right now.
The only thing on my mind is getting Maggie alone.
Maggie clings to my hand as I lead us to my door, pull out my keys, and let us inside. Kicking the door closed behind us, I pull her in front of me, wrapping an arm around her back. She stares up into my eyes, her lips parted, waiting …
I kiss her. And this one’s nothing like the few chaste kisses we’ve exchanged this evening. She opens for me immediately, and I taste her thoroughly, like I’m going to be quizzed about it later and I’m determined to get a hundred percent.
She clings to me, her hands gripping my shoulders, and I haul her close, nearly picking her up off her feet.
Breaking away, she chuckles weakly, and I set her back on her feet. “Sorry,” I murmur, not quite releasing her. “Was that too much?”
She shakes her head. “No. Just … not what I expected.”
I arch an eyebrow. “What were you expecting?”
Another giggle. “Well, the kissing, sure. But I can’t remember the last time anyone picked me up.”
“Well, we’ll have to do something about that, won’t we?
” With that, I turns her sideways and her eyes go wide as I literally sweep her off her feet, picking her up like a bride and carrying her to the couch.
Turning, I sit so she’s draped across my lap, her back resting against the tall arm of my couch.
Tightening my arm behind her, I pull her up so I can kiss her again, taking my time to savor the feel of her lips against mine, the way she kisses me back, the way she squirms in my lap like she’s trying to get closer, the soft sighs when I leave her mouth and trail kisses down her neck.
She tips her head back, giving me access, and I take that as tacit permission to continue down past her collarbone.
Her dress tonight reveals a lovely expanse of flawless skin and more than a hint of her generous cleavage.
Her hand comes up to the back of my head, running through my hair as I kiss my way down her chest until I’m nuzzling the top of her cleavage.
When she runs her fingers through my hair again, I lift my head, returning to her lips, shifting sideways to make room to lay her down.
My couch is pretty deep, but it’ll still be a tight fit with the two of us lying on here.
Our lower halves are all tangled together, I’m lying on the side of my hip propped over her, looking down at her as I brush a few stray hairs out of her face.
Reaching up, she cups my face in return, her fingers rasping against my stubble, and I turn into the caress, enjoying the simple affection.
I don’t think a woman’s ever touched me that way before.
It’s not something I’ve sought out. Most of my relationships—if you can even call them that—have lasted less than twenty-four hours. There wasn’t any real affection in those couplings, just lust and desire.
There’s lust and desire here, too, but the affection is new and different for me.
I like it.
It feels really good.
“Kiss me,” she whispers, and how can I do anything but exactly what she asks?
So I do. I kiss her until I feel like there’s nothing more in this world but her lips, her skin, her body beneath me. She has become my whole world, and I would happily stay here forever.
But then her fingers catch on my shirt near my belt. At first I think it’s an accident, but when she tugs a second time, pulling the fabric free, it’s clear to me that it’s intentional. She pulls again, untucking half my shirt, then she slips her hand beneath it, sighing when she touches my skin.
God. I thought I was happy before. This is immeasurably better.
Emboldened by her starting to undress me, I let my free hand roam up and down her body.
I’ve been trying to keep it to her hip, maybe her back, trying to be respectful until I had a clear go ahead to do more.
But now, I skim the edge of her boob, lifting my head to watch her reaction.
She holds her breath as I swipe my thumb along the underside of her breast, and she lets it out with a shudder as I cup it gently.
Her hand comes up to the back of my neck, and she pulls my mouth to hers.
As we kiss, I slip my hand inside the deep V of her neckline, caressing her through the lace of her bra.
She presses herself into my hand, offering enough wordless encouragement that I peel back the cup of her bra and capture her nipple between my thumb and first finger, rolling it gently.
She gasps, arching, and I lift my head, wanting to drink in the sight of her. Holding her eyes, I gently move the fabric of her dress and bra out of the way, then lower my head and replace my hand with my mouth, sucking her nipple between my lips, rubbing the tip with my tongue.
“Jesus. God,” she gasps, and I can’t help smiling around the nipple in my mouth. She likes this. A lot, from the sounds of it.
I want to give both sides equal treatment, but the angles here don’t really work for that. Lifting my head, I put her clothes back in place. “Do you want to take this to the bedroom?”
“Yes,” she breathes, and I grin in response, gratified that she seems as eager as I am.
“I have condoms,” I tell her as I sit up, pulling her up to sitting as well. I want her to know that I’m not one of those douchebags that tries to pressure or convince women to do it without one.
“Good,” she answers, pausing to kiss me again. “I wouldn’t have sex with you without one. I’m not on birth control, and I don’t want to have another baby right now.”
“Me either,” I murmur against her lips.
She pulls back, looking at me with eyebrows raised. “You don’t want to have another baby? Is there something I should know?”
Laughing, I stand, taking her with me, and she lets out a whoop of surprise that makes me laugh more.
“No,” I tell her as we get to my room. “I just meant I don’t want to have a baby.
I don’t want to get you pregnant and have to deal with all that entails.
I don’t want you to have another baby if you don’t want one. ”
That seems to make her happy, and when I set her down on the bed, kneeling on the floor beside her, she captures my face in both hands and kisses me thoroughly.
Rising up, my mouth never leaving hers, I lay her back on the bed, settling over her, our bodies fitting together just right.
My breath comes short like I’ve just done an hour of skating drills, and I have to stop kissing her and catch my breath.
When I look down into her face, she smiles up at me, and just like that, I’m totally lost to her.