37. Thirty-Seven
Jack says nothing when the door slides open but steps directly into a full-on kiss that makes my breath hitch and my lower half alight with electric tingles—a power surge through my spine. Pressed tightly together, every muscle in his chest tenses under my fingers, and his veins pop as his hands move over me, arms to back to face like he can’t decide where to touch me. I can’t decide either—my hands cross with his in a strange tangle as I move from his biceps to his neck and then over his cheek. Our intensity causes me to stumble and sends pain jolting through my bum ankle, breaking our kiss.
“You okay?” He hovers near my lips like he doesn’t want to venture too far away.
“I’m so okay. I’ve never had a better day, either. Stay with me.”
“Always.” His forehead rests against mine, and his dark eyes penetrate me. “I’m yours. Whatever you want.”
“Is this the part where I tell you exactly what to do?” A breathless chuckle escapes, teasing about his best-sex-ever story.
He laughs, pressing further against me while his fingers slip under the hem of my shirt. “If you wish. I promise to be extremely attentive.”
The word inspires a giggle. His fingertips dance over my stomach, making my heart race and forcing a sharp inhale.
“Tell me what you want,” he whispers, his hand rising under my shirt, his fingers edging lightly over the top of my lacy bra.
“You already know,” I gasp as his finger delicately brushes the hard tip of my breast.
His brow cocks curiously as I untuck his shirt and hook him closer by his waistband. His muscles tense under my touch, and his lips curl as they close in on mine. “Do I?”
A coy grin rises on my flushed cheeks. “I want to be ravished, cherished, and fucking adored.”
He laughs, his fingers sweeping across my chest like feathers. “Anything else?”
“Yes… I want to see you.” Even admitting that aloud arouses me.
With a low rumble like a purr, he pushes me against the back of the couch in a wild, tongue-laced kiss. A soft moan ekes out when I wobble on my leg again.
He leans over and scoops me up. “Hold on to me.”
My hands loop around his neck, and my head rests against his shoulder. It feels like a damsel-in-distress moment, but one I definitely like. I’m weightless as he swings me across the living room and down the hall, careful of my dangling feet.
He sets me on the bed’s edge, and standing before me, he kicks off his shoes and pulls off his shirt. The soft bedroom light illuminates his form and the artwork across his chest. Lifting to my knees on the bed’s edge, I run my fingers over the fiery books on his arm before kissing them. Vines with thorns and wilting flowers travel over his arms and torso, connecting the images together. My mouth slowly travels upwards, whispering the book titles between kisses.
“Fahrenheit 451.” My fingertips trace the next ones—The Cheshire Cat, a triangle with a Big Brother eye and a hand holding the skull of Yorick. “Alice in Wonderland, 1984, Hamlet.”
He watches me intently, submissively, letting me do just as I want. I switch to his other arm, resting his hand against my hip as my tongue follows the artful patterns. “The Lord of the Flies, And Then There Were None, The Black Cat,” I whisper. I smile as goosebumps appear under my breath.
He moans sharply when my kisses grow more intense over his neck and collarbone. Nibbling him. Tasting him. Letting my tongue drift over the veins popping across his chest. His hands wrap around my thighs and up my skirt, kneading me with his fingers.
Over his heart, I trace the outline of the Calvin and Hobbes version of him and his brother headed toward the baseball field before resting my head against it and giving it a soft kiss.
My lips travel lower on his chest. “To Kill a Mockingbird, Harry Potter,The Hunger Games.”
The images end over his rippled abdomen. “Turn around,” I say. His hands drag over me as he obeys.
The vines and flowers wrap around him, framing his largest tattoo like a window.
“The Lonely Mountain from The Hobbit.” Silhouettes of the ragtag dwarves, Bilbo, and Gandalf climb up the side while Smaug hovers at the top. The dragon is red with yellow eyes, and the detail is exquisite—each scale, every tooth, the red and orange fire escaping his mouth.
“Devin’s favorite book,” Jack says as I trace the images. “When he was at his worst, it was the only book he’d let me read to him. The Hobbit was Devin’s heaven… or at least, what he hoped it’d be like. I hope he’s fighting orcs right now.”
“Or being ravished by a hot elf,” I say with a small laugh, missing someone I never met.
Jack turns in my hands, and I look up at him. “Yeah, he’d probably enjoy that more. Sorry, I didn’t mean to—”
“No, don’t. You’re beautiful.” It’s all I can think to say. He is all muscle and art and slick warmth. The longing in his eyes grows as I undo his pants and pull them down. He kicks them away at his feet, leaving only his boxer briefs.
“You have no idea what you’re doing to me,” he says, breathless. His hands grip my legs, dragging me against him until I’m on fire.
“Your turn.” His voice is barely above a whisper, breathy and desperate. “I want to see you.”
He kisses me. Lips parting mine. Tongue teasing mine. Until I’m breathless and wanting, and him pulling my shirt over my head is the only reasonable next step. He eases me out of my skirt, too—my lacy black Victoria’s Secret bra and panties aren’t so secret anymore.
Only that’s not what draws his focus, not at first. In the warm light with no collar or scarf to hide them, he takes me in, studies me, lets his fingers trace the rugged marks along my cheek, down my neck, and cresting my heart. There’s more feeling in those places than I remember, at least under his touch. Softly, sweetly, his gentle exploration has me breathless and moaning and eager to take him. His lips follow. His tongue. Touching the untouchable. Loving the unlovable. Wanting me as I am.
“You’re beautiful,” he counters, lips sliding over my heart. He unhooks my bra one-handed and pulls it away. Then, eases my panties around my hips and down my legs as I lean backward to the bed. I’m bare. And given the breathless, desperate, loving look in his eyes, beautiful, just as he said.
He meets me on the bed, and my legs wrap around his midsection, pulling him to me. He devours me, neck, chest, breasts—wild and gentle at once. His fingers graze the warmth between my legs—his touch alone might be my undoing.
Only I’m not ready. In a swift maneuver, I flip him on his back. My fingers travel along the sandy roughness of his cheeks, down the wave of his broad chest, and over the tight ripples of his stomach. A moan rumbles from him as my hand slips under his boxers and finds him deliciously hard and ready for me. I tug the last of his clothes away.
“Fuck, Rowan,” he groans as I take him in my mouth, his voice desperate and surprised. I’m surprised, too—this has never been my go-to. Trent made it a requirement, ruining it for me. But now, with Jack, it’s as if he holds the secret combination that unlocks the real me. And the real me enjoys ravishing him.
His hand threads through my hair, moving with my rhythm, but only for a moment before he stops me. “I’m too close.”
He twists me around this time, lavishing me with wet kisses and teasing touches like he can’t get enough. Face between my legs, his hot tongue makes me rake my hand through his hair and cry out—a first for me.
Another first—his attentiveness doesn’t stop until I come. Twice.
One thrust inside me elicits moans from us both. It won’t take much more for either of us.
“Damn,” he growls. “You’re perfect, Rowan. Fucking perfect.”
He watches me from the bed as I shift my hips against him for the final ride. I’m quivering and aching for him—I knew it would be like this. A stake has been driven through time. Before us. And after. Sex like this is practically a new discovery that’ll require decades of study and exploration—a prospect that thrills me to no end.
Nearing the end, he sits up, holding me tight against him as explosions and tremors overtake us. Even when they come to a slow stop, we remain entangled. Breathless. Clinging. Happy.
“You’re shaking,” he whispers, pushing hair away from my face.
“So are you.”
He smirks. “First best thing to happen to me today… or any day. This. You. Us.”
“Me, too.” A chuckle slips out. “This. You. Us… sounds like a book title.”
“Uh-oh. I’m definitely rubbing off on you if you’re starting to think in book titles.” He lays his head against my chest, holding me closer. “There’s something I have to know.”
His sudden seriousness surprises me. “What?”
He edges away, locking eyes. “Tell me the truth—was I better than Robbie?”
I curl into him, laughing. “Was I better than no-name college girl?”
“Fuck yes. Worlds better. I’m seriously considering marrying you just to secure a lifetime of that.”
“That better not be a proposal.”
“Hell no. I’ve already… well, you’ll see. Stop distracting me. The question was—”
“Yes, better than Robbie.”
“Thank God.” In a swift move, he twists me onto the bed and hovers over me, kissing my face and neck and making me laugh hysterically.
Laughter moves into talking and, later on, another sweet and sexy round in the shower—my idea—that leaves us trembling and tired but blissfully content.
Then, sometime, late into our first night together and still damp from our shower, we fall asleep, wrapped against each other like we’re afraid one of us might slip away during the night.
The gray morning arrives. My eyes open against Jack’s bare chest just as I remember falling asleep. He’s propped up with pillows, one arm draped around my shoulder and one hand on Edgar, curled to his other side. We are addictively warm and cozy. I want to watch him sleep, but my shift causes him to stir.
His eyes flutter, and he smiles—the easiest, most affirming smile—and my heart swells with elation like I’ve climbed a summit to see the gorgeous view everyone raves about for myself. This is what I’ve always wanted. To feel beautiful at first glance.
He brushes my smile with his fingertip. “Rowan… good morning. Come here and kiss me.”
Edgar stands, stretches, and jumps from the bed as if cued—he doesn’t want to see that.
I lean up, planting kisses on Jack’s chest and neck before reaching his lips. He laughs as my hands wander over him.
“Let’s stay in bed all day,” he says between kissing me.
“Can’t. I have a job to get to, remember?”
“Hmm, is it take-your-boyfriend-to-work day again?”
I smirk over his joke and the word boyfriend. “Afraid not. But after yesterday, I’m sure you’ll still be our main topic of discussion.”
“Aw, I won’t see you blush whenever you hear my name.”
A laugh rumbles out, and I blush just thinking about it. “No, but you can spend the day thinking of ways to make me blush when I come home.”
He moans in delight, pulling me closer. “I won’t be good for much else today with you occupying my headspace. I’ll never shower again without thinking of you.”
“Me, neither. We should just always shower together—make it our thing.”
“Oh, we’ll have many things,” he assures me. “But yes—never showering alone sounds like a good plan. So, how about I help you get ready for work, huh?”
I agree with a deep kiss, and he carries me to the bathroom.