Chapter 14
Ava
Ishould say something. Something clever. Something that doesn’t betray how my pulse is hammering in my throat. But words dissolve before I can shape them, because Jack’s hand lifts, slow, deliberate, and his knuckles graze my cheekbone, his thumb hooking under my chin to tilt my face up.
“You’re thinking too much,” he murmurs, his voice a low rasp that vibrates through me.
I swallow. “I always think too much.”
His mouth quirks, just a little. “Noted.” And then he kisses me again, and oh god, it’s nothing like the first one—no hesitant press of lips, no polite exploration.
This is hunger. This is teeth and tongue and the wet, filthy sound of our mouths moving together, his stubble scraping against my chin.
His hands slide down to my bum, squeezing hard enough to lift me onto my toes, and I gasp into his mouth, my nails digging into his shoulders through the crisp cotton of his shirt.
He tastes like chocolate and something darker, something that’s all him, and I want to drown in it.
The bed is right there. A king-size monstrosity with too many pillows, the duvet turned down by housekeeping in that infuriatingly neat way.
Jack walks me backward until my knees hit the mattress, and I sit down hard, my glasses askew.
He doesn’t let me go. One hand tangles in my hair, the other braces against the bed beside my hip, caging me in.
His throat works as he looks at me and I feel the weight of that gaze like a physical touch, heating my skin.
“Tell me to stop,” he says, and his voice is rough, like he’s been shouting on the pitch for hours.
I don’t want him to stop. I want his hands everywhere. I want his mouth on parts of me that haven’t been touched in years.
His fingers tighten in my hair, just shy of painful. “Ava.”
The way he says my name, like it’s a question and a command all at once—snaps something inside me.
I reach up and yank him down by the collar of his shirt, our mouths crashing together again.
His chuckle is deep, triumphant, and then he’s pushing me back onto the bed, his body covering mine.
The weight of him is glorious, his hips settling between my thighs, the hard ridge of his erection pressing against me through layers of fabric.
I arch into it instinctively, a whimper escaping me, and his breath hitches.
“Fuck,” he groans against my neck, his lips skimming over my pulse point. “You’re killing me.”
I can’t help it—I laugh, breathless and giddy. “I’m not doing anything.”
“Exactly.” His teeth graze my earlobe, and I jerk beneath him, my fingers scrambling at his belt. “You’re just lying there, all shy and proper, while I’m about two seconds from ripping these bloody trousers off you.”
My hands still on his belt buckle. “Then do it.”
He freezes. Lifts his head. His eyes are nearly black now, his pupils blown wide. “What?”
I swallow hard, but I don’t look away. “You heard me.” I don’t know who I am anymore but I like this woman that I’ve become when I’m around him.
For a heartbeat, neither of us moves. Then his mouth crashes onto mine again, his tongue sweeping in deep, possessive strokes that have me moaning into his kiss.
His hands are everywhere—dragging my cardigan down my arms, fumbling with the buttons of my blouse, his fingers brushing against the lace of my bra.
The cool air hits my skin, and I gasp, but before I can protest, his mouth is on my collarbone, his teeth nipping at the sensitive skin there.
“You’re sure?” he growls, his breath hot against my skin as he nudges the cups of my bra aside. His thumb brushes over my nipple and I gasp, my back arching off the bed.
“Is T-rex the best dinosaur or what?” I manage, my voice barely recognisable.
“Ava—” Jack breaks into laughter.
Brilliant. Nothing says irresistible like bringing up prehistoric predators mid-foreplay.
“I’m sorry, I’m not very good at—”
I don’t get to finish. He cuts me off with another kiss, softer this time, lingering.
“You’re unapologetically you,” he murmurs. “That’s exactly who I want.”
The words land somewhere deep and awkward and a bit terrifying, and for a second I’ve got nothing.
“Didn’t you promise some trousers coming off?” I say eventually, aiming for sultry and landing somewhere just shy of it.
That’s all he needs. His hands are on my waistband, yanking at the button of my trousers, and I lift my hips to help him, my fingers tangling in the duvet.
The fabric slides down my legs, taking my knickers with it, and then I’m bare beneath him, exposed in a way I haven’t been in years.
The vulnerability of it should terrify me. Instead, it’s intoxicating.
Jack’s breath stutters as he locks eyes with me. His gaze rakes over my body, lingering on the russet curls between my thighs, the flush spreading across my chest. “Fuck, Ava,” he murmurs, his voice rough. “You’re beautiful.”
I don’t have time to process the way those words make my heart beat faster, because his mouth is on me again, kissing a path down my stomach, his stubble abrading my skin in the most delicious way.
His hands slide under my thighs, spreading me open, and I should feel self-conscious, but the way he’s looking at me, like I’m something rare, something precious, melts every last reservation.
Then his tongue is on me, and I cry out, my fingers flying to his hair.
He groans against my core, the vibration making my hips jerk, and his hands tighten on my thighs, holding me still as he licks me slow and deep, like he’s savouring every inch of me.
My legs tremble, my breath coming in short, sharp gasps as he works me over.
His tongue circling my clit, his lips sealing around it to suck gently, his fingers teasing my entrance.
“Jack—” His name breaks on a moan, my head thrashing against the pillow. “Please, I—”
“I know,” he murmurs against my skin, his breath hot. “I’ve got you.”
And then his fingers are inside me, two of them, curling just right, and his mouth is back on my clit, sucking hard, and I shatter.
The orgasm rips through me, my body bowing off the bed, my cries filling the room.
Jack doesn’t let up, licking me through it, his fingers still moving inside me, drawing out every last shuddering wave until I’m boneless, spent.
He presses a final, lingering kiss to my inner thigh before crawling back up my body, his cock a heavy, insistent presence against my hip. I straighten my glasses and reach for him, my hands shaking, but he catches my wrists and pins them above my head, his eyes burning into mine.
“Condom,” he grits out. “Now. Before I lose what’s left of my fucking mind.”
I nod toward my handbag on the desk. “Side pocket.” I make a mental note to send Chloe a thank-you cake for insisting I bring some with me and then equipping me for what feels like a small-scale orgy.
He’s off the bed in a flash, rummaging through my bag with a desperation that makes me laugh breathlessly. He finds the condom, tears the packet open with his teeth, and rolls it on with practiced ease. When he turns back to me, his expression is almost feral, his cock jutting out proudly.
“Last chance to tell me to stop,” he says, his voice a low growl as he climbs back onto the bed, his knees spreading my thighs wide.
I wrap my legs around his waist, my heels digging into the small of his back. “Don’t you dare.”
That’s all it takes. He surges forward, his cock sliding home in one long, smooth thrust, and we both groan, the sound raw and guttural.
He’s big, stretching me in a way that borders on pain, but god, it’s good.
He stills for a moment, his forehead pressing to mine, his breath coming in ragged gasps, fogging up my glasses.
“Fuck,” he whispers. “You feel…”
I don’t let him finish. I rock my hips up, taking him deeper, and his control snaps.
He starts to move, his thrusts hard and deep, the bed creaking beneath us.
Every time he bottoms out, his pelvis grinds against my clit, sending sparks of pleasure skittering through me.
His mouth finds mine again, his kisses messy and desperate, his hands gripping my hips hard enough to bruise.
“Touch yourself,” he orders, his voice rough. “I want to feel you come on my cock.”
I don’t hesitate. My hand slides between us, my fingers finding my clit, circling in time with his thrusts. The dual sensation is overwhelming, the coil of pleasure tightening inside me with every snap of his hips.
“That’s it,” he groans, his breath hot against my ear. “Just like that. Fuck, you’re perfect.”
His words send me tumbling over the edge again, my body clamping down around him as I come, my nails raking over his back.
He follows with a guttural cry, his cock pulsing inside me as he spills into the condom, his thrusts turning jerky and uneven before he collapses on top of me, his heart hammering against my chest.
For a long moment, neither of us moves. His weight is delicious, his skin slick with sweat, his breath warm against my neck.
I can feel his heartbeat slowing, the tension easing from his muscles.
He presses a kiss to my shoulder, then another to the corner of my mouth, before rolling onto his side to take off the condom and pulling me against his chest.
"Careful, my glasses," I laugh and catch them before they slide off.
"Sorry," he mumbles but pulls me closer anyway.
I lie there for a moment, trying to remember how breathing works.
Everything feels warm. Heavy in that good way. Like my body has forgotten how to be tense.
Jack’s arm is still around me, his hand resting low on my back, his thumb moving in slow absent circles like he isn’t even aware he’s doing it. It feels… grounding. Not possessive. Not casual either. Just there.
“That,” I say eventually, my voice slightly wrecked, “was… not in the original work plan.”
His chest moves against my shoulder. A quiet laugh.
“No,” he agrees. “I don’t remember that being in the media schedule either.”
I smile into the pillow.
There’s a small silence. Not awkward. Just… full.
I expect the usual aftermath thoughts. The ones I’ve had before. The quiet mental audit. Was that a mistake? Too fast? Too reckless?
They don’t come.
Instead there’s just a strange calm.
Jack shifts slightly, pressing another soft kiss to my shoulder.
“You okay?” he asks quietly.
“I’m… surprisingly okay,” I admit. “Suspiciously okay.”
That gets a soft huff of amusement.
“Suspiciously?”
“I overthink everything,” I say. “It’s basically my personality.”
“I’ve noticed.”
I turn my head slightly to look at him. His hair is a mess. There’s a faint red line on his shoulder from where my nails must have caught him.
I did that.
The thought sends a small, very un-proofreader-like pulse of satisfaction through me before reality slowly starts creeping back in.
“The match,” I say.
“Tomorrow,” he confirms.
“And Alfie.”
“Also tomorrow.”
“And you’re currently… not on the eighth floor.”
He smiles slightly. “Also true.”
He reaches for his phone on the bedside table.
“I should probably text my mum so she doesn’t think I’ve been kidnapped by you.”
I watch him type. His expression shifts slightly. Softer somehow.
Staying with Ava. Back upstairs early.
He sends it before I can pretend I didn’t notice the staying.
“I’ll need to head up around five,” he says. “Just to be there before Alfie wakes up.”
That makes sense. Of course it does.
Responsible Jack is still very much here.
I nod.
“Set your alarm for four.”
He glances at me. “Four?”
I nod, suddenly very aware of how bold this sounds and absolutely unwilling to take it back.
“Yes.”
“Why four?”
I hesitate for half a second. Then decide apparently tonight is the night I say things I normally wouldn’t.
“Because,” I say carefully, “I’m fairly certain I’m going to want some cuddle time before you go.”
The words just… sit there.
Did I just say that?
Jack doesn’t laugh. Doesn’t tease. Doesn’t make it awkward.
His expression just softens in that dangerous way he has.
“Four it is,” he says quietly, setting the alarm.
I stare at the ceiling for a second.
His breathing evens out again. His hand still warm against my back. Outside somewhere London continues being loud and sleepless.
In here it feels very quiet.
Very safe.
For once my brain doesn’t immediately start catastrophising what this means tomorrow.
For once I just let myself stay exactly where I am.
Tangled up with a man I absolutely did not plan for.
And very much not regretting it.