Marissa
Jesse comes by on Thursday to paint my bedroom.
I volunteered to help with the project; it wasn’t like I have anything else on the agenda today, and Toby and Shelby were more than happy to take the afternoon off.
He looks better than ever this afternoon, dressed in an old T-shirt and a pair of paint-stained jeans that hang low on his hips.
I’ve had painters at my house before, but most of them had potbellies and wore bib overalls.
Exactly zero of them looked like they stepped off the pages of a Sexy Handyman calendar.
Jesse tasked me with adhering painter’s tape to the baseboards while he applies a coat of pale blue paint to the ceiling.
Blue paint is definitely a departure—I normally veer toward neutrals—but Shelby talked me into the color, insisting it would mirror the sky and bring the beauty of the outdoors in.
The reality is that Jesse could be painting the ceiling neon green right now and I probably wouldn’t notice.
I’m too distracted by the sight of his triceps, which are currently straining against the tight sleeves of his T-shirt as he sweeps a roller back and forth across the plaster.
The hem of his shirt lifts slightly and I bite down on my bottom lip as I study the taut skin of his abdomen.
I’m hit with the sudden urge to trace my tongue against the edge of his jeans.
My brain hasn’t flexed these muscles in a very long time.
With effort, I manage to tear my eyes away, forcing myself to focus on the task at hand.
But it’s impossible, when the memory of the other night is still so fresh.
Neither of us has mentioned the kiss, but it fills the room like an entire herd of elephants.
I don’t know about Jesse, but I haven’t been able to think of much else since.
It took me hours to fall asleep on Saturday night, my body unable to shed the hum of electricity.
I can’t remember the last time I felt so alive, so attuned to myself.
The ghost of his kiss haunted my lips all night, the memory of his mouth claiming mine playing on repeat.
I sneak another glimpse at him over my shoulder as I seal the final bit of tape, and he catches my eye.
His mouth tilts into a tiny smirk and I know he’s caught me staring.
The desire in the air is palpable, and I know that he wants me as badly as I want him.
But I also suspect that he is first and foremost a professional and that he’s not going to jeopardize his contract by making the first move. Which means the ball is in my court.
It’s bad news for professionalism, because I’m done putting my desires on the back burner. I’ve kept the lid on that pot for too long and now the simmering heat has bubbled to the surface, ready to boil over. It’s time to stop fighting it and just give in.
“I have to admit that I’ve never painted a room before,” I say, rising to my feet. “How exactly does this work?”
Jesse dismounts the ladder in the center of the room and gestures to the fresh coat he’s just applied to the ceiling.
“You start at the top and work your way down. It’s easy once you get the hang of it.”
Swing and a miss. I cross my arms and let out a sigh. Apparently, I need to play it less coy.
“I’m just … worried I’ll mess up. Maybe you can teach me?”
Jesse’s cheeks redden and I can tell he’s finally caught on to my game. But he’s not ready to yield. Not yet.
“I promise you, it’s not that difficult. Even my brother can do it.” There’s a look of amusement in his expression now.
He’s fucking with me, too.
“All right,” I say. “Guess I’ll just…”
I grab a roller and a tray of paint, then step toward the wall in front of me and paint a big, crooked X onto the wall. Having seen how neatly he works, I know this will press a button.
I shoot him a glance over one shoulder, and the smirk immediately melts off his face. With satisfaction, I watch a muscle in his jaw tick.
Got him.
He steps up behind me and closes his hands over mine.
It’s the first time I appreciate how huge they are, how easily his fingers can wrap all the way around my wrists.
His nose brushes against my hair and he inhales slowly.
I drop my head against his shoulder and press myself flush against his chest. His hips flex and I can feel the shape of him straining against his jeans.
I’m desperate to whirl around and devour him. But patience is a virtue here. I’ve set the scene. Now we’re rolling and the timing needs to be just right. We’re only getting one take.
“Okay, show me how it’s done.”
Jesse guides my arms as we dip the roller into the paint, rocking it back and forth a few times to coat it. Then he lifts my arms, dragging them slowly down the wall.
“There you go. Just like that,” he whispers in my ear. “Long, steady strokes, up and down.”
I burst into laughter, then wheel around to face him.
“Stop! You sound like a thirteen-year-old boy.”
“What do you mean? I thought you wanted to learn professional painting. It’s not my fault that you are willfully misinterpreting my directions.” Him messing with me somehow only makes him hotter.
“I’ll show you professional painting.” Then I drag the roller down the front of his shirt.
He stares down at the stripe of blue across his shirt, aghast.
“You did not just do that.”
I giggle. “What do you think of my long and steady stroke?”
“I think you’re going to pay for it.”
He takes a slow, purposeful stride toward me, and I stumble backward until I’m flattened against the unpainted portion of the wall.
Jesse crowds me against it, then grabs my wrists, pinning my arms above my head.
Excitement races through me as my breath turns ragged, and I stare up at him, waiting to see what he’ll do next.
His eyes are dark and glittering as they lock on mine.
I can see that he wants me as badly as I want him.
“Drop your weapon, Ms. Morgan.”
I arch an eyebrow. “Ms. Morgan?”
“Ms. Morganstern?” He watches me carefully, his face inches from mine. Flames lick through my limbs.
I shake my head slowly.
His grip tightens just hard enough on my wrists.
“Marissa.”
I open my fist and release the roller. It drops to the floor with a clatter, undoubtedly splattering paint all over the tarps I’ve just laid down. I can’t bring myself to care.
One corner of his mouth tilts upward.
“Good girl.”
Fuck.
I don’t know who moves first. The next thing I’m conscious of is the feeling of his mouth on me, staking its claim. Our lips come apart and then find each other again, our kisses frantic and exploratory.
Jesse adjusts his grip to hold both of my wrists in one hand, using the other to angle my face upward.
His tongue slides between my lips as his thumb grazes my cheekbone, and I exhale a sigh of happiness into his mouth.
I slide my wrists out of his grip and fist the collar of his shirt, bringing him even closer.
“Jesse.” The word comes out breathless and the sound of it seems to push him over the edge, disintegrating the last ounce of his self-control.
He shoves his hips forward, pinning me to the wall.
His mouth works its way down my neck, then drags across the front of my shirt, nibbling me through the fabric.
I reach down to grab the hem, pulling the shirt over my head before tossing it to the floor. His eyes trace hungrily over newly exposed skin and it occurs to me that he’s still fully dressed. We need to rectify that immediately.
I shove my hands underneath his shirt, palms skating over the ridges of his abs as I lift the cotton.
Jesse takes the hint, grabbing the hem of his tee before divesting himself of it.
I soak in the sight of his bare chest and somehow, it’s even better than I imagined.
He’s authentic and rugged in a way that I’m not used to seeing.
The defined pecs and abs are the product of manual labor, not hours spent in the gym with a personal trainer.
In place of waxed and bronzed skin, there’s a light coating of dark hair against his chest. Unlike the overly manicured bodies I’m used to, this man is all natural, though still just the right amount of everything.
And right now, he’s mine.
I grab hold of the back of his head, weaving my fingers through his soft curls and guiding him back to my chest. He accepts the invitation gratefully, planting a trail of kisses along the smooth skin of my breastbone.
He slides one hand behind my back to unhook my bra and lets it fall to the floor, exposing me completely. His eyes become hooded as they drift over me, drinking me in.
“So beautiful,” he says, his voice a low scrape.
He dips down to suck one nipple into his mouth, his tongue teasing it into a peak, as he works the other with his thumb and forefinger.
My head tips backward against the wall as I arch toward him.
Jesse swirls his tongue over the hardened bud, savoring me, before switching his attention to my other breast.
The pressure between my legs is building.
Desperate for relief, I grab hold of his hand and position it right where I need it.
He pulls back and meets my eyes, an unspoken question hanging between us.
I give him a small nod, urging him to continue.
Needing no further encouragement, he unhooks the button of my denim shorts and slips a hand inside, fingers grazing the dampened fabric of my underwear.
My hips, no longer controlled by my brain, rock against him.
“More,” I manage.
Jesse’s eyes are black as he studies me, watching my reaction as his fingers stroke over me, before pressing forward to kiss me again.
His tongue dances over mine, slow and seductive.
Pushing the flimsy cotton aside, he hooks a finger inside me, swirling his thumb around my swollen nub.
I let out a gasp before biting down on his shoulder.
“Let me taste you,” he breathes against my neck. My legs turn to jelly.
He slips an arm behind me, scooping my limp body from the wall, and guiding me over to the ladder that’s still open in the center of the room.
“Up there,” he says. “So I can reach you.”
My mouth drops open as I realize his intention. He keeps his gaze locked on mine as I back slowly up the rungs. When I’m halfway up, he takes hold of my ankle to let me know I’ve gone high enough.
“Lift your hips.” His voice is low and commanding and I readily oblige. It’s clear who’s steering this ship, and for once, I’m happy to surrender control. I can’t remember the last time I let go like this, and it’s absolutely exhilarating.
I lean back and Jesse hooks his thumb through my shorts, pulling them down, along with my panties, in one smooth motion.
Bracing himself on the rung above my head, he traces his index finger up my slick center.
When he slides it into his mouth, licking it clean, I nearly black out on the spot.
I try to say something, but it comes out as an indistinguishable garble.
His lips curl into a tiny smirk, appreciation etching his features.
Kneeling beneath me, he hooks my legs over his shoulders and slides his palms under my ass. He bends forward, ghosting his lips up my thighs until he’s just a hair away from where I need him most. I tighten my grip on the ladder, ready to jump out of my skin from anticipation.
“Please.” I’m fully begging now.
“So eager,” Jesse murmurs against my thigh.
Before I can respond, he dips his head between my legs, and I gasp when his teeth graze my clit.
His tongue traces over it, his movements slow and precise, teasing it into a hard point.
My head drops back as my pleasure builds slowly, slowly, until my legs start to tremble.
They tighten around his shoulders, and I tug on his hair, burying his face deeper.
He matches my energy, devouring me with the perfect blend of pace and pressure, and my vision blurs.
Oh my god, I’m close. So, so close. I’ve never come from oral sex before. I’ve been with too many men who acted like this part was just a quick stop along the way, never sticking around long enough for me to reach my own destination.
My legs are shaking hard now and Jesse’s grip on my thighs tightens, holding me in place.
“Please,” I say again. “Don’t stop.” I barely recognize my own voice.
It’s hoarse and hungry, sexier than I’ve ever heard it.
Just when I think I can’t take any more, Jesse slips a finger inside me.
He curls it forward, pressing against my G-spot, and it sends me over the edge in a dizzying spell of pleasure.
The first thing I’m aware of when I come back down to earth is the sensation of Jesse’s hands, the dichotomy of his strong grip and gentle touch. One hand is still holding on to me, his fingers pressing in at my waist. The other is brushing a damp strand of hair from my forehead.
“Okay?” he asks softly. His eyes roam over my face, gauging my reaction.
I nod wordlessly. Am I okay? I’ve never felt better.
“Come on,” he says softly, a sexy bit of cockiness in the look he gives me, along with a light slap on the ass. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”