I squinted. “Maybe a little.”
“You haven’t gotten to my legs.”
“I’ve already seen them.” I didn’t take my time with his pants. He had insecurities, and I wanted to obliteratethem like he had with me minutes ago. I shoved them down and his thick cock bobbed in front of my face.
I bent, ignoring how exposed I was, and helped him step out. Then I stood back, hands on my hips. I was naked, but it was more important to me to make him feel as comfortable with himself as possible.
He was rigid under my perusal. I took my time, letting my interest infuse my face. The warmth in my belly flared hotter, kindling a small inferno. Just from seeing him. He was tall and strong. Yes, he had scars. His left thigh had puckered and jagged scars, worse than the ones on his face. A not-so-small chunk of flesh had been excised at some point in his recovery from above his knee and his calf wasn’t the same shape or size as his other one.
His left hip was also smaller, like it couldn’t build the muscle his other hip could. The differences between his right and left sides weren’t as noticeable in his torso, but the flares of scarring around his shoulder looked more like nasty stretch marks. Years had gone by since the accident, but the trauma his body had gone through told the tale.
Still, if he thought he was repulsive in any way, he needed to borrow my hormones and have a look for himself. He could feel the strength of the throb between my legs. “You’re so hot.”
His eyes narrowed, his expression dubious.
I dragged a finger from his collarbone down his sternum, over his stomach, and right to the tip of his very hard cock. “I like everything I see. I always have.”
I rubbed my finger across the wet slit of his erection, spreading his precum around. He jerked under my touch.
“You’re going to make me blush,” he finally said.
I laughed and wrapped my hand around his length. I gave him a couple of good tugs.
Then I dropped to my knees.
“Jesus. Summer.” He stuffed a hand through his hair, his biceps bulging. “What are you doing?—”
I took him in my mouth, holding on to his stunned gaze. His reaction told me enough. He didn’t get blow jobs. I didn’t know if it was because he was self-conscious or if the women he was with weren’t interested, but that changed now.
I swirled my tongue up and down his length, giving an appreciative hum to punctuate that I liked doing this.
“Fuck,” he gritted out. The tendons in his neck were straining and he was tilted back, like he was trying to keep his balance.
Oh, crap— Was he off-balance?
I gripped his thighs, but his stance was solid. He wasn’t shaking or quivering. He was leaning back like he was afraid to miss the show. Like I was blowing someone else and he was a Peeping Tom.
His disbelief was a heady experience. Blow jobs had been expected by a couple of my exes, and they’d never been my favorite part of sex. But that was changing. I had Jonah’s rapt attention, but the thing was—I did anyway. I knew that he kept tabs on everything I was doing. He’d left me clothing when I was asleep on the couch. He’d chased me inside when he’d thought it was too stormy out. He’d come to my wedding to torture himself when there’d never been anything but distant attraction between us.
I cupped his balls as I worked him, rolling them over my palm. A heavy groan left him. I would’ve smiled but Iwas enjoying the pure power of destroying him with nothing but my mouth. His muscles vibrated under my touch and he alternated between stroking his hands down my hair, caressing my cheek, and shoving them in his hair.
“Fuck, Summer. Seeing you like that does me in.”
I caught his gaze again. His jaw was granite, but I liked the reason this time. His hips would jerk, just a little, like it was taking all his effort not to buck into my mouth and choke me.
He cupped my chin and pulled out of my mouth, my lips releasing with a wet, sloppy sound. His pupils dilated, his gaze focused on my mouth. “Get up and bend over.”
I rose, and by the time I was fully upright, he had a condom ripped open and was rolling it on. I was about to turn when he caught me and pressed his mouth to mine. His hair spilled forward, tickling my face. I twined my fingers through the strands.
He untangled my hand and kissed each of my wrists. The smallest things he did made me feel more precious than any time in the past.
When he spun me, he didn’t just bend me over. He feathered his hands down my sides, like he was memorizing my curves. Then he moved my hair to the side and kissed every tiny scar I had.
I inhaled, each little peck igniting nerve endings I hadn’t known existed. I knew each little scar. I was proud of them, but they were practically invisible where they were on my body. But I knew they were there. I still had nightmares about the night I’d gotten them. I used to trace them when I was bored in class or when I was studying.
Jonah didn’t stop until he’d kissed every last one. Then he put gentle pressure on my back and bent me over. The soft glow of the lamp wouldn’t hide how exposed I was in this position, my ass in the air and facing him. He’d see everything, but then... he already did.
Jonah
