Would he think it was sweet or strange?
“Jackson?”
“Hmm?” His contented answer rumbled under my cheek.
“Pass me my bag?”
He stretched one arm out to get it, passing it to me. I let it fall to the floor once I pulled the small paperback out.
“What’s this?” He asked.
Wanting to see his reaction, I sat up, and he followed suit, taking the offering when I held it out to him. “I hope it’s not weird. I stumbled across it at second hand bookstore and thought of you.”
He looked up from the thin, worn copy of Roahl Dahl’sThe Twits. The force of his smile took my breath away. “I haven’t seen this in years. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
We settled back on the bed, bodies flush against each other but not in a rush to do anything except lie together. After a long moment, he spoke, changing the subject completely. “So, you told me how you met, but how long have you known Tiffany?”
“Years. She was my rock during the divorce, too. We both work long hours, and she works most nights, and she still managed to be at my place every weekend, with a terrible movie and enough chocolate to heal any heartbreak. I don’t know where I’d be without her.”
“She sounds like a great friend.”
“She really is. I never had any siblings growing up, but she’s the closest thing to a sister I have.”
“Not to mention, she made this happen.” He motioned between us.
“Something she loves to remind me of every chance she gets. I may never live it down.”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
“Not at all. It’s a great thing.” I trailed my hand down his incredible abs and wrapped it around the base of his dick, gently squeezing and stroking him slowly. “Spectacular, really.”
“Spectacular?” His voice was low, rough. “Mmm, yeah, just like that.”
God, he was delicious. Brushing my nose along the curve of his neck, I breathed in his scent, kissing my favorite spot at the hinge of his jaw, where I could whisper in his ear. I’d learned he really enjoyed that, and the hungry sounds it resulted in also happened to be one of my favorite things.
It was win/win, really.
“Tell me what you like.” We'd slept together enough now that I didn’t need to ask, but it had become a sort of game now. And I’d found the answers were always enjoyable.
His lip quirked up. “You, baby. Everything about you.”
How was it that he could make me blush so furiously with a few words while I had his thickening cock in my hand; I didn’t know.
Unfairly, he continued. “I like these lips.” He tilted my chin up so he could kiss them, catching each lip between his and sucking a little before leaning back.
“And I really like your hands.” He thrust up into my hand, and I squeezed harder, continuing my strokes. When I reached his tip, I twisted my wrist and thumbed over the liquid that was beginning to collect. My mouth watered at the sight of it.
“I like you,” he said, and my heart fluttered at the sincerity of those words, an echo of my own thoughts.
Because I liked him.
A lot.
For more than just the sex.
I liked how much he loved his sister and how passionately he spoke about his work, how intently he listened when we talked and how genuinely he cared about my answers. How beautiful he could make me feel.
