I'm still pressed against Jason's chest, heart hammering, the taste of him lingering on my lips from that kiss. His hands span my waist, thumbs brushing the bare skin where my borrowed shirt has ridden up, and every nerve ending I possess is screaming at me to close the distance again.
So I do.
I rise on my toes and kiss him, harder this time, more demanding. His response is immediate, a low sound in his chest that reverberates through me as his hands tighten on my waist, pulling me flush against him.
I feel every inch of him: the hard planes of muscle, the heat radiating through his flannel, the unmistakable evidence of his desire pressing against my belly.
I want this. I wanthim.
"Nicola." My name comes out rough, strained, like he's barely holding himself together. He pulls back just enough to look at me, eyes dark and fierce and searching. "Tell me you're sure."
I meet his gaze head-on. "I'm sure."
"If you change your mind—"
"I won't." I slide my hands up his chest, feeling the rapid thud of his heartbeat beneath my palms. "I want you, Jason. I want this."
Something in his expression shifts, possessive and hungry and almost reverent all at once. Then he's kissing me again, claiming my mouth like he's claiming all of me. His hands roam, spanning my ribs, cupping my hips, sliding up my back.
Everywhere he touches, I burn.
He walks me backward toward the bedroom, never breaking the kiss, guiding me with sure hands and steady pressure. My spine meets the doorframe and he presses into me, pinning me there with his weight.
The solid wood behind me, the solid muscle in front—I'm caught between them, breathless, and it feels like exactly where I want to be.
His mouth leaves mine to trail down my neck, teeth scraping lightly over my pulse. I gasp, head falling back against the frame, and feel his lips curve into a smile against my throat.
"Sensitive," he murmurs, more observation than question.
"Yes." The word comes out breathy, desperate.
He does it again, that perfect pressure of teeth and tongue, and my knees nearly buckle. His hands slide down to cup my ass, lifting me slightly, and I wrap my legs around his waist on instinct. He carries me the rest of the way to the bed like I weigh nothing, lowering me onto the mattress with a care that contrasts sharply with the hunger in his eyes.
The firelight from the main room spills through the open door, casting flickering shadows across his face as he stands over me. He's backlit, all broad shoulders and controlled power, and for a moment I just stare, memorizing the sight of him.
"You're beautiful," he says, voice low and certain.
Heat floods my face, my chest, pooling low in my belly. I've been told I'm too much for so long that hearing the opposite from him feels like absolution. Like reclamation.
He kneels in front of me, hands settling on my thighs, and slowly peels off my socks. The gesture is oddly intimate, like he's unwrapping something precious. His palms slide back up my calves, over my knees, higher, thumbs tracing the inner seam of my thighs through the sweatpants. The pressure is light but deliberate, and I can feel the heat of his hands through the fabric.
"Lift," he murmurs, fingers hooking into the waistband.
I do, and he pulls the sweatpants off in one smooth motion, leaving me in just the thermal shirt and underwear. The cool air makes me shiver, but his warm hands slide back up my legs immediately, parting them gently so he can step between.
"Cold?" he asks, eyes tracking over me with an intensity that makes my skin prickle.
"No." My voice is breathless. "Not even a little."
His mouth curves and then he's pulling his own shirt off, revealing the scarred, muscled expanse of his chest and shoulders. I reach out without thinking, tracing the lines of old damage with my fingertips. A healed break along his collarbone. Scar tissue radiating from his ribs. The evidence of violence survived, worn into his skin like a map of pain.
He goes still under my touch, watching me with an intensity that makes my pulse skip.
"You're sure?" he asks again, softer this time. Vulnerable in a way that cracks something open in my chest.
I answer by pulling him down to me.
He comes willingly, covering me with his weight, and the feel of skin on skin is almost overwhelming. He's so warm, so solid, andI arch into him instinctively, craving more contact, more heat, moreeverything.
