Jackson prowled toward her. “Oh, the fun isn’t over, Raven. Believe me.”
He climbed onto the bed, one knee either side of her waist, and reached past her shoulder to turn on the bedside lamp on the nightstand. Leah’s breath hitched; his stomach clenched at the sound. Her tongue flicked out to touch her lips and Jackson sat back on his heels, drawing out the perfect agony before he tasted her again. His hand, now resting lightly on the enticing curve of her hip, looked enormous. Her dark eyes, framed by black lashes, were huge. He was suddenly aware of how he towered above her, how slight Leah was beneath him.
“What is it?” She propped herself up on her elbows.
“You’re a lot smaller than me. I didn’t mean to throw you around.” A discomfited warmth spread up the back of his neck. He’d never so much as picked Niamh up, let alone tipped her over his shoulder. He wouldn’t have dreamed of it. What the fuck was he doing?
Suddenly clumsy, instantly uncertain, Jackson drew back. What if he made a mess of the one thing that mattered the most to him right now?
Chapter 27
Leah
She could tell from his face that he’d freaked himself out somehow. When Jackson made to climb off her, his eyes shadowed with awkwardness, Leah took a handful of the front of his t-shirt to hold him in place. They both knew he could break free in an instant, but he froze the moment she grabbed him, hovering above her, braced on straight arms.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa. I don’t think so.” Mock-fierce, Leah’s growl was impressive. She congratulated herself when Jackson’s eyebrows arched in comical surprise. “I believe I was the one who challenged you to the race and I was the one who asked to come in here. You’ve had no complaints from me about being flung about. In fact, I think there should be more flinging to come. Iinsiston more flinging.”
His wary face softened. “You insist, huh?”
“I do.”
“And the looming didn’t bother you?”
Leah’s attention was caught by the rise and fall of his chest beneath her clenched fist. “I like the looming.”
“You like the looming?”
“The looming is sexy.”
“Honestly?” His breathing deepened once more, his blue eyes fixed on her face.
“Hey, mister—are we or are we not, right now, lying on the Bed of Truth?”
Jackson’s shoulders unclamped. A wonky grin lifted one corner of his mouth. “We are.”
She opened her palms and ran her fingers over the hard planes of his chest; his muscles leaped beneath his t-shirt at her touch. “So, do you want to do more talking? Or can we possibly get back to the looming and the kissing?”
Leah could no sooner stop her gaze from dropping to his lips than she could have climbed from the bed and headed out of the door. She wanted this complicated, mercurial man more than was healthy, with a protective urge she’d never expected. Her body was poised for the starting gun of his touch, her own hands desperate to continue their exploration.
The noise that came from deep in Jackson’s throat set off an echoing pulse between her thighs. He grabbed the neck of his t-shirt at the back and yanked it over his head.God, finally!Leah’s eyes feasted on his broad chest, his bare biceps, the dip at the base of his throat. His ruffled hair mirrored the unleashed flare in his eyes.
“Now that was worth waiting for,” she squeaked.
“Your turn,” he said gruffly in reply.
His fingers moved to the front of her shirt. The material was worn, the fastenings loose. The buttons slid easily from each hole. Leah allowed herself a moment of self-consciousness. White and lacy though it might be, her bra was unexciting. She wasn’t toned like Jackson. Her skin pale, her abs non-existent.
The comment she might have made, masking her insecurities, stifled at the back of her throat as Jackson ran a finger along the edge of one bra cup, grazing her breast with a touch as light as an artist’s paintbrush. Eyes enthralled, mouth tilted in that sexyhalf-smile, he sent shivers rippling beneath her diaphragm, lifting the hairs on her arms. “So soft. So beautiful.”
Leah arched beneath his thighs. “More, Jackson. Touch me more.”
He slid a hand behind her back, fumbled long enough that they both huffed out a laugh, and finally undid the clasp of her bra. Impatient to be rid of her clothes, she executed an artful shimmy and managed to slide her arms out of both her shirt and the bra. On either side of her waist, Jackson’s thighs tightened like bowstrings with the movement, his eyes fluttering closed in what looked like blissful agony.
“Fucking hell, Leah. Are you trying to drive me completely insane?”
“Is it working?” She wanted to giggle, tease him further, but the laughter died on her lips as he slid a thumb over one of her nipples and cupped her breast in his capable hand. Her question, his non-answer, went unnoticed by them both.
Jackson covered her slowly with his body, his lips finding hers with driven desperation. His teeth, his tongue, explored her mouth, biting, nibbling, lightly then roughly. And all the while his weight pressed down on her, supported just enough by his elbows to let her breathe. If she could remember how. His lips were cool, his tongue was warm. When he slid down her body to swipe his mouth over her breast, rolling her nipple between his lips, she curled her fingers into his hair and gripped him to her chest as he feasted. Between her legs, Leah clenched with a gasp on the absence of him. Parting her knees and rocking her hips, she resorted without shame to begging.
