Her breath comes out. Slow. The kind of exhale that's been sitting in someone's chest for longer than this moment.
"For the job," she says. Quiet. Not defensive. Just placing it on the table so we don't have to pretend it isn't there.
I look at her. Really look. At the dark hair piled on top of her head and the blonde underneath and the face that's been the most honest thing I've seen in three years.
"I know," I say.
And then, because it's the only thing that matters and I mean it down to the bone:
"Blonde suits you."
Her mouth does the thing it does when she's trying not to let something land too hard—pulls to one side, just barely, the ghost of a smile she hasn't decided to give yet.
But her hand finds mine. And holds.
Her thumb moves across my knuckles. Slow. Deliberate.
I press my lips to her palm.
My lips trail down her wrist, her inner arm. “You’re perfect.” I lean down, my mouth finding the curve of her breast. She moans softly as I take a tight nipple into my mouth, sucking gently, swirling my tongue. She arches off the counter with a gasp, her fingers tightening in my hair.
My hands explore the smooth skin of her back, the delicious curve of her ass, the dip of her waist. She shivers under my touch, her hands sliding up my chest, mapping the planes of muscle, her nails scraping lightly over my nipples. I groan into her hair.
Then I guide her backward gently and place both her feet on the counter. I drink in the sight of her, fullyexposed, fully trusting.
My hand slides down her stomach, through the soft curls, finding the warm, wet heat between her legs. She’s already slick, ready. My fingers glide through her folds, finding her clit. I circle it lightly.
Her hips jerk. “West!”
“I’ve got you,” I murmur against her skin. “Just feel. Let me make you feel good.” I continue the slow circles with my thumb while my mouth moves lower, kissing a path from her breast down to her stomach. Her skin trembles under my lips. Her breathing is ragged, punctuated by little gasps and whimpers.
I reach her inner thighs. Kiss. Nip gently. She spreads her legs wider, an open invitation. I look up her body. Her eyes are locked on mine, dark and wanting.
“Okay?” I ask.
“More than okay,” she breathes. “Please.”
I don’t need to be told twice. I lower my head, my tongue finding her core. Her taste explodes on my senses—musky, sweet, uniquely Jane. She cries out, her hands flying back to my hair, holding me there.
I lick her slowly, thoroughly, drunk on the taste of her. She's so wet, so ready, and I want to spend hours here, learning every sound she makes, every way to make her shake.
Her back arches off the counter. A high, keening cry tears from her throat as her body convulses.
Her thighs clamp around my head, holding me in place as wave after wave of pleasure rocks through her. I love her taste. I ride it out with her, my tongue persistent, drawing out every last shudder, every gasp.
When she finally collapses back, boneless and trembling, I kiss my way back up her body. Her skin is flushed, dewy with sweat. Her eyes are closed, her lips parted. She looks utterly beautiful.
I kiss her softly. She tastes herself on my lips. Her eyes flutter open, dazed and sated. “That was… instructional.”
I chuckle, brushing a damp strand of hair from her forehead. “Just the warm-up, Cooper.”
Her eyes widen slightly. “There’s more?”
“Oh yeah.” I toss the Costco box to her and then princess carry her into the bedroom.
She sinks down onto thebed, looking up at me with those wide, trusting eyes. I shed the rest of my clothes quickly, my own hands not quite steady. The need to be skin-to-skin with her is overwhelming.
I kneel on the bed before her, bracketing her hips with my knees. Her gaze drops, taking in my erection, thick and heavy and straining. Her eyes widen slightly, but there’s no fear, only fascination. My cock twitches under her scrutiny.
