Something in Clara's chest cracked open wide—vulnerable and warm. When was the last time someone hadasked what she needed? When had anyone cared about her pace, her comfort, like it was sacred?
"Okay," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion.
Jack smiled—that small, crooked smile that did devastating things to her pulse—and kissed her again. Less urgent now. More deliberate. Like he had all the time in the world and planned to use every second learning every inch of her mouth, how she liked to be touched. His tongue slid against hers in a slick, sensual motion that ignited something deep inside her.
Something she hadn't felt in so long it felt foreign.
His hands moved to the hem of her shirt. Paused there, waiting. She wordlessly nodded because she didn't trust her voice not to come out as a guttural croak that might scare the desire out of both of them.
He pulled her shirt over her head with reverent care, like she was something precious, fragile yet unbreakable. His gaze traveled over her—sports bra, nothing fancy, she hadn't exactly planned for this—and heat flooded his expression, his pupils dilating as he took her in.
"Beautiful," he murmured, his voice low and reverent.
"I-I don't own any fancy bras," she said, self-conscious, her cheeks heating.
"It's you." He traced the line of her collarbone with his fingertips, light as a whisper, making her shiver. "You're beautiful, Clara. Every damn inch."
Her throat tightened. Sam used to catalog her flaws like a checklist: too pale, freckles in weird places, breasts too small, hips too wide. She'd learned to undress in the dark, to hide, to apologize for her body just by existing in it.
Jack was looking at her like she was art—flawed and perfect and his.
"Your turn," Clara said, tugging at his shirt to even the score, her fingers trembling with eagerness.
He sat back enough to yank it over his head in one fluid motion, and?—
Oh.
She'd seen him shirtless before, working on the shutters, sweat glistening on his skin. But this was different. This was broad shoulders and defined muscles honed from actual labor, not gym vanity. Freckles scattered across his chest like stars. A jagged scar on his ribs she wanted to trace with her tongue later, learn its story by heart.
Clara reached out, traced the line of his sternum with her palm. His skin was scorching under her touch, his heartbeat thundering like a drum.
"See something you like?" Jack asked, his voice rough, laced with amusement and desire.
She nodded, her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth. He was gorgeous—rugged, real, everything about him screaming strength and vulnerability intertwined. It made her want to be reckless. Fearless.
"Then by all means, keep looking at me like that," he murmured, his gaze darkening with promise. "See what happens."
She shivered, her body clenching in anticipation.
He grinned, wolfish, and lowered his mouth to her neck. Started kissing his way down—jaw, throat, collarbone—slow and deliberate, each press of his lips igniting fire under her skin. She desperately ripped her sports bra off and tossed it to the floor before her brain could catch up, exposing herself to the cool air and his hungry eyes.
But when Jack sucked in a tight breath, Clara fought the urge to cover herself, her cheeks burning.
"Holy fuck," Jack rasped, his voice breaking. Then his mouth was on her breast, and thought became impossible—swirling heat, wet suction, the flick of his tongue driving her wild.
He was thorough. Maddeningly thorough. Alternating between gentle licks and demanding pulls, learningwhat made her gasp, what made her arch off the couch, what made her fingers dig into his shoulders hard enough to leave crescent marks, her moans filling the room.
When his hand moved to the button of her jeans, Clara's breath caught, her hips lifting instinctively.
"Still okay?" Jack asked, his fingers hovering, waiting for her word.
"More than okay," she panted. "Please."
He worked her jeans down her hips with deliberate slowness, taking her underwear with them in one smooth motion, his eyes never leaving hers. Clara kicked them off, suddenly hyperaware that she was naked on her couch, vulnerable and exposed, while Jack was still half-dressed. The contrast made her pulse race harder.
She reached for his belt with trembling hands. "These need to go too. Now."
"Bossy," he murmured, but his eyes sparked with approval.
