He pulls me in and kisses the top of my head, then my temple, then the corner of my mouth like he’s reacquainting himself with the fact that I’m here.
“Bedroom?” he murmurs.
I nod.
Upstairs, the room feels warmer than it did this afternoon when I was packing in a panic.
Jake closes the door behind us and turns toward me slowly, like he’s trying not to spook me.
He steps close and slides his hands under the hem of my sweatshirt, palms warm against my waist.
“You okay?” he asks again.
“Yes.”
He studies my face carefully, making sure.
Then he kisses me.
It’s deep and slow and full of everything we nearly lost.
I thread my fingers through his hair and rise onto my toes, pressing closer. He makes a low sound in his throat and wraps one arm around my back, keeping me anchored to him.
His other hand slides higher under my sweatshirt, mapping the curve of my ribs, his thumb brushing the underside of my breast through the thin fabric of my bra.
My breath catches, and I pull him even closer.
He breaks the kiss to trail his lips down my neck, his breath hot against my pulse point.
His teeth graze the sensitive skin just below my ear, and a full-body shiver runs through me. My head falls back, giving him better access, and he takes it—pressing open-mouthed kisses along my throat, my collarbone, the hollow of my shoulder.
"Jake," I breathe, my voice barely a whisper.
He hums against my skin in response, the vibration traveling through me. His hands move to the hem of my sweatshirt, and I raise my arms to help him take it off.
He lifts the sweatshirt over my head in one smooth motion and tosses it somewhere behind him.
His gaze drops to my chest, and something darkens in his expression—a hunger I recognize, one that mirrors the ache building low in my belly.
“I missed you,” he murmurs, his voice rough. “I know you were only gone for a day, but still…”
His palms skate up my sides, leaving trails of heat in their wake.
He reaches behind me to unclasp my bra, and the garment falls away.
The cool air brushes my skin for just a moment before his hands are there, cupping my breasts, his thumbs dragging across my nipples until they harden under his touch.
A whimper escapes my throat, and I feel him smile against my neck where he's returned to pressing kisses along my jawline.
Now it’s my turn to reach for the hem of his shirt, tugging it upward.
God, his bare chest is a work of art. I could happily stare at it for the rest of my life and consider that a life well lived.
But when Jake’s hand slips under the waistband of my jeans and his fingers brush the edge of my panties, I have to correct myself.
There’s definitely something else I want, too.
I gasp against his mouth, and he takes the opportunity to deepen the kiss, his tongue claiming mine with a desperation that matches my own.
