CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
Hailey
My mouth has gone completelydry at the sight of Jason shirtless, his hand rubbing over his skin, following his treasure trail below his belly button, coming to rest on the waist of his low-slung jeans, unashamed of the obvious bulge behind his zipper.
No, he’s not ashamed at all. In fact, it’s the opposite. He’s standing there on full display for me to peruse at my leisure, and if I weren’t already certain of that fact, his question puts any doubts to rest. “Like what you see?”
With a gulp, I dip my chin in a nod, not trusting my voice. His answering grin is cocky as shit, but I can’t even fault him for it. He knows he’s hot. He knows I think he’s hot. He can feel smug about it all he wants.
I’d’ve been pissed if he acted like that under different circumstances—if I were the one saying we should have sex since we’re married, after all. If I were the one to admit it first, and this had been his response, I’d be upset.
But it’s safe to let him feel smug that I’m attracted to him since I already know that he’s attracted to me.
And that fact boosts my confidence enough that I stand from the bed as well, reaching out and tracing my fingers from his clavicle down his sternum. His eyes fall closed at my touch, all that cocky smugness gone in a flash of purewant.
Iwanthim. And he wants me. It’s simple and easy, and that’s all I need to focus on right now.
Nothing between us has been easy. Or at least, I haven’t let it be. It’s time that I do.
His hand covers mine, stopping my progress as I explore his torso, and he reaches for me, pulling me close with his hand behind my back, pouring all of that want into his kiss.
His fingers stray to the hem of the sweatshirt I’m still wearing, and I suddenly feel like I’m suffocating under the weight of it. Taking a half step back and breaking away from the kiss, I reach for the neck of the sweatshirt, starting it up and over my head as he lifts from the bottom, both of us working to free me from its stifling grasp.
He makes a sound of annoyance when he sees I’m still in a tank top—not to mention my bra underneath. “Good god, woman. How many layers of clothes are you wearing?”
Laughing, I reach for him again, but he stops me with his hands on my tank top, which he pulls up and off me before finally wrapping his arms around me again and kissing me. “Not as many now,” I murmur against his lips.
The band of my bra goes loose, and he tugs the straps off my arms before pressing his torso against mine, rubbing himself against me and sighing. “That’s better. God, I love the way your skin feels against mine.”
When I rake my fingers through his hair, dragging my fingernails lightly over his scalp, he lets out a soft moan, his body drooping against me. “That feels amazing,” he whispers.
I do it again, and he lets out the same noise, but he doesn’t go limp again, instead guiding me toward the bed, his hands on the waist of my jeans.
My jeans go loose as he makes quick work of the button and zipper, shoving them down my hips, leaving me in my blue lacy panties.
He’s looking at me with hunger in his eyes as he undoes his own pants, shoving them down until he’s in a pair of designer black briefs. “Did you wear those for me?” he asks, his voice husky.
I shake my head. “I didn’t know you’d be seeing them.”
With a low, rumbly sound, he sits on the bed, reaching for me to position me between his knees. “You’re so fucking beautiful,” he whispers, looking up at me, meeting my eyes briefly before looking directly at my tits.
I’d normally be self-conscious—especially my first time with someone—but he looks at me almost reverently, and I can’t bring myself to want to hide.
He places tiny kisses across the top of one breast, then he lingers on my sternum for a moment before doing the same to the other side. Pulling back a fraction, he cups my breasts in his large hands, sliding his thumbs over my nipples and making me inhale sharply at the shock of pleasure that zings through me.
Meeting my eyes, he leans in and sucks one nipple between his lips, flicking it with his tongue until my knees are ready to buckle.
Wrapping his arms around me, he lies back, taking me with him, shifting me down his body so that the hard ridge of his cock drags between my legs. Then he rolls us over, reversing our positions so he’s on top, my legs splayed wide as he rubs against me, teasing us both with the friction that feels good but nothing like what either of us needs.
Then his mouth is back on my nipples, and I’m torn between wanting to touch him—running a hand through his hair, over his shoulders, down his back—and the need to clutch at the blanket beneath me to hold myself steady against the onslaught of pleasure he’s releasing in my body.
Shifting to the side, he thumbs my other nipple for a moment, then drags his hand down my torso, rubbing and caressing my ribs, my belly, my hips, then down the outside of one thigh and back up the inside, stopping just short of where I’m growing wetter by the second. He keeps this up, rubbing everywhere except where I want him most, all while using his mouth on my nipples, until I’m writhing and whimpering with need.
Then, at last, on his way back up my thigh, he makes it all the way to the lace covering my center, resting his hand there, letting me feel the heat of it as he gently massages the outside before finally—fuckingfinally—sliding his hand inside my underwear and touching me.
I almost scream from the shock of it, even though he’s being excruciatingly gentle, dipping a finger into my wetness before dragging it up and drawing slow, tiny circles around my clit.
Instead of screaming, I cover my mouth with my hand and whimper, my eyes squeezed shut.
