He laughs, his smile utterly gorgeous and private and all for me. My eyes slip, taking in broad shoulders, hard chest, narrow waist… I want to sink my teeth into him, to brand him. Wrap my arms and legs around him and stay until I’m barnacled to his side.
He reaches for something in his bag, then pulls a condom on.
This is happening. This is happening.
He settles over me, the smile still on his face. I feel his hand on my hips, pulling my lacy nothings down as he leans back. I briefly thank the heavens that, for all that Mom was overbearing and controlling, her advice about always sporting fresh and matching underthings was sound. His mouth works my neck, and then lower…and lower… It’s glorious and so fucking frustrating. I’ve had months of foreplay. I need himnow.
“Oh, okay, ohhh. That’s amazing, and we’re going to circle back to exactly what you’re doing there, but I want younow,” I say, the demand in my voice startling even me.
Jack lifts his head, and his lips quirk.
“I want my chicken sandwich,” I say.
Jack’s smile widens.
And then all thought is crowded out by an angel’s choir because Jack is touching me, shifting me, moving me, rubbing. My knees are pulled up. And finally, finally, he settles where I need him. My breath hitches, and Jack looks like he isn’t breathing at all. He’s watching me, his one good eye gone black.
“Good?”
My response is to dig my nails into his shoulders and try to pull him down. He doesn’t budge. Instead, he begins an achingly slow slide.Yes. Yes. Yes.
“Are you okay?”
My answer is a tortured whimper. He asks me that too fucking often. I ignore his question and grab his hips, tilting my own up. And Jack’s gratifying groan finds an answer in me.
He shifts, hitting something I’d been unaware existed until now. I think I scream, but I can’t tell. It’s an out-of-body experience. Otherworldly. And then Jack is working me, sweating over me. Levering an arm under me and pulling me up at an angle that is as close to heaven on earth as I’ve ever discovered.
Jack. Fucking. Craig.
I pull his head down to try and kiss him, but then the sky breaks, and I arch, shuddering uncontrollably, a wrung-out wreck of a person.
That does it for Jack, and he follows me over the edge.
We stay like that for a bit, his weight feeling wonderful, pinning me to the bed. I run my nails up his back, enjoying the feel of his smooth skin. Of being able to do this to him. Dothatwith him.
“Five-fucking-A,” he murmurs into my shoulder, kissing it gently. He shifts his hips slightly and reaches down, standing to dispose of the condom in the bathroom.
I lie back, enjoying the view of his departure almost as much as I enjoy watching his return. He is shameless and glorious.
“You were confident, to bring that with you.”
His grin is wicked, pure Han. “I brought more than one.” He leans down, half covering me, his arms bracketing me. “They’re left over from my single days.”
I can tell he’s lying from his voice and his smile. But the rush of jealousy I feel makes me want to roar. I narrow my eyes, and his grin widens.
“You have something in your teeth,” I say sweetly.
“Oh. You’re right. I do.” He leans over and takes my nipple in his mouth, grazing it with his teeth. And then it’s as if the first time never happened.
Jack. Fucking. Craig.
30
Jack takes my hand and presses it to his lips as the car crunches its way up Mom’s shell-paved driveway late the next morning—after a very scenic tour around the hotel room. There is a child shouting and adult laughter emanating from the backyard.
I walk to the gate and shake my head.
Classic Mom. I should’ve anticipated the buffer. She’s invited her friend Monica and Monica’s daughter Sarah, my old high school acquaintance. And Sarah brought her very loud toddler. I remove my hand from Jack’s arm, forcing myself to stop touching him, and lift the gate latch.
