The feel of his hand, pressing exactly where I want him, is everything. Better than the memories I’ve replayed. Better than I remembered. I move against him instinctively, grinding against his hand.
“Yes,” he says in my ear. “Take what you want, sweetheart. Whatever you want.”
“I—” I can’t stop; my hips work faster, chasing, climbing higher. And he talks to me all the while, his voice deep and rough. I only hear pieces of it, barely able to process. Words likeyesandjust like thatandsweetheart. Words that set me aflame, that have me twisting and pressing and moving until I find my release on his fingers, waves of pleasure that roll through me.
“Jacob,” I say, the word falling out of my mouth on a gasp, my hands clutching at the sheets, and I hear him respond. The words are rushed together, something likeso beautifulandI’m right here,and then my body goes lax, every part of me wrung out. At peace, blissfully still.
18
I come back to my body slowly, registering soft movement at the curve of my neck. His mouth. A kiss, I think at first, but his lips are moving. Forming the faintest, softest words.
“Jacob?”
He stills, then kisses me at the spot where my neck meets my shoulder.
“Yes?”
I shift slightly, making his hand brush against me, and I inhale sharply, still sensitive.
He removes his hand and retreats, his chest no longer pressing against my back, but I reach for him.
“No, stay. Like this,” I say. “I want you like this.”
Relief settles through me when I feel him again, his warm skin meeting mine, but a second later, he’s gone.
“Jacob,” I say, the word a long sound, almost a whine, but he shushes me gently, one hand tapping my hip.
“Lift,” he says, and I do, just as he slides a pillow beneath me.
“Good?” he asks, running a hand down my spine, and with that firm pressure, with the pillow underneath me, I feel surrounded on every side. In a way that makes me feel safe. Cocooned.
I move a little, finding what feels comfortable, bending my knees at an angle. “Yes,” I say, and his hand moves lower, over the contours of my body. I lean into his touch, reveling in the sensation, the way he grips me.
I want him inside me. I want to feel him again. With nothing between us.
I freeze.
“Wait,” I say. “We didn’t talk about it, but—” I look over my shoulder. “I would be fine with…I’m on the pill,” I tell him. “So, if you’re comfortable with it—”
I watch him, taking in the tension on his face, the way his chest moves as he releases a ragged breath. “Are you sure?”
“Yes. If you want—”
“God, yes.” He leans down, capturing my mouth. “I don’t have test results on me, but I’m good.”
“Me too.” I wouldn’t take a stranger’s word for it, but this isJacob. We may only have one night, but I wouldn’t classify this as a one-night stand. Not like last time. Whatever we’re doing, it’s somehow…more.
He kisses me again, and then he’s moving. My cheek falls back on the pillow as his hands find the dip of my waist. And slowly, so slowly, he pushes in, the pressure building, a gradual sense of fullness.
“More,” I say, and he responds so quickly I gasp, my body rocking forward, then back, then forward again, the friction from the pillow beneath me sending sparks behind my eyes.
I can hear him, his breathing harsh, a rush of incoherent sounds, but between them I hear something else. My chest grows tight as I make it out.
Neelam.
This name that no one else calls me.
This name he just learned, though he says it like he’s always known it.
