Page 246 of ClickBack

He doesn’t. The relief is almost as sharp as the wanting. I spread my legs farther, letting him see what I need, and his fingers keep the same sure motion while he watches me come apart.

“J-Jay.”

His grip holds when mine would have failed. I press back into the pillow, helpless for a few seconds in a way I have chosen, and he stays close through every shudder. When I try to close my thighs, he eases his hand away and kisses me.

“There you go,” he says quietly.

He releases my wrists. I reach for him immediately, and he laughs against my cheek.

“Give me a minute to get these off you.”

He takes off my jeans and underwear, then helps me out of the open blouse and bra. I lie back while he steps out of his shorts. I do not look away. The first night, I was overwhelmed by how much of him there was. Now I know how he feels inside me, and the memory makes me reach for him before he gets back on the bed.

His hand comes over mine at his hip.

“What you want, Zel?”

I meet his eyes. “You inside me.”

He lowers himself over me. I touch his cheek, then the back of his neck, and kiss him while he enters me slowly. The sound he makes against my lips is enough to undo the little composure I have recovered.

He waits with his forehead against mine. I move beneath him, asking without leaving room for him to misunderstand.

“I got you,” he says, and draws back.

The next stroke takes my breath. I hold his shoulders, feeling him move, and he lets me keep him close until my hands start traveling again. Then he takes them back above my head.

“Right here.”

I lace my fingers with his. He holds them against the pillow and keeps the pace, slow enough for me to feel every part of it. My legs tighten around him. He kisses me when I lift toward him, and the kiss breaks on a sound I don’t try to soften.

“That feel good?” he asks.

“Yes. Like that.”

His next movement is less controlled. I see the effort in his face, the way he has to stop kissing me to keep doing what I asked. I want that, too. I want to know what it costs him to take his time.

“Jarrett,” I whisper.

“Yeah, baby.”

I say his name again when the pleasure gathers, too close now to ask for anything else. He keeps moving until I tighten around him, my hands pulling hard against his. His rhythm falters. He lets go of my wrists to bring me closer and comes with his face against my neck, a rough sound I feel through both of us.

I hold him. He is heavy and warm and breathing hard, and I want every second before he rolls away enough to spare me his full weight. When he does, I go with him.

He kisses my forehead. I smooth a hand over his chest, enjoying that I can feel how long it takes him to settle.

“You good?” he asks.

“Very.”

His hand moves over my back. “You want your fan?”

I look toward the dresser. The small fan he bought after that Costco trip is plugged in beside my lotion. I didn’t see it when I unpacked.

“You brought it?”

“You like it.”