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My body hums with desire, and I’m instantly dumb and orgasmic. No coherent phrases, just words. “Jax. Like that,” I gasp as he moves the washcloth down my stomach and rubs circles against my clit. I suck air through my teeth, brain cells melting.
Water cascades over us. I’m wet, slippery, soapy, and about to combust, thanks to Jax’s lips and hands everywhere.
All I can think is that I’d like to wake up like this every day. With him. And it’s getting harder and harder to keep my emotions in check. I want him all the time like this.
“That’s my girl,” he says, rubbing languidly until I’m on the brink of coming apart in his hands. With my back pressed against his chest, Jax leans forward and nips at my neck. I arch into his hard cock and press my hands against the cold tiles of the shower wall, the only thing holding me up.
“Jax…god…”
One more sweep of the washcloth, and I slump against him like a ragdoll.
He holds me up as my ragged breathing returns to normal. And when I’ve regained a fraction of sensibility, I turn around and train my fingers down his abs, relishing in the taut, wet planes.
My hand slides between us, and I work his length, which is already rock-hard and ready. I kiss his chest, lapping my tongue over his pecs in the rain shower, using my other hand to appreciate every single one of his six-pack abs.
I work my way down, dropping to my knees. Water drips down my hair and into my eyes, as I sweep the tip of his cock into my mouth and lick off the water droplets. I want to taste him. I want to show him the same pleasure he just gave me.
Grasping his length in my hands, I revel in his hard thickness, the weight of him in my palms as they slide along the shaft. Water drips down my cheeks as I bend to kiss and nibble the length of him, listening to his groans and curses as I make my way over every inch. I suck the tip softly into my mouth, watching his face and waiting for him to open his eyes.
The fierce heat in his eyes turns them a deeper blue, and I hold his gaze, wanting him to focus on me, wanting him to watch. Only then do I take him fully into my mouth, sucking down the length of him and feeling the groan as he thrusts against the back of my throat.
Then, I release him. His eyes snap to mine with the realization that I intend to torture him with this delicious game, bringing him closer and closer to the brink of madness before I cave.
“Fuck, Ginger,” he growls when I’ve released him for the third time. He’s shaking beneath my hands, and I take him deep once more, barely able to breathe.
He groans louder, his hands coming into my hair and piling it on top of my head.
He puts a hand behind my head, coaxing me to take him faster. I hum my approval, and his head falls back. He thrusts harder, and I suck every last drop from him, loving the feeling of watching him lose control.
And then wine tasting is the last thing on my mind.
* * *
Now, wine tasting is the main thing on my mind. I’ve called my sister, who’s feeling much better, so I’m trying to let myself have this day off.
Somehow, Jackson’s “idea” turned into him calling in some favors at wineries where he has good friends, and they’re letting us into tasting rooms and cellars that aren’t open to the public.
We show up at Cherry Forest Cellars in sweats, me wearing a baseball cap and braids, and the winery owner shows us to a private patio that overlooks a koi pond. The only sound I hear is birds twittering in the nearby olive trees.
“Okay, show me your sommelier stuff,” he says, leaning back in an Adirondack chair on the patio, where an outdoor tasting counter has been set up for us with ten different vintages of wine.
My little wine nerd heart beats faster upon seeing the bottles set out next to a corkscrew, cloth napkin, spittoon bucket, and foil cutter.
Jackson looks very relaxed, tipped back in his chair, sun dancing over his features. “Taking a day off agrees with you,” I say, pouring wine tastes into glasses and lining up the bottles behind each one to identify them.
Eyes closed, he smiles. The sun paints his cheeks with light, and I take in the sight of him, arms splayed over the arms of the chair, legs stretched out in front of him. He’s as tired as I am, but I love that he’d rather spend the day giving me sommelier practice than catching up on sleep.
And despite myself, I think I might be in love with him.
It’s inconvenient because I’m here to work my two jobs and make money. I’m not here to fall in love, and the last thing in the world I want to do is hurt Fiona. I know that’s top of mind for Jackson, too, which is why we’re super careful to keep our affection for each other under wraps.
“It agrees with you, too.” He still has one eye closed, but he’s peeking at me through the other.
We stopped at the grocery store for cheese and baguettes, which I’ve sliced up and displayed on a platter next to four different kinds of hard and soft cheeses. I opened all the bottles except for one, which I’m saving to open in front of Jackson. A little demonstration of the sommelier magic.
“I’m all ready, but you look so content sitting there, I don’t want to make you move.”
Head tipped back, he gives me a closed-mouthed smile before unfolding his large frame from the chair and walking over to the bar counter, which is equipped with four stools. He perches on the one in front of where I stand, and I lean across and kiss him.
