AllFreeNovel
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Fuck he’s good.
I roll my shoulders and the material falls away. I’m naked. He’s not. I’m about to tell him so when he says, “Undress me.”
Undressing Jake Swagger is like unwrapping the Christmas present you’ve waited all year for. One that you’ve already unwrapped and rewrapped so you know what’s inside. But it doesn’t make unwrapping it a second time and playing with it any less exciting.
Also, like a Christmas present, I take my time at first—removing his shirt slowly. But it doesn’t take me long to grow impatient and soon I’m ripping his clothes off in a rush to get to the parts I can play with.
Gloriously naked, Jake stands before me. He’s all chiseled perfection and tanned flesh over rock hard muscle. My mouth waters. Fingers explore. Mouth kisses until he groans his impatience, wraps his hands around my waist and pulls me to him.
Heat.
Lips.
Tongue.
Hands.
Moans.
Love.
My heart feels his touch as much as my body. In the way he caresses. Possesses. Kisses. Worships every bared inch available to him as we stand. And when he can’t reach other parts of me in this position, he lifts me, spins me, lays me down and touches me everywhere else.
He kisses my toes.
My knees.
Hip bones.
The line of my ribcage that’s exposed every time I pull in a deep, shuddering breath.
Then he looks at me—dark. Feral. Hungry. In love. Just long enough to tell me, “Come as much as you want,” before spreading my legs and burying his face in my pussy.
Like I could hold back.
He does that figure eight move with his tongue until my back arches from the bed as he fucks me with his finger. Then his mouth settles on my come button.
Yes.
I said come button.
Because when he sucks hard and flicks his tongue rapidly across my clit, aka come button, guess what.
I come.
He eases the pressure. Slows his pace until I float back from whatever galaxy he just sent me to. When I’m no longer a shivering, moaning mess, he repeats what he just did.
Figure eight.
Suck.
Tongue flick.
Finger pump.
And I come.
After I’ve joined the living, he restarts the process. I’m not sure I can handle it. Not the orgasm, of course. I mean, I’ll take those as long as he wants to give them. I’m talking about the emptiness I feel without him inside me. So I beg.
“Please, Jake. Fuck me. Fill me. I need to feel you.”
“And I need to taste you.”
It’s all he says before he brings me to another orgasm—this one taking a little longer now that my clit is nearly numb.
Then, finally, I feel him—all of him. Just him. No condom. No barrier. He slides into my wet heat, skin on skin and stretches me until he’s buried deep and all the fires that had died to embers only moments ago ignite into an inferno.
The things he says as he makes love to me….
“You’re so goddamn beautiful.”
“You feel like fucking satin.”
“Your pussy is perfect.”
“You, Penelope Hart, are perfect.”
The way he touches me…
Thumb brushing my temple.
Fingers digging into my hips.
Hips rolling to meet mine.
Lips kissing my lips.
My jaw.
The tip of my nose.
The way he looks at me…
Like I’m precious.
I’m pretty.
I’m his.
Like he knows I love him.
Like he knows that I know he loves me too.
All these things are what make this moment as terrifying as it is special. Because I’m not sure where we go from here. What we are beyond…this.
Two people making love in a way two people shouldn’t, unless they’re ready to commit to something greater. But can he commit? Will he? Or will I be forced to give him an ultimatum? To demand that he tell me how he feels so that we can take the next step, or I walk away because I can’t be with him if there’s only this.
“Stop thinking, Penelope.” Jake’s demand is delivered with a swivel of his hips that has me temporarily forgetting who the fuck I am. When I remember, he pushes my knee toward my head and I let out a low moan. But I’m still thinking. And I’m pretty sure he knows what I’m thinking. And for some reason, I want him to know that I’m not going to just let this go. That we’re going talk about all this shit that’s not being said.
My eyes flutter open and I meet his hooded gaze that is centered on me. I glance at his parted lips for a second before finding his eyes once again. His look begs me to forget. And I will—for now. But first, I tell him the same words Scarlet said in Gone with the Wind—sure that he won’t get the reference, but will understand the meaning.
“Tomorrow. I’ll think about that tomorrow. Okay?”
He smirks. Fucks me harder. And just before the pleasure consumes me and expels me from reality once again, he responds with the Jake Swagger version of Rhett Butler’s infamous one-liner: “Frankly, my dear, I don’t give a fuck.”
