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She turned her head toward him. The heat in her eyes sent a loud and clear message to his still recovering body—You got yours, but I’m still primed and ready for my second big O.
What if he pushed to do this his way? What if he demanded control? Would she run for the bathroom door?
With the questions rushing rapid-fire through his mind, he watched as she slid her hand over her breasts and traced a path down her taut stomach to her dark, wet curls. Her index finger slipped between her folds, and her back arched.
No, this woman wouldn’t run and hide. But she just might kick him out. And he wasn’t looking for a repeat of the motel room in the middle of nowhere California. He refused to settle for listening to her moan and cry out through another goddamn door, not when she’d already let him inside.
Speaking of…
Why did she let me in?
Her eyes fluttered closed as she drew her knees up, opening her body and granting her fingers access.
To torture me, he thought, willing his dick to recover and get back in the game.
“Natalie, don’t even think about crossing the finish line without me,” he said. “I like watching you. Hell, I love it. But I don’t want to walk out of here until I’ve felt you fall apart while I’m buried deep inside you.”
She opened her eyes, granting him at least a part of her attention. Her fingers continued to move between her legs. And for a second, he swore he saw a hint of vulnerability—as though she’d opened herself up to more than his touch.
“I won’t,” she said. And instead of fighting him, pushing back and demanding to give the orders, she withdrew her wet fingers.
He froze and waited to see what she’d do next. But she simply let her hand fall to her side, leaving her body open and waiting for him. And his dick begged to accept the invitation.
He studied her face as he reached for a condom. Her big brown eyes, her full lips—he knew her. Shit, her face had haunted his dreams for so damn long. But right now, she didn’t look like the don’t-you-dare-give-me-any-shit woman who managed a bar full of sailors and soldiers. “Are you sure?” he asked.
“I won’t—”
“I’m not asking you to beg,” he said quickly. “But if you’re having second thoughts, please tell me.”
She pressed her lips together into a thin line. And Jack held his breath.
Please tell me you want this. I’ll walk away if you ask me to go. From the fantasy, from you. But—
“Are you having second thoughts?” she challenged, the fire returning to her brown eyes.
“No.” He tore open the condom and rolled it onto his very grateful dick. “How can I make you come? What will make you scream my name? That’s all I’m thinking about right now.”
Later, he’d worry about why she’d let him in, granting him a peek beneath her tough-girl exterior.
“Good,” she said, reaching her arms overhead.
And hell if that wasn’t an invitation to cover her body with his. He knelt between her splayed legs. Placing one hand on the mattress beside her, he used the other to position himself at her entrance. And then he pushed inside.
“Fuck,” he gasped, holding himself still and giving her time to adjust. She was so damn tight.
“Don’t stop,” she said, rocking her hips beneath him. “I haven’t done this in a while, so make it good. Okay?”
“Planning to.” He held back the question: How long? Because he knew she was close to begging. If he pushed her over that line, she’d never forgive him. And if he did anything to prematurely end this, he’d kick his own damn ass. He’d never been so grateful for a pre-game hand job.
Gentle.
The word flashed in his mind like a freaking neon sign. Leaning on one elbow, he ran his free hand over her jaw and down her throat. He kept his touch light, moving south to her breasts.
“Jack?” She moaned his name as she gripped his shoulders. Her fingers dug into his skin.
Fuck—someone missed the flashing gentle sign.
“Yeah?” he gasped. It was a miracle he managed that one word with her nails running over his back and down to his ass. Her touch rode the line between sweet, sweet pleasure and the bite of pain. He was about five seconds away from ignoring the neon warning.
