My thumb moves slightly against her side without me telling it to. She makes the smallest sound against my mouth and that nearly undoes me.
When we finally pull back, we don’t go far.
Her glasses are somewhat crooked. Her cheeks flushed. Her lips parted like she’s surprised by herself.
“Well,” she whispers.
“Well,” I agree.
Neither of us steps back.
Chapter 14
Ava
Ishould say something.Something clever. Something that doesn’t betray how my pulse is hammering in my throat. But words dissolve before I can shape them, because Jack’s hand lifts, slow, deliberate, and his knuckles graze my cheekbone, his thumb hooking under my chin to tilt my face up.
“You’re thinking too much,” he murmurs, his voice a low rasp that vibrates through me.
I swallow. “I always think too much.”
His mouth quirks, just a little. “Noted.” And then he kisses me again, and oh god, it’s nothing like the first one—no hesitant press of lips, no polite exploration. This is hunger. This is teeth and tongue and the wet, filthy sound of our mouths moving together, his stubble scraping against my chin. His hands slide down to my bum, squeezing hard enough to lift me onto my toes, and I gasp into his mouth, my nails digging into his shoulders through the crisp cotton of his shirt. He tastes like chocolate and something darker, something that’s all him, and I want to drown in it.
The bed is right there. A king-size monstrosity with too many pillows, the duvet turned down by housekeeping in that infuriatingly neat way. Jack walks me backward until my knees hit the mattress, and I sit down hard, my glasses askew. He doesn’t let me go. One hand tangles in my hair, the other braces against the bed beside my hip, caging me in. His throat works as he looks at me and I feel the weight of that gaze like a physical touch, heating my skin.
“Tell me to stop,” he says, and his voice is rough, like he’s been shouting on the pitch for hours.
I don’t want him to stop. I want his hands everywhere. I want his mouth on parts of me that haven’t been touched in years.
His fingers tighten in my hair, just shy of painful. “Ava.”
The way he says my name, like it’s a question and a command all at once—snaps something inside me. I reach up and yank him down by the collar of his shirt, our mouths crashing togetheragain. His chuckle is deep, triumphant, and then he’s pushing me back onto the bed, his body covering mine. The weight of him is glorious, his hips settling between my thighs, the hard ridge of his erection pressing against me through layers of fabric. I arch into it instinctively, a whimper escaping me, and his breath hitches.
“Fuck,” he groans against my neck, his lips skimming over my pulse point. “You’re killing me.”
I can’t help it—I laugh, breathless and giddy. “I’m not doing anything.”
“Exactly.” His teeth graze my earlobe, and I jerk beneath him, my fingers scrambling at his belt. “You’re just lying there, all shy and proper, while I’m about two seconds from ripping these bloody trousers off you.”
My hands still on his belt buckle. “Then do it.”
He freezes. Lifts his head. His eyes are nearly black now, his pupils blown wide. “What?”
I swallow hard, but I don’t look away. “You heard me.” I don’t know who I am anymore but I like this woman that I’ve become when I’m around him.
For a heartbeat, neither of us moves. Then his mouth crashes onto mine again, his tongue sweeping in deep, possessive strokes that have me moaning into his kiss. His hands are everywhere—dragging my cardigan down my arms, fumblingwith the buttons of my blouse, his fingers brushing against the lace of my bra. The cool air hits my skin, and I gasp, but before I can protest, his mouth is on my collarbone, his teeth nipping at the sensitive skin there.
“You’re sure?” he growls, his breath hot against my skin as he nudges the cups of my bra aside. His thumb brushes over my nipple and I gasp, my back arching off the bed.
“Is T-rex the best dinosaur or what?” I manage, my voice barely recognisable.
“Ava—” Jack breaks into laughter.
Brilliant. Nothing says irresistible like bringing up prehistoric predators mid-foreplay.
“I’m sorry, I’m not very good at—”
I don’t get to finish. He cuts me off with another kiss, softer this time, lingering.
