He won’t get any argument from me—I’m desperate to feel him, skin on skin. This dress may be classy and proper, but some decidedlyimproper things are about to go down in this hotel room, so it’s got to go.
His eyes are smoldering blue fire. “Arms up.”
I raise an eyebrow and then my arms, teasing and provocative, peering up at him seductively from beneath my lashes. His gaze stays locked on mine as he grabs the hem of my dress, lifting it up and over my head in one fluid movement. I’m nearly naked now... except for one thing.
“They really do look like chicken cutlets,” he marvels as I rush to peel off the sticky boobs, giggling and batting his hands away as he tries to get a closer look. “Fascinating.”
I fling them in the direction of the desk, then launch myself at him, throwing my arms around his neck and planting my lips on his—and there it is, skin-to-skin contact at long last.Finally. I’m enveloped in everything hard—his muscular arms flexing around me, his strong abs, his stiff arousal——and yet the way he holds me is gentle, tender, sweet. He has one hand cradling my face, fingers threaded into my hair, and the other braced against my rib cage, his large palm fanned over my breast, his thumb teasing my nipple and sending lightning bolts of desire straight to my core.
I let out a moan, and I think it triggers him to pick up the pace because his arms tighten around me and he walks us backward, guiding us toward the bed. His hand moves down to knead my ass, and now he’s the one who’s clumsy as he tries to tug my panties down my hips one-handed.
“These need to go,” he growls against my lips, and as soon as I kick them off we tumble into the sheets, a cloud of soft linens puffing up around us, shielding us from the world.
Sensations swirl and collide in an erotic, all-consuming blur. Jack lavishes my body with attention, caressing my breasts and tracing my collarbone with his tongue, his stubble tickling my skin. I straddle his hips and nibble his ear, grinding against him while my breasts skim his chest. He kisses up my spine; noses across my navel; fists a hand in my hair. I nip and bite my way down his torso, savoring the salty-sweetness of his skin, stroking his shaft until he groans me for me to stop. He drops his head between my thighs and tastes me until my back arches off the mattress, fingers clenched and scrabbling at the sheets. His tongue is like fire licking up my skin; I’m surprised I haven’t burst into flames.
Seeing him like this now, unconstrained and unleashed, I’m realizing just how much he’s held himself back, how thoroughly he’s subjugated his needs for mine all this time. He’s insatiable and demanding, as dominant in bed as he is in life. He’s indefatigable in foreplay in a way I can hardly withstand. He’s taking his time, cherishing every inch of me, and it makes the rusty hinges on the door to my heart crack open that much wider. I feelwanted, body and soul. It’s like he won’t rest until he’s unearthed every one of my hidden emotions, drawn out all of my deepest desires and claimed them for him and him alone.
“Please,” I plead, and I’m not even sure what I’m begging for at this point—for him to end my torment, yes, but also to obliterate me, to fill this space in my soul that only he can fill, to take my heart, brand it with his initials, and never give it back.
He must hear the desperation in my voice because he settles me back against the pillows, blanketing my body with his and caging me in with the strength and sinew of his broad shoulders. Sweat’s gathered at his temples, one unruly lock of hair fallen onto his forehead, and for some reason that little detail makes my heart squeeze in my chest.
He grabs my hand and pulls it above my head, lacing my fingers through his. “Don’t close your eyes, okay? I want to see you.”
I swallow thickly and nod, a powerful swell of emotion threatening to pull me under, and if possible, I fall deeper in love with him.This is the most intimate moment of my entire life.
I do as he says, staring into his eyes as he slowly guides himself inside me, inch by glorious inch—but it’s when he breathes out a hoarseI love youthat I lose all control, grabbing the back of his neck and slamming his lips down on mine. He jerks into me, burying himself to the hilt, and when I clench around him he groans into my mouth.
He starts to rock against me, his rhythm steady and deliberate, and I surrender to the pleasure, knowing he’s got me, that I’m safe in his arms. Jack makes love like he does everything else—he’s in control, confident and authoritative, yet still earnest and devoted in a way that makes me weak in the knees. I seem to have stumbled upon a unicorn of my own: a guy with serious alpha male energy but none of the ego that typically comes with it. He’s my white whale. I’ve found the perfect man.
Everything I’m discovering about him sends me tumbling further down the love rabbit hole. He has a spray of freckles stippled across his shoulders that’s like a hidden constellation for my eyes only, and I trace a path along themlike it’s my own private star chart. I’m addicted to the noises he makes—his panting breaths, broken grunts, the low groans that come from deep within his chest, as melodic and captivating as any musical notes. I press a fingertip into the dimple in his cheek, noting that I seem to have unlocked a new, boyish version of his smile. It’s extraordinary to me that despite staring at his face for weeks, there are still things I’m seeing for the first time. I hope I never stop.
He moves over me, spoiling me, learning my body and minding my reactions, but it’s torturous—he’s setting a loose, languid pace when all I want him to do is annihilate me, press me into the mattress, suffocate me with his weight and his kisses. I writhe against him in an underhanded attempt to steal his control, but he doesn’t give an inch; he won’t be rushed. I think this must be part of his master plan—he wants me mindless and pliant, holding nothing back, so wild with lust that I’m twisting out of my skin, screaming his name, begging for mercy.
And maybe I’ll give him what he wants. Our relationship has always thrived on competition, the push-pull dynamic between us as intoxicating as any drug, but maybe this is where I let him lead. Maybe this time, I’ll let him take me where he wants to go while I relax and enjoy the ride. Going head-to-head and toe-to-toe with him has been fun, but I think I’ve finally found a kind of submission I can embrace.Betty would be proud.
Once I make that decision, it doesn’t take me long to break.
Jack continues his carnal assault, his hands and tongue and body relentlessly pushing me to the limit, taking everything I have to give, and I surrender it all until I’m nothingbut a quivering mass chasing release. This is the most intense sexual experience of my life, and I tell him so.
His mouth curls up. “For me too.” And then: “Tell me what else you’re thinking.”
So I do. I tell him how sexy he is, that I’ve never been so attracted to someone. How I’ve ached for him since the night we met, and how difficult he’s been to resist. I tell him what a good man I think he is, how strong and capable and admirable. I tell him how long I’ve fantasized about being right here, pinned beneath him and sheltered in his arms while he learns me inside and out. I tell him when he hits a spot that feels so good, so intense, I think it might split me in two.
He growls at that last one and thrusts harder, his speed picking up, hips grinding into mine until there’s no more in and out, no separation between our bodies. There’s only deep and deeper, our hips permanently fused, and I cry out, feeling my peak bearing down on me with each subsequent thrust—and then I’m yelling his name and gripping his biceps, body clenched and locked tight as I sail over the edge, breathless and euphoric as he joins me in finding his own release.
We lay there afterward, catching our breath and coming down from the high, and I’m almost comatose. The emotional whiplash of the day has finally caught up with me and I’m utterly spent. I’m breathless and boneless; a runner who’s collapsed just past the finish line. I let out a sigh of contentment that morphs into a yawn, and Jack chuckles.
“You gonna make it?” He kisses me on the forehead and starts to withdraw, and I whine my disapproval.
“Unclear,” I slur drowsily—though I manage to musterup enough energy to roll over and ogle his naked backside as he pads over to the bathroom. “But I do know I want us to do that every day of the week and twice on Sunday.”
He barks a laugh and I hear the sink turn on. “That can be arranged.”
I roll onto my back again and stretch out, basking in the afterglow, luxuriating in these ridiculously soft sheets. I am never leaving this bed. We could move in here, stay forever. I wonder how long the contents of the minibar would last us.
The bathroom light flicks off a minute later and then he’s walking toward me in the dim light, godlike and perfect. He’s totally un-self-conscious even in nothing but his birthday suit, muscles and planes and,ahem, appendages all jockeying for my attention. He’s the statue of David come to life, and I give myself a mental high five for landing this delicious piece of man candy. Vitality and testosterone radiate from his pores. I’d swear his skin is glittering like a fictional vampire, but I think that’s just my love-goggles talking.
“That’s quite a look on your face,” he says.
