I raise an eyebrow. “What are you going to do? Climb up here and sneak into my bedroom?”
“Of course.”
“You do remember you’renota teenager, right?” I tease.
“And?”
“You might not be as dexterous as you once were.”
“Maybe not. But I do have a fully developed cerebral cortex and that’s worth something.” He looks around him, searching for the best way up.
I laugh, feeling giddy. “Fair enough.”
He grabs hold of the trunk of the tree and then looks up at me. “Plus, I don’t have to worry about waking your parents if I fall.”
Jesse grips a tree branch above him with both hands and hauls himself up in a shockingly controlled motion—part pull-up, part push-up—until he plants a foot on the branch beside his hands.
I take back my dig about his dexterity.
I hold my breath as he closes the last gap between the tree and the rail, but he lands easily on the wood before straightening up with a satisfied smirk. He ambles over to me, taking hold of my hand and leading me through the open doorway.
I’m completely speechless.
The minute we step inside, his mouth is on mine, hot and insistent. I shut the door clumsily behind us, and he presses me flushagainst it. His hands tunnel through my hair as he angles my head back for a deeper kiss, and I part my lips eagerly, allowing him to devour me. The sense of rightness it evokes is equal parts terrifying and exhilarating, and I realize that somewhere along the line, this stopped being a fling. I want him in a way that extends beyond the physical. I want him to be mine.
He drops his hands under my thighs to hoist me up. I wrap my arms around his neck and then he’s carrying me over to the bed.
By the time he sets me down on the edge of the mattress, the sense of urgency has shifted into something slower. Deeper. Jesse’s breath is hot against my neck as he undoes the buttons of my pajama top one by one with agonizing slowness. He kisses the newly exposed skin as each new inch is revealed, the stubble of his beard deliciously scratchy against my skin, and I weave my hand through his curls to keep upright. Once the final button is unhooked, he slides the sleeves down my arms. Dipping his head, he plants a kiss in the center of my cleavage.
“Tell me what you want,” he murmurs against my skin. My head tips backward as my eyes shut.
“You,” I whisper. “I want you.”
He breathes out a laugh. His hand slides beneath the waistband of my pajama bottoms and I suck in a breath as his index finger traces over the seam of my panties.
“You’ve got me,” he says, his voice a low rumble. “And I want to make you feel good. So, tell me how you’d like me to do it.”
A glimmer of confusion cuts through the haze of bliss. Then again, the slow, stroking movement of his fingers is making it difficult to concentrate on the question. He slides a hand inside the thin strip of fabric, slowly parting my folds with one finger. He holds eye contact with me as his fingers stroke over me, and the intimacy of it leaves me breathless.
“Whatever… whatever you want,” I manage. Jesse pauses hismovements and my stomach dips. Have I said something wrong? Honestly, I’m not sure what answer he’s looking for.
Jesse’s brow furrows. “Don’t men ask you how you’d like to come?” His words send a chill of lust down my spine. The question is unspeakably sexy but it’s also one I’ve never been asked before. Most of the men I’ve been with were like Rocky—they take what they want and don’t ask for feedback.
“Not really,” I admit. “But I… I like all of it.”
The crease between his eyebrows deepens.
“This is about you and your pleasure,” he says. “I’d like you to tell me. Do you want my fingers?” I gasp as he slips another finger inside me.
I make a sound that’s not quite a reply.
“Or would you prefer my mouth?” He uses his free hand to lower the cup of my bra and closes his mouth over my nipple. His tongue swirls around me, teasing the tip into a sharp point. His other hand is still stroking me, and the dual sensation is almost too much to bear.
I clear my throat, struggling to form a coherent sentence. “How about C, all of the above?”
Jesse’s lips curl into a grin against my breast, and his mouth continues its gentle assault as he laps his tongue across my nipple before biting down gently. He slips another finger inside as he continues to work me, and I press against his palm eagerly.
“That’s it,” he murmurs. He moves his attention to my other breast, planting a soft kiss against the lace fabric. “Take what you want.”
