He stops short immediately. “What is it?”
“No more kissing.” I might be too attracted to him to say no to a little quid pro quo, but there’s a foolproof way to make sure this doesn’t accidentally turn romantic. His kisses are intoxicating. Dangerous. I’ve never had a man kiss me with such desperate, possessive intent. Without this boundary, I’ll lose my sanity. “We can do whatever, but you can’t kiss me.”
“On the lips?” His voice has dropped an octave. “Or anywhere?”
“On the lips. You’re not my boyfriend.”
“I’m well aware, Princess.”
I’ve never liked the sound of that nickname more. “But you can kiss me other places.”
“Good enough for me.” His gaze drops shamelessly, roaming over my body. The T-shirt has ridden up, and the skirt is showing an indecent amount of thigh. “As long as I can taste you.”
“Jack—”
“Not now.” He runs his hand down my side, then tugs the shirt over my head, revealing a raspberry-colored bralette. His gaze, so dark and green-gold, traverses over me, as if he can undress me the rest of the way with his eyes alone. My back arches without permission. I swallow hard enough my throat bobs, and he snags on that, a hungry noise leaving his lips. Desperate for something to groundmyself with, I stroke up and down his tattooed arms. “Trust me,” he continues. “You’ll want me to savor it.”
He makes to sit up. I quickly hook my foot around his hip, digging my heel into his lower back. “Don’t you dare leave. You started this mess.”
“It’s flattering that you think I have so much self-restraint.” His laughter, low and amused, warms my belly. He tugs off his T-shirt, ink rippling from his shoulders down to the tantalizing place above the waistband of his jeans. “But Poppy, a hurricane couldn’t tear me away.”
“Oh.” I shiver as he inches down one bra strap, kissing my shoulder, then does the same for the other. I reach around awkwardly; he helps me get rid of the bralette, flinging it somewhere in the cabin. My nipples are taut, aching for his calloused fingers. The scratch of his beard. I squeeze my legs together, whimpering as my core throbs.
“God.” He swallows, gaze on my breasts. “I’ve been dreaming about these.”
I stiffen, waiting for a comment about how they’re not what he imagined. Too big, or too small, toosomething. I’ve heard it all before, online and in real life.
He rubs his thumb across one flushed nipple. “So fucking pretty.”
“Are you sure? Because”—I whine at his ministrations—“I don’t know, it never seems like guys—”
“Am I sure?” He cups them, squeezing roughly. “Fuck, baby, they’re perfect.”
I barely have time to steel myself before his mouth is on my tit. He sucks on one of my hardened nipples, letting his beard drag against my sensitive skin, as he kneads the other in his hand. Electricity bolts through me. I swallow a needy moan as my hips lift off the bed.
Before I can get used to that sensation, his hand is running over my bare thigh. He doesn’t bother removing the skirt; he just shoves it up a few more inches, then hooks my soaked panties to the side. He cups my pussy, thumb dipping into my entrance. I feel the reverberation of his deep groan in my bones. His rock-hard lengthpresses against my thigh. A firestorm swirls in my belly, getting me even slicker.
He makes another noise, closer to a growl than a groan. I let out a helpless giggle as it sinks in that Jack Hartman, of all people, is rubbing up against me. The intensity he shows in the kitchen fits him just as well in bed. That’s easy to believe. Harder to believe is thatI’mthe one causing this reaction. I bite my lip, remembering his kiss from earlier and wanting that friction again. Future me will be glad that I put my foot down, but right now, I just want more contact. I want his tongue in my mouth, still bitter with hints of vinegar.
He pushes a thick finger into me, thoroughly derailing my train of thought, then gives me another. I clench around them both, ripping another low noise from his throat. When his thumb finds my swollen clit, I cry out, wordlessly begging for more contact. Each thrust of his fingers accompanies a stroke against my clit, all while he continues to lavish attention on my breasts. I turn my head to the side, breathing hard against the pillow. It should be impossible for him to know my body so well already, and yet I’m on the verge of shaking apart. Clearly, cooking isn’t the only hands-on activity he excels at.
He drags his mouth up to my neck, sucking at the delicate skin. “I expected you to be louder. Figured I’d have to cover your mouth to keep you quiet, sweetheart.”
I freeze. “You thought about this?”
“Thought?” He bites my chin, coming close enough to a kiss I bat him away. “Try fantasized. Repeatedly.”
He doesn’t sound disappointed. Just... curious. I drag my nails down his chest, cataloguing tattoos I haven’t noticed yet. Orange blossoms along his ribs. The outline of a bird with a fish in its mouth. “I had a sex dream about you.” I bring my hands up, tugging his hair. “Here. In this bed.”
His moan sends a sharp pang through my core. His hips jerk slightly, betraying his own need. I clench around his fingers, pleased when he grinds against me. I’m so close, it’s getting hard to concentrate on anything but the relentless desire pulsing through me. I wiggle free of his grip, hips rising to seek that perfect angle.
He pins me against the bed, halting my crude motions, and treats me to a third finger. It grazes the spot inside me that makes me see stars, and when he realizes that, he teases it mercilessly.
“So goddamn pretty when you’re on the edge.” He pinches my clit, eliciting a helpless gasp. “What were we doing in your dream, Poppy? Was it this?”
I nod shakily. “Tell me yours.”
His lips graze my ear. “I thought about bending you over the counter. Pounding into you like an animal. See if I could get you dripping down your legs.”
