“Why are you doing this? You should be in Boston. You have practice early tomorrow.” I ball my fist and lightly tap it against his chest. “And I know you’re not feeling great, even if you’re too stubborn to admit it.”
“I’m—”
“Fine,” I answer for him. “Please, I’m the best there is at that excuse. You can’t weasel your way…”
Jack kisses me, then pulls back. “I want to be here with you. On that couch. In your bed. I would have joined you in the tub… but it’s comically small.”
“The charm of a New England cottage. Definitely a con.”
He chuckles against my mouth, and I wrap my arms around his neck, gently raking my fingers against his scalp. “Still hurts?”
He swallows, nods, and then issues the smallest sigh when I press a kiss at the corner of his jaw. “Bedroom?” he murmurs.
I nod, and he walks me backward down the hall, his mouth never leaving mine until we’re about to crash into the mattress.
Jack notices the black ribbon from the gala on my dresser. He grins. “You kept it?”
Heat crawls up my neck. “Maybe.” I don’t tell him I wear it in my hair sometimes when he’s away.
He picks it up, the silk sliding through his fingers. Then he lifts my wrists. “This okay?”
I bite my lip, anticipation swirling in my chest. Jack ties the ribbon around my wrists—not tight, just enough that I feel it bite at my skin. Enough that I can’t reach for him first.
His mouth trails down my throat. “Tell me what you need,” he murmurs against my collarbone. When he lifts his head, his blue eyes are hooded.
“Stay.”
It’s such a simple request, but I still expect him to leave.
“I’m not leaving tonight.” He guides me backward against my sheets, then raises my arms above my head, moving over my body. He straddles me, peeling his shirt off before he leans down to kiss me.
I understand now why an orgasm was called “the little death” in old books. He kisses me with precision and enough care that I’m whimpering, and his hands aren’t on my body. Just his lips and teeth, marking me lightly, trailing down my neck, across my collarbone, then taking each nipple into his mouth.
“Feels good, Izzy?”
“Yes,” I pant.
“Good.” He rolls off the bed, quickly undresses, then continues kissing, avoiding where I want him most. I’m wet and so fucking desperate for him.
“You’re beautiful,” he says softly. “You need to know that. I’ll keep telling you until you believe me.”
“I’ll believe whatever you want?—”
I move to look up at him, but he shakes his head. “Not tonight, sweetheart. I don’t want to tonight.”
When he finally settles between my legs, his mouth moves over me with that same consideration. His breath ghosts over my skin, and I shiver. I arch closer, overwhelmed by how good it feels to be touched like this. Like I’m something precious.
Jack leans down and presses a kiss over my heart.
Tears spring to my eyes. I suck in a deep breath, surprised at how good it feels, and how scary it is to trust him completely.
He reaches for a condom, then slowly sinks into me. My hands are still tied above my head, and it’s just my lips that find his chest. The feel of his warm skin against mine, the way his gold chain dances across my chest as his pace quickens.
“You don’t know how long I’ve wanted to take care of you like this,” he says. “How long I’ve wanted to slow down enough to feel everything with you. But Izzy, sweetheart, the wait was worth it.”
His pace is so slow, my pleasure builds and builds. There, but still not close enough. Jack is deliberate, each touch, each trust meant only to bring me pleasure. When it becomes too much, I focus on the tug of the ribbon against my skin, the way he showers praise over me.
“I’ve got you. You’re safe. Come for me, baby. Please.”
