“You’re beautiful,” I let out.
“I’ve never… you know…”
“Me neither,” I admit. My hands keep moving, tracing the soft skin of her sides, thumbs brushing against the undersides of her breasts.
“Jax St. Clair, a virgin? Right. Like you haven’t had half the girls in school throwing themselves at you.”
I pull my hands up to her shoulders, forcing myself to meet her eyes instead of staring at her chest.
“Is it weird that I wanted to do this with someone that actually liked me for me, and not just because of my last name?” I kiss her. “Had a few close calls, but… no. Never got there.”
Sisk shakes her head. “Who says I like you?” she challenges, a playful glint in her eyes.
“Then you’d better stop looking at me like that.”
“Or what?”
“Careful, Rabbit.”
Her hands move to the front of my jeans, her fingers fumbling with the zipper.
“Guess the bad boy does get the girl after all,” she whispers.
“I can be nice.”
She gives a small, almost imperceptible shake of her head. “Don’t.”
Her hand slides down, pressing against me through the denim, then she slides under them, to the thin cotton of my boxers, so close to my dick that I have to count—literally count—not to come right then and ruin everything.
Every nerve in my body is screaming, my hips jerking forward without my permission. Her touch is hesitant at first, then a little bolder, her fingers tracing the hard length of me, and I swear I see stars behind my eyelids.
My hand covers hers. “Wait,” I breathe out, my voice tight. I guide her fingers up, over the waistband of my boxers. Her eyes are locked on mine. “Here,” I let out, pushing her hand under the fabric.
The first time her skin touches mine, a hiss of air escapes my teeth. Her fingers wrap around me, and it takes everything I have not to lose it. She’s exploring, learning the shape of me, and it’s the best goddamn torture I’ve ever felt.
Her hand drifts lower, her fingers gently brushing against my balls. My whole body jerks, a violent, uncontrollable shudder. “Fuck,” I grunt, my eyes squeezing shut.
She freezes, pulling her hand back slightly. “Sorry,” she whispers, her voice small, nervous. “I didn’t?—”
“No, no, it’s good,” I say quickly, my hand finding hers again. I guide her back to my dick, my own fingers closing over hers to show her how to hold me, how to move. “It’s all good. Just… sensitive there. You can… yeah. Like that.” I let out another shaky breath as her hand starts moving again, a little more confident this time.
I move my hand over her denim, my palms grabbing both sides of her ass. I hitch her leg up around my hip and the new angle punches a sound out of both of us.
She grinds against me, and I groan into her mouth, overwhelmed by how good this already feels.
We start moving, finding a rhythm that’s all instinct and no skill.
The concrete is hard against my back but we’re crossing a line together, fumbling our way through it, and I don’t give a shit about anything else.
She pushes herself up suddenly. “Hold on.”
The panic is instant. “I?—”
She’s already moving, scrambling up and disappearing toward the small maintenance shed at the far end of the roof. I can’t breathe. My mind is racing, a fucking train wreck of thoughts.This is it. She’s realized what a mistake this is. She’s changed her mind. I’m left here on the roof, hard as a rock, looking like a complete fool.
A minute feels like an hour. Then she’s back, a small cardboard box in her arms. She sets it down, takes a long sip from a water bottle she pulls out, and then unfolds a thick wool blanket with practiced, steady motions. The contrast between her calm and the animal inside me screaming to be let loose is almost insulting.
“What’s all this?” I manage to ask, my voice tight with a mix of crushing relief and utter confusion.
