Page 53 of Meet Cute Magic

And then we’re parked in the shared community lot, her magic going dim, and my fingers are sliding out of her. She watches my movement in the dim glow of the streetlight as I lift them to my mouth, then taste her on my fingers. I groan at it, at the way she tastes exactly the way she smells, like lavender sugar and need and magic.

It’s Rosie.

When she lets out a tiny mewl, I smile.

Tonight is going to be a lot of fun.

“Come on, Rosie girl. Let’s get you inside.”

CHAPTER 18

Rosie

29 days until Halloween

My body is buzzing as I sit a bit dazed in the passenger seat of Jack’s car, especially when he opens his door, then looks over at me and leans across the console, pressing his lips to mine like he can’t resist. I taste myself on his lips, and it sends a bolt of heat through me, thinking about what comes next in this chaotic night.

If you asked me a few weeks ago if Jack would be fingering me as he drove us back from our latest adventure or that I would absolutely be letting him fuck me, I’d tell you you have absolutely lost your mind. And yet, here we are, him whispering, stay there, against my lips before he slides out of his seat, slamming it shut and then jogging around the front of his car with a wide smile, like he also can’t contain it.

It’s contagious, the glee I get when I’m around Jack these days.

He opens my door, then leans in, unbuckling my seatbelt before hooking his arms around me.

I let out a little giggle as he pulls me into his arms, mine having no choice but to hook around his neck, my legs following suit as he lifts me up. My center throbs, especially when I feel the hardness of his cock beneath my ass. He slams the door shut before he’s moving, quickly but carefully with me in his arms, toward his shop, unlocking it and slamming the front door behind him as well before relocking it. My mind can barely focus, my lips touching every free inch of skin I can find along his neck, but when he presses my back hard to the door as if he can’t wait another moment, I groan as his cock grinds into my center, his lips falling to mine.

“Jack,” I whisper as his lips move down my neck, nipping and sucking as he does. His hands dig into my ass, fingers pressing into soft skin, and a small part of me hopes they leave marks.

“I want you so bad,” he groans, and suddenly getting air into my lungs is difficult.

“Yes,” I say, both an agreement and permission. He smiles wide then, before dropping his mouth to mine again, kissing the breath out of me as he grinds into me. The angle we’re at has my pleasure building again, not that it ever truly left the building, and when I start reciprocating, grinding against him as well, he groans and steps back. He’s not as tightly pressed to me anymore, though his body is still against mine as he continues to hold me, fingers digging into my ass as we make our way toward the back of his store, then up the stairs. I don’t even have time to marvel at how his strong arms can carry me all this way and then up the stairs, not as his mouth makes trails from my lips to my neck, tasting my pulse, then moving up to nip at my earlobe. Not when my body is on fire, not when his is holding me close.

We enter what I assume is his room, and I don’t have long to mourn that I didn’t take in more as we moved through his home. He sets me to my feet and steps away, and I take in his room. In the center is a large bed with a comfy-looking cream comforter, framed prints on the walls, some I recognize as different games he sells or seems to enjoy, others I don’t understand at all. There is a large navy rug covering half of the hardwood floors of his room, and the dresser, bedside table, and bed are the only furniture in his alarmingly neat room. All three are in a heavy dark wood, seemingly heirloom pieces in contrast to the Ikea and social marketplace finds in my place. He moves to a bedside table, grabs a condom, and tosses it on the bed, sending an anticipatory shiver through me. My hands move to the hem of my sweatshirt, anticipating the next stage of this, but before I can move much, his hand wraps around my wrist, stopping me.

“I undress you,” he says firmly, and, honest to god, my knees go weak and I have to swallow back a whimper.

Hot.

He is so hot. Especially when he smirks at me, eyes burning up like he knows the exact impact he’s having on me. This is not what Rosie from four weeks ago would have thought Jack was like in bed, but I’m not complaining. A man who is sweet and caring and nerdy and quite normal, and then hot and domineering and demanding when he has me naked?

Hell. Yes.

His hands move to my waist, dipping underneath and moving along my skin. It’s torture, his fingers on my warm skin, feather light when I want him everywhere all at once. Before I know it, my sweater is in a pile on the floor and his fingers make quick work of my bra, letting it fall to the ground. While he works, I impatiently slide off my leggings and underwear simultaneously. Then his big hand is cupping my whole breast, a hot, satisfied breath leaving his lips and ghosting over heated flesh. “Fucking look at you,” he says, though it’s almost as if it’s said to himself. His other hand moves up, pinching and rolling my nipple, and I arch into his touch with a whimper. That makes a smile form on his lips.

“You next,” I whisper, desperate to see him. He looks at me then, tipping his head in a taunt and raising an eyebrow.

“Is that so?”

“Please?”

“Because you asked so nicely, Rosie girl, I will.” Then his hands are leaving my body, and I groan at the loss. Once again, he chuckles and makes quick work of his sweater, reaching behind him in that hot way guys do and tossing it to the side. I watch with bated breath as his hands move to the button of his pants, then slide them down along with his boxer briefs.

Then he steps to me, fully naked, cock bobbing with each step, and I groan as I take in the full image.

Fuck, Jack is a dream. His dark hair is tousled, some of that hair falling over onto his forehead, a chunk sticking up from when he took off his sweater. A strong jaw that has the perfect amount of scruff waiting to be shaved. Broad shoulders, defined muscles moving down his arms. His stomach is flat, though not cut into abs, which I’m even more into. A light dusting of dark hair over his chest that becomes more dense as it moves into his defined happy trail, like an arrow pointing to the most perfect cock I’ve ever seen. Thick and long, the tip shining with precum, reminding me that he has been stuck in foreplay limbo since the field.

And when he takes off those thick-framed glasses and tosses them to the ground, forgotten, his eyes narrowing on me with heat, I think I actually moan.

That’s confirmed when he takes a step closer with a cocky smile on his lips, like he knows I like what I’m seeing.