Page 54 of Meet Cute Magic

He turns me, pressing his lips to my breast, my back molding to his front as his hands move over my body, one moving up to cup my breast once more, the other moving down to cup my booty. I groan at the feel of it, arching my hips to get something—anything. He lets out a small laugh, the breath of it coasting over my shoulder, the vibration of it running through my body, and a finger settles between the seam of me.

He steps then, toward his bed, taking me with him.

“I’ve been dying to eat this,” he says, his finger moving deeply into me, the tip pressing against my entrance. I nod.

“Yes,” I whisper as if my words matter right now. I kind of love the fact that they don’t. That Jack is in control, to use and please me as he wishes. His finger presses a bit more into me, his hand pressing into my clit, and my hips shift closer.

“But I’m not nearly a patient enough man.” I groan, and he releases me, pushing me gently to the bed. “Maybe next time.” He shifts me so my knees are to the edge of the bed with him standing behind me still, then puts work-roughened hands to my hips, lifting them high before his fingers dig into the cheeks of my ass, spreading me wide. He can see everything like this, I’m sure, and his words confirm that. “Yeah, I’ll definitely be eating that pretty pussy next time.” My face flushes as it’s pressed against the comforter, my back arching as I wait in anticipation. He seems to shift, looking down at me.

“Fuck, this ass. It’s been taunting me for fucking years, always hidden in those sweet skirts and tight pants,” he rumbles low. I open my mouth to argue, to question what he means by years, but I don’t have time, not when he’s lining the head of his thick cock with my entrance and slamming in hard and rough. I moan, my eyes fluttering shut at the sensation, the angle.

Jack is big. Thick, and long, and I can feel every inch of him like this.

“Oh,” I groan. His fingers dig into my hips, and I groan at the feel as he uses the grip to move me on his cock, pushing me away slowly then pulling me back onto him. He lets out a deep groan that has my pussy tightening on him and my back arching to get him deeper.

I need him deeper.

I need him hard and I need him fast and I just plain need him.

“Jack,” I groan, pressing back to get more, but his fingers tighten, holding me where he wants me.

“I’m in charge, Rosie. Lay there all pretty and let me make you feel good.”

I shouldn’t like it.

I shouldn’t like him telling me what to do, telling me to lie there and take what he’s giving. It should annoy me, not make me hotter.

But it does all the same, the heat cracking through me like lightning. I groan, a new rush of wet coating his cock at his words, and I hear his chuckle.

“My stubborn girl likes it when I take control, huh?” I have no choice. My rational mind is not in charge now. I nod.

“Yes,” I whimper. One hand drifts down my back, gathering my hair and pulling it, not hard, but enough to tug, enough to move through me like fire, burning and building me higher, faster. He groans at the feel, then starts moving faster, harder. Each thrust, he tugs a bit on my hair, and soon I’m rambling with the pleasure that my entire body is experiencing, getting him to give me more, to fuck me harder, telling him how good he feels in me. My breasts move against the blanket with each thrust, his hand in my hair, his fingers in the plush skin of my ass, his cock bottoming out with each thrust.

“Rub your clit, Rosie,” he says. I hesitate, my brain now able to comprehend what’s happening, but then his hand moves from my ass, landing with a hard crack on the skin of my ass. The slap reverberates to my clit, making me tighten around him and moan.

It’s a surprise, this hard edge to Jack when we’re like this, but not one I dislike.

But I do as he asks all the same, moving my hand between my legs and starting to rub my swollen clit.

“Oh, fuck,” I groan into the blankets of his bed.

“You feel so fucking good, Rosie.” I tighten, the pleasure swirling and building, too much, too fast, too consuming. “I need you to get there,” he says through gritted teeth.

“I don’t think I can,” I groan, despite my rapidly rising pleasure, despite my fingers moving in quick, precise circles around my clit. One hand leaves my hips, moving up my body and wrapping its hands in my hair and pulling back, the move still tinged in the signature Jack gentleness despite the hot tug.

“The first time I come in you, Rosemary, I’m doing it with you tightening and taking me over the edge.” I groan at his words, my fingers moving faster as my back arches, his body bending over mine, his hips still fucking me. “Now fucking come for your man.”

The demand is a growl, ripped from the pages of one of my spicy fantasies, and my vision goes black, and I combust, tightening around his cock and coming.

And coming.

And coming. I barely register the extra tug on my hair that has my pussy clenching again. Mini orgasm, but I definitely feel him push in deeper still, then groan into my neck as he pulses inside, spilling into me. After long, heavy-breathed moments, his fingers loosen in my hair, before the tips scrub at my roots as if trying to erase any discomfort he didn’t cause. Then slowly and gently, he lays me back onto his bed, sliding out of me. I collapse into a pleasure-filled puddle and he chuckles before pressing a soft kiss to my lower back, then padding away. I can feel myself starting to drift off—it’s almost morning, after all—when his feet return and I feel a warm, wet cloth between my legs as he cleans me. I close my eyes, swallowing the lump in my throat with the realization that though I’ve read of aftercare, I’ve never experienced the sweet thoughtfulness of it. He’s gone again, and I breathe through my nose and try to center my emotions before he lies next to me on the bed, pulling me into his arms. My face snuggles into his chest and I take in the uniquely Jack smell before finally, finally I speak.

“Was it magical, Jack?” A beat passes before his entire body shakes with a laugh, and my lips tip up, and even though I should be overthinking every moment of this, I can’t find it in me to.

I wake in Jack’s bed and, unlike in all of the books I’ve read, there’s no moment of confusion, no beat of wondering where I am or how I got here.

Probably because this isn’t my happily ever after enemies-to-friends-to-lovers romance.