Page 88 of A Perfect Fit

I want him.

Having never been physically intimate with anyone aside from my ex, tonight has shown me that I very much still have needs. Needs that are loudly calling and chanting Jackson’s name.

“You won’t have to say that twice,” he says, voice low and rough.

His words send a shiver down my spine, and I hear the sound of a zipper as he unzips my dress. I help him with sliding the dress down, and it falls to the floor, leaving me in my strapless bra and underwear.

A carnal desire fills Jackson’s brown eyes as he takes me in, his hand gently tracing my thigh before moving to the fabric of my underwear and reaching my core. Slowly, tantalizingly, he starts teasing me like he’s going to take his time with me.

My eyes flutter shut momentarily, pressure building up within me like a crescendo as I arch my head back, gripping the edge of the desk. His touch on me is akin to a matchstick being lit, causing an unbridled fire to burn in me I don’t want to ever put out.

“Jackson.”

The world reduces to nothing but me and him inside the hotel room. I don’t even think I remember my own name anymore, let alone what I had for dinner, however long or short ago that was.

Jackson’s breaths turn sharp as he watches me, looking like he’s lost at sea and I’m his only anchor.

Stars dance across my vision, and sparks flicker across each inch of my skin, heightening every sensation in my body until I’m sated with pleasure. I cry Jackson’s name once more when I reach my climax, my thighs quivering and my breathing heavy.

My eyes lock with his once more, and before I know it, his mouth is on mine again. Muffled whimpers bubble from my throat, and I loop my legs around his torso, craving every possible inch of physical contact with him.

“We’re relocating to the bed,” he grunts, pulling apart from me.

“Agree,” I breathe.

One second, I’m still on the desk, and the next, he’s lifting me and carrying me to the bed. He lays me down on the mattress, leaving me to watch impatiently as he stands, carefully taking off the sweatshirt I gave him.

“Can’t you just rip it off?” I whine.

“Rip off something you made for me?” His eyes darken. “Never.”

I was so nervous that Jackson might not like what I’d made for him. But for him to treat the sweatshirt like it’s something special … it’s everything to me.

Jackson folds the sweatshirt and places it on an armchair, then finally walks over to me again. He starts undoing the first button of his shirt, his eyes fixated on me.

I sit up and pout. “I want to help.”

Jackson kneels on the bed, his hands gripping my waist. “I’m all yours, baby.”

God.

My hands fumble as I unbutton his shirt, revealing his beautifully toned chest and abs and a defined V-line leading toward his pants. It’s clear he takes his workout routine more than seriously, and I trace my fingers down his chest, taking in the gorgeous sight that is shirtless Jackson.

Help. He’s so hot.

“Is it aesthetically pleasing enough?” Jackson smirks, borrowing the phrase I called him earlier tonight.

“Yes.” I swallow. “You’re really blessing my eyeballs, Carter.”

Another chuckle leaves him as he hastily unbuckles his belt, and I bite my lip as I watch him, anticipation soaring through me.

Oh, how I want him. So badly. So⁠—

“Shit,” Jackson suddenly curses, stopping what he’s doing.

“What’s wrong?” I glance up, noticing the tension on his face. Does he not want to do this anymore?

Jackson runs a hand through his hair in frustration. “I don’t have a condom. I didn’t pack any for this trip. I didn’t think we’d be …”