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I tip my head back and his mouth hits my throat. He licks the pulse point as my heart kicks into a hectic pattern. He tracks his mouth down to my collarbone, yanks aside the low neck of my T-shirt. When his lips close in a wet kiss over the top of my breast at the edge of my bra, I buck my hips, wanting—no, needing—more.
He cups my ass and moves us toward the bed and that’s when we’re interrupted by a softly muttered swearword.
Jax’s back is to the doorway, but he freezes in place, my butt cradled in his palms, his eyes hazy and lust drenched. I peek around his head. Tommy stands in the hallway, his hand lifted in apology.
“Sorry. God. So sorry.” He backs toward the stairs and is out of sight a second later.
“That was Tommy,” I whisper to Jax.
“Yeah. Remind me to murder him.” He blinks hard, like he’s trying to float down from where we were, which takes some doing for both of us. “Later. First let’s shut that door.”
I laugh—a real one. One that hurts my belly. And when Jax grins, it’s so sincere and achingly familiar I can’t help it when the truth exits my lips.
“I’ve missed you.”
His smile fades.
“Rain check?” I ask. “I can’t handle many more starts and stops like this.” I press my hand to my throat where my pulse is flipping out.
“Same. I could use a shower anyway. A cold one at the moment.”
“You smell okay.” I play with the longer hair on top of his head.
“Not going for okay.” He lowers me to my feet and my sensitized center rubs the thick ridge of his fly on the way down.
“Jax.” It’s a whimper of protest.
“I can do better than okay.” He palms my cheek and I lean into it. “Tonight. I’ll finish up here, go home, change, come back.” He doesn’t wait for me to answer. He leans down and puts a brief kiss on my mouth, but his tongue sneaks out for a taste and has me leaning in for more. “Tonight.”
I nod, pleased when he adjusts himself rather obviously in the doorway. I like having that hold on him. It’s only fair; that’s the hold he has on me. He turns and winks and then yells for Tommy as he jogs down the stairs.
I collapse on the mattress, waiting for my heart to steady as I glance across the room at the photo of Jackson and me from what, a dozen years ago?
Then I think of that night we had sex in the limo, how inexperienced we were, but oh-so-exuberant and willing to try anything and everything simply because it was fun.
A shiver shakes my shoulders as I consider that Jackson has probably become even better at sex. When he kisses me, he’s about a hundred times more potent than he used to be. I’m more than willing to be the girl beneath him learning the new tricks he’s perfected over the years.
Tonight.The word holds more promise, more anticipation, more excitement than any in my recent history. And you’re talking to the girl who was on Xavier McCormack’s arm with Millie Duncan’s stolen Oscar tucked beneath his tuxedo jacket, so that’s saying something.
