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There’s plenty of time for reality later, if we go there at all. I move closer to his mouth to find out if he’s ready to get the ball rolling on the whole kissing-without-stopping promise he made in the kitchen.
He is.
Our lips fuse, soft nips as we explore each other’s mouth. I suck in air through my nose, wiggling closer. He cups the back of my head and anchors me to him. When he widens his mouth and angles it just so, I respond, letting him delve deeper. I feel the kiss in my entire body, sparks shooting off like mini rockets in every erogenous zone.
His thumb grazes my cheek as he rests his forehead on mine. “I remember what it felt like to touch you back then—I couldn’t get enough.” He slides that hand down my shoulder and traces the neckline of my dress—just over my breasts—with the tip of his index finger. “I wanted it all, and I kept begging for you to give me the green light.”
My breath leaves my mouth in a stuttering sigh.
His fingers rake into my hair to move it aside and he lays his lips on my throat, kissing lightly before murmuring into my ear. “How’m I doing?”
“Don’t stop.” I feel his grin against my skin—my overheated skin.
He places another kiss to my throat while fisting my hair and dragging me closer. He doesn’t have to try hard. I cup the back of his head while he explores me, and when that’s not close enough I climb onto my knees and throw a leg over his lap. He tips his head back and accepts my kiss, holding me as I devour him. We can’t get close enough. Not while wearing clothes.
I remember back when we were younger. Back when feverish make-out sessions like this one stopped short of what we both wanted. I was the shier one, slowing us down before we took it too far.
That night of my parents’ party, they were too busy entertaining their friends to check on us, and thank God for that. Jackson and I fumbled through undressing each other and making love on my bed. He asked over and over if I was okay. If I was sure. And when we took each other’s virginity in that dark room, he promised to love me forever, and I promised it right back. It was beautiful, if not clumsy, and when he held me after, I decided I’d never let him go.
We let each other go.
It’s a somber thought to have. Disconnecting my brain is as simple as delighting in a physical sensation, so I swivel my hips against his and poof!, thoughts from yesteryear vanish.
Jax, unaware of my brief visit down memory lane, lets out a grunt followed by a low groan of need. I follow suit when he slips two fingers into the front of my dress and brushes a nipple.
No straps to fuss with, he tugs my dress down, freeing my breasts. He holds them like precious gems, examining them in the meager light.
“Beautiful.” He thumbs the bud and watches as it hardens under his touch. I grind against his hard-on, desperate for friction to relieve the pounding beat between my legs.
He leans forward, nuzzling the peak of each breast with his beard before suckling one nipple deep into his mouth, his hand on my back to flatten me against him.
A high-pitched mewl of desire, desperate and needy, leaves my lips. He knows where to touch me to set me off. He’s had a lot of practice. If there was one area where he achieved a four-point-zero GPA in college it was on the subject of Allison Murphy.
I might come like this before I successfully remove a single article of his clothing. I try to make that sound bad in my head but fail.
He slides his mouth to the other breast, slow and sure in his approach as his other hand wraps around my ass and drives me down on him hard. He lets my nipple go with a pop and when he tips his eyes to mine, they’re heavy lidded and dark.
I climb from his lap and fumble for his belt. He helps, and I awkwardly move aside to give him room to strip off his jeans, socks, and shoes. He grabs the side of his shirt and strips it off from left to right. All my life I’ve never seen a guy take his shirt off like that. It’s so uniquely Jackson Burke that my throat clogs. It harkens back to when we belonged to each other and the world was small. Before he owned a business. Before I became famous. Before we threw what we had to the dogs.
He reaches for my dress and I stand. I let him shove it down my body and off my hips. He takes my hand while I step from the pool of fabric. When I bend for my shoes, he reprimands me gruffly.
“Don’t you dare take those off.”
