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Jax, I’m about to say in a calming tone.We have to wait for Mom to get home.
Then he kisses me again. It’s like we can’t stop, our instincts directing us without a care about the fact Mom could return any second. She said a few hours, but that’s not a concrete plan.
As his other hand slides to my ass—he’s groaning as he massages me like he’s been waiting his whole life for this—I will my lips to form the words.
No, Jax. Mom could come home any second.
The kissing is too addictive. The texture of his lips, his taste, the hunger of his tongue as he slides it into my mouth, and I match his rhythm. Pleasure replaces the nerves, and suddenly I know I won’t tell him to stop. I can’t.
“You feel different,” he moans, his hands obsessively rubbing my ass, heating me up and getting me ready.
Nownerves try to take over, but I remember his texts. I remember why we’re doing this. I can’t think about Jax and Mom and the revelation that they might’ve been together once. I can’t think about how wrong this is, doing thishere, at my house.
“Different, how?” I murmur.
“Ready, like you can let go of all those… what did you call it? V-card nerves.”
I smile, and he kisses me again. This time, he lifts me up. My legs naturally move around him. Like the last time he carried me, I feel so small and protected.
“Where’s your bedroom?” he says urgently between kisses.
We can’t do this…
“Upstairs, first door on the right.”
I squeal in delight when he changes position, lifting me easily and propping one powerful arm under my legs. He cradles my back with the other and then takes the steps two at a time.
“Just think. Soon I’ll be carrying you over the threshold.”
It’s comments like that, spoken in his deep and enthralling voice, that convince me we can’t back out now, even if we should.
He elbows my door open and strides across the room, placing me on the bed and then looking around at my bookshelves, myThe Great Gatsbyposter on the wall, and my desk with my writing notes.
“What?” I ask, sitting up.
“This room is soyou,” he says. “When we move in together, do you think you’ll bring the posters?”
I beam. I’m flooded with light and purpose.
“I guess that’s your choice.”
“No,” he says fiercely. “It’sourchoice. Everything we do, we’ll do together.”
He climbs onto the bed, reminding me of our dirty texts, but it’s so much more electric in real life. Currents of lust zap through me as he lays his firm body against mine, finding my lips again as his hand slides up my jeans and fiddles with the button. He unclasps it and slips his hand into my underwear, finding my clit and rubbing softly.
“I need to taste you.”
“Isn’t that what we’re doing?”
I somehow push the words out past the tremble in my voice. His hand rubs quicker against my clit, the pressure searing, boiling. I’m cooking from the inside.
“Not like that.”
He smirks and kisses down my neck, then over my chest. Finally, he kneels at the edge of the bed and unzips my jeans. He grabs them in big bunches, pulls them down over my feet, then grabs my panties and yanks them down too.
“Fucking. Hell.”
I stare down at him. His expression is pure steam and captivation as he gazes at my sex, his hands sinking into my thighs.
