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He lifts one, giving it a once-over, and nods. “I’ll leave them here.” He toes out of his as well and then follows me into the house.
After seeing his home, I’m a tad self-conscious. It’s obvious we’re on completely different levels. I mean, my family isn’t poor by any means, but he’s a whole other world from us.
“I’ll grab us a glass of sweet tea.” I head to the kitchen and wash my hands first thing. It’s open from the kitchen to the living room, so I watch him out of the corner of my eye as he walks around the room, looking at all of my whatnots and picture frames. Most of my stuff I’ve found while thrifting, or it’s been passed down from my family. Mamaw gives me little pieces every holiday as she goes through things to decorate her own house.
After I’ve poured our drinks, I set them on the small counter. The clinking of the glass interrupts Jack’s perusal of my things, and he heads over, reaching me in three or four strides. He grabs the glass and takes a long drink, and I have to look away from that damn throat again. Something about the way his muscles move as he swallows gets to me. I don’t remember that being a thing when we were younger.
The image of me on top of him, burying him inside me as I wrap my hand around his throat flashes across my mind. My hand clenches as if his muscles are constricting under my palm. I shake my hand, bringing myself out of the fantasy. All this joking about reconciliation is really getting to me. It’s time to lay down the law. I can’t go down this road with him again, and I don’t want to.
He drains the glass and sets it down easily. “I guess we should talk.”
“I don’t have anything to talk about. Not to you.” I take a sip of my own drink, savoring the flavor. “We need to establish some boundaries.”
“I thought you didn’t have anything you wanted to talk to me about.” He props his elbows on the counter, resting his chin on his hands, and the satisfied smirk on his face has my blood boiling.
“Not the things you want to talk about.”
“Oh, okay. So you get to make all the decisions, then.”
“I’m not making any decisions. There are no decisions to make, Jack. It’s over. That was years ago, and we were kids.”
“It’s over.” He chuckles darkly and shakes his head, dropping his forearms until they’re flat. “You are the most frustrating woman.”
“I’m so sorry to inconvenience you by stating my opinion and standing up for myself,” I fire back, setting my cup down harder than necessary. “Shit.”
It topples over, the amber liquid splashing everywhere. He jumps back, but not in time. The whole stomach area of Jack’s shirt is soaked. I move to the counter for my paper towels, and when I turn back, my jaw drops. Jack’s face is covered by his shirt, as he’s in the process of pulling it off, exposing his perfect muscular body. He’s always been built—that’s what starting football workouts in fifth grade will do to a guy—but when we were young, he still seemedyoung. I’m sure I did too. I wasn’t as filled out at eighteen as I am now. But Jack’s body is all man now.
He emerges from his shirt and throws it onto the counter to mop up my mess. His arms flex with the movement, and when he catches me ogling him, his eyes flash dangerously. His face reddens, and I can’t believe it, but I think he’s angry at me.
“Rachel, you better pick your jaw up off the floor.” His nostrils flare, and my own angry monster unfurls in my belly.
“Don’t tell me what to do, Jack Anderson. I’m a grown woman.”
“That’s fucking obvious,” he snarls, leaning over the counter, his eyes dipping to look down my shirt. “Your tits are absolutely perfect. They’re all I’ve been able to think about since you rubbed them all over my back earlier.”
I gasp at his unexpected words, my skin tingling from head to toe. My body is hyper aware of my anger—it feels as if I could explode at any moment. But there’s something else to this anger. And while I know what it is, I don’t want to admit it yet.
I shove my face closer to Jack’s, poking his chest. “You shouldn’t be looking at my tits, asshole. And I didn’t mean to, you know that.”
“Oh, so you can drool over my arms and chest, but I’m just supposed to stand here while you look at me like you want to climb me?”
Now I’m stunned, and the only sound for a moment is both of us panting, our fiery aggressions filling the room with tension. Jack stares me down, refusing to back off, and when he opens his mouth to make another comment, I’ve had enough.
I grab the back of his head, smashing my lips to his. We’re a sudden maddening mix of lips and tongues. He grabs my head too, pulling my hair, and I gasp at the pain. But although it hurts, it feels fucking amazing. I’m kissing Jack again, and while it’s a bit different, it also feels like coming home after the longest trip of my life.
“This damn counter,” he growls against my lips, then breaks our kiss and climbs up to sit on the counter in front of me. His feet dangle, one leg on each side of my body. He grabs me around the waist and lifts me up easily to straddle him. The sundress I’m wearing may not have been good for gardening, but it’s perfect for this. His erection rubs my thin panties through his basketball shorts, and I grind against him instinctively.
I lower my mouth to his, groaning against his lips as we move together, the contact building excitement in my belly.
“We never did it like this,” he whispers, his hands roaming over my body.
“In the kitchen?” I trail kisses up his jawline until I reach his earlobe. I close my mouth around the soft flesh, sucking gently. I suddenly remember how much he likes it, but if I didn’t, he would have reminded me with the way he grips my hips, nails digging into my flesh.
“No. With you on top.” He holds me in place, grinding against me purposefully.
“Well, to be fair, we didn’t have much experience.” My lips move back down his jaw and to his neck, licking and kissing as I go.
He throws his head back with a low growl. “I can’t wait to do all the things to you that I didn’t know about then.”
