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“I need you inside me,” she said, clambering to her knees and turning to face him. “I need to feel the way I feel when you’re inside me and you look at me the way you do and I feel cherished and adored and turned way the fuck on because when you screw me, it’s like nothing I’ve ever felt with anyone but you.”
She took a breath and squared her shoulders, lifted her chin and pinned him with the uncompromising stare he admired her for.
“You wanted to know why I always came to you after I ended it with someone else. Well it’s because no one else ever made me feel as alive as you do. When you fuck me it feels like my whole being wants to shatter apart in ecstasy, and when you make me come with your cock, it does. I don’t just see stars when you make me come, I see whole freaking galaxies, because you know what I like and what I love and no one touches me like you, no one knows my body the wayyoudo. And when it’s all over, I know I can lie in your arms and be surrounded by your warmth and your strength and it silences my mind. It calms me. I feel safe. Rafe, fucking you feels amazing because it’s not just sex. And I know I’m being selfish, and I know you’re well within your rights to tell me to piss off, but after everything that’s happened, I want to feel amazing again. I need to. Please, Rafe. Please fuck me.”
Wow.
Jane knelt on the bed, her hands clenched on her knees as she stared at him, waiting for him to say something, anything, but Rafe had no response. He could think of nothing to say except, “Wow.”
An instant later, a barrage of questions assaulted his bewildered brain, and he didn’t know which to ask first.
Whole fucking galaxies? Really?
Her boyfriends didn’t cherish her? Arseholes.
AndWhat did she mean when she said ‘it’s not just sex’?
Quickly followed byOr… is this all a cunning ploy to win Charlie’s bet?
But before he could voice any or all of his questions, she pushed up off the bed and stalked away from him, then threw her hands in the air and said, “God, I am such a loser.”
“Jane,” Rafe growled, imbuing his voice with an authoritative tone. She turned to look at him and he hated the wariness he saw in her gaze, in her stance.
Jane was never wary.
She was a warrior queen who lived life by her own rules, and she didn’t shy away from her emotions. She was never defeatist.
“Come here,” he commanded, moving to sit on the edge of the bed, then reached out his hand and waited patiently until she took it.
“Rafe—”
“Now, Jane.”
She rolled her lips between her teeth and stared at his outstretched hand for what felt like an eternity, then placed her hand in his and allowed him to pull her close, positioning her between his spread knees.
He anchored his hands on her hips, a smile tugging at his mouth when she tunnelled her fingers through his hair and stroked down the back of his neck. He loved the feel of her hands on his body, loved the little electric zing he felt where her fingertips touched his skin.
“Tell me why you think you’re a loser.”
“You mean besides all the reasons previously listed?” she said, staring down at him like he was dense.
Rafe smirked. “Yes, besides those reasons.”
“Okay, how about the fact I seem to have turned into a raging nympho who can’t get laid no matter how much I beg for it?” She fisted her hands in his hair and yanked his head back. “Why won’t you fuck me?”
He shrugged. “Why won’t you marry me?”
“Oh for heaven’s sake, Rafe. Will you please be serious?”
“I am being serious,” he said, tightening his grip on her hips when she tried to pull away from him. “Listen to me, Janie. You agree to marry me, and I swear to you it’ll be on like Donkey Kong. I will go down on you morning, noon and night. I will fuck your sweet pussy six ways come Sunday, and I will give you more pleasure than you know what to do with. I promise you, beautiful, you’ll be seeing galaxies for days. But until you agree to marry me, my dick stays in my pants.” Jane’s head dropped back until she stared at the ceiling then let out a long suffering groan, so Rafe added, “And you know what? For someone who said my dick isn’t that spectacular, you sure did wax lyrical about it.”
Fury flashed in her emerald greens and indignation bloomed on her cheeks. “Well doyouknow what? You suck at marriage proposals,” Jane said, arms akimbo and chest heaving.
“Oh really?” This he had to hear.
“Yes, really. Stringing the words ‘marry me’ together makes them a proposal about as much as tossing eggs and flour in a bowl makes them a cake. Where's the sugar, Rafe? Where's the heat? You can’t just plonk a goopy, powdery mess on a plate and pretend it’s something it’s not. I want my goddamn cake.”
Something flared to life in Rafe’s chest, a spark of an idea, an ember of hope. Was she saying what he thought she was saying? Did she even realise what she’d said?
