“Off!” he snarled, impatiently pulling my T-shirt over my head. He tossed it aside and it sailed across the room. He took a moment to stare down at me, his eyes black with lust, then he grabbed my sleep shorts and yanked them down my hips. Away they went, flung over to the dresser along with my panties. Kneeling between my spread legs, he made an animal noise as his gaze raked over me. Then his mouth was on my flesh.
There.
I cried out in shock. His mouth was so hot and wet, so unexpected. He dug his fingers into my hips and thrust his tongue deep inside me. I almost died from pleasure.
“So fucking sweet. I’d knew you’d taste sweet.” He took a moment to growl, his breath fanning over my spread thighs. Then he went right back to business.
I threaded my shaking fingers into the thick, soft mess of his hair because I needed to feel it. I didn’t realize how much I’d wanted to touch it until now. And now that I could, I took big, greedy handfuls of it and breathlessly laughed.
I sounded like I’d just robbed a bank and gotten away with it.
Jackson ignored my crazy laugh. His tongue—oh clever tongue—circled round and round that small rigid nub between my legs until it throbbed and I was gasping for air.
When I arched off the bed and cried out, Jackson turned his head and gently bit my thigh. “Close already?” he asked, laughter in his tone.
My hips rocking, I begged him not to stop in a garbled mess of words.
“You’re so goddamn beautiful,” he whispered. “I wish you could see yourself.” He ran his palms up and down my thighs, testing the flesh, pinching it and stroking it, his big hands rough and warm. “This beautiful skin.” He kissed my leg. “These perfect tits.” He reached up and squeezed them, thumbing over my hard nipples so I shivered in delight.
His voice turned spine-chillingly dark. “And this gorgeous pussy. Look at you, spread open for me, all pink and soft. Christ. I can’t decide if I want to eat you until you come and then fuck you, or if I should make you come on my hard cock first.”
Sweet baby Jesus in the manger, Jackson Boudreaux is a dirty talker.
“Please,” I pleaded brokenly. “Jax.”
He gently pinched my clit between two fingers and blew on it. I moaned like a porn star.
“Tell me what you want,” he demanded, lazily stroking me.
I blurted, “Anything. Everything. You.”
“Oh, sweetheart,” he murmured, “you already have me.”
Then he gifted me with his tongue again. I sighed in relief, my breath shuddering out of me, my body writhing under the expert movements of his hands and mouth.
He knew exactly how to take me to the edge and keep me there, teasing and gentling when I got too close, chuckling at my delirious implorings of “More. Hurry. I’ll kill you if you stop.” He took his time, though I knew he felt the same unbearable urgency I did. His fingers digging into my skin were just shy of painful. Every once in a while, he would catch his breath and curse.
I felt like I was riding a wave. A wave of heat and emotion, expanding from my body to fill the room, the house, the entire state. I wanted to laugh and cry and scream, I wanted to break apart and let him put me back together. I was sinking into the bed at the same time as I was floating over it, the feel of his stubble exquisitely rough on my inner thighs, the sound of his deep-chested grunts reverberating all the way through me.
“Oh God, Jax.” I groaned, unable to hold it in. “I’m there, oh God I’m there I’m so—”
My orgasm stole the words right out of my mouth. I bucked and gasped. My body bowed. My fingers dug into his hair, and I exploded.
He hooked his forearm over my belly and held me down as I convulsed. He slid two fingers of his other hand inside me. Clenching hard around them, I screamed.
It lasted forever, or seemed to. Pulsing and heat and flashing lights behind my closed eyelids, the feel of his fingernails breaking my skin. Everything so crystalline clear, so achingly raw I felt exposed on every level, all my nerves on fire and the frantic hummingbird beat of my heart pounding like gunfire in my ears.
When I came back to myself, I was crying.
“Hush, sweetheart,” Jackson crooned, climbing over me. He settled his weight between my legs and nuzzled my neck. I clung to him, overcome, shaking with the aftermath of acute pleasure and a sudden bottomless fear.
Whatever that was, it was something I’d never felt before. And it scared the bejeezus out of me.
“It’s okay,” he whispered, peppering soft kisses all over my cheeks. His heart pounded against my chest, as hard and erratically as mine did. He was so warm and big and comfortable, an enormous man pillow I could burrow into and get lost.