“Ahh, there’s the Tess I know. The one who wears her heart on her sleeve.”
She smacks me across my chest as we take the elevator up to the top floor.
“Is that a bad thing? You’re the one who asked.”
“No, I like the way you’re truthful,” I say, as the doors slide open and we enter my loft. “I like that you’re so genuine. It’s refreshing. And pretty damn hot.”
“Jack Harris, are you saying you think I’m hot?” she feigns shock. Clearly with all our across-the-table flirting for the past two hours, we’ve covered the fact that there’s a mutual attraction. More than attraction. A heat. A fucking inferno.
“Yes, Tess, but a girl like you doesn’t need to fish for compliments.”
She follows me into the open floor plan loft that I call home. I appreciate the fact that she isn’t gawking at the view, gushing about the artwork or the magazine-worthy furnishings of the place.
She’s looking right at me, and the rest of the world seems to have faded away. And that makes me hard as hell, and also, makes me want to grab hold of this girl and thank her with my cock. Because, damn, she makes me feel good.
“Oh, I’m not fishing, Jack. I think you’re hooked.”
“With bait like that.” I grin, shaking my head at how cheesy this all is, but also how good it feels not to be trying to impress Tess, to just be with her, in this moment.
I told myself I was going to give her a night she wouldn’t forget, and I’m a man of my fucking word.
So I take hold of her waist, pull her close to me. She licks her lips, and I can’t resist any longer.
Pressing my mouth to hers, I taste the salty sweetness of the margaritas, and the tender desire she admitted to holding for me since we met. One taste of her and I know I want more. Need more.
I taste her, and then I take what we both want.
The slow kiss grows more urgent, and my hands find their way under her blouse. As I run my hands across the small of her back, my rod grows. And as I reach her tits, which are full and lush and just fucking perfect, she groans.
Which really fucking turns me on, because I’m the one who’s getting rock hard as my thumbs circle her taut little nipples, massaging her soft skin gently.
Our mouths continue to explore one another, my tongue circling hers. Her hands reaching toward my bulge, feeling my hardness though my pants. As I slip my hand under the waistband of her jeans, the soft hair of her unshaven pussy makes me think I might fucking explode.
I need her out of these clothes, and now.
I lift her blouse over her head, see her eyes filled with lust as I look her over. Her gaze holds mine as she slips off her sandals, unbuttons her pants and shimmies out of them.
She stands in my loft, wearing only a tiny pair of panties. The room is dark; the only light is the bright lights of the Strip shining through. She reaches up to her hair, then pulls it out of the messy bun. Her locks tumble over her shoulders, tousled perfection.
Her lips part as she takes a deep breath. The concave dip at the base of her neck deepening as she breathes, as if she’s holding her breathe for whatever happens next.
I don’t move, just watch her as she hooks her thumbs under the waistband of her panties, pulling them down, stepping out of them. And then she’s before me.
And I don’t fucking know how a night that started with me BS-ing with the guys at the whiskey bar has landed me here, with this innocent creature, who is bare, undone, offering herself to me.
But Tess, in her stripped-down state, is a force to be reckoned with. She isn’t like any girl I’ve ever known.
Tess is raw, vulnerable. Transparent in her desire for me, she stands before me with her hands grazing her body, her fingers sweeping across her perfect little pussy.
And right now, with her clothes shed, I know what she wants.
Her thighs glisten with wetness as her eyes plant themselves on my obvious hard-on. Her hands touch her breasts, desperate in her longing. It’s as if there’s an ache in her belly and she wants it gone.
And I’m the only one who can set her free.
TESS
I’ve never felt so exposed in my life.
But I’ve also never felt so wanted.
I never knew tacos were such an aphrodisiac, but they are. Maybe it’s the spicy salsa, burning us up.
I don’t know. I just want—scratch that, need—Jack to take me. Hard. Like, now. Otherwise I’m gonna have to press a finger inside myself, circle my clit all on my own. Because I can’t stand here, staring at this man for much longer, without letting myself orgasm.
He is that hot.
I’ve never seen Jack undressed in any shape or form. He takes off his shirt, and as he does, I can’t help myself. My fingers graze lower, to my downy hair, and press themselves into my opening.