LOVE ‘EM(18)

He hands me my drink and sits right next to me, his hip against my curled up leg. “Peaches, I hate to break it to you, but men need sex. Some of them want love, but they need sex. You want to win your guy? Give him what he really needs.”

“You’re telling me that you’d rather have sex than love?” I set the drink on the side table.

He chuckles. “Fuck yeah, I would. Love is fickle. People love you one day, but not the next. They love you when it’s convenient. Sex is in the moment. You’re together while you’re scroggin’ and then you’re on your way. Like that song says, Love the one you’re with. No emotional entanglements to threaten your happiness. Just live for the moment.”

Oh. My. “Who was she?”

“What do you mean?”

“Who broke your heart, Jackson Tremaine?”

He looks right into my eyes, holding my gaze for several long seconds. “I’ve never had my heart broken. And I won’t. My mother, on the other hand, lived with a broken heart. The line of bastards she trailed through our house—not one of them was capable of monogamy. The guy she shacked up with when I was about fifteen finally explained it to me. It made perfect sense. Men aren’t made to be monogamous. It’s against our nature. Our nature is to spread our seed. Women want the house and the picket fence because of the nesting instinct.”

“So, it’s all instincts?” Poor guy. He really believes this crap.

He nods once, as though that should put this discussion to bed. “Purely instinctual.”

“Well, I believe you’re the exception, not the rule. Besides, what happens when you’re too old for sex? When all the little blue pills quit working and you find yourself all alone?”

His eyebrows knit. He chews the corner of his bottom lip.

Finally, his perplexed look melts, replaced with a mischievous grin. “If that day ever comes, I’ll hang out with my friends. We’ll play poker and talk about when we used to have sex, and I’ll wish I could still get it up.”

Jackson rubs my knee with his knuckle. “But I can still get it up. As a matter of fact, it’s not far from up now. Just a look from you would set it off.”

“Yeah, I bet it would. Seems like you have a hair trigger when it comes to your pistol.”

“Nothing wrong with being ready to go in an instant. Don’t worry, I have plenty of stamina. Not everything happens as quickly as I get hard. Hell, last night I took three cold showers and still had to jack-off to get some sleep.”

A mental image of his hand wrapped around his huge, engorged cock, and him drawing his hand up and down the length, invades my mind. That vein that runs down the side throbs when he’s aroused; it was thumping my fingers under the table at the restaurant.

He smoothes his hand up my thigh until his long fingers nudge the top of my mound.

I take hold of his hand. “I can’t.”

“Sure you can. You just open up and let me in.” He turns his hand in mine, rubbing the back of my knuckles with his thumb.

“I shouldn’t do anything of the sort.”

Damn. The thing is that I sure as hell want to.

He beseeches me with his eyes. His fingers dig a bit deeper between my thighs. “Tell you what; you don’t have to do a thing. Simply lie back and relax. If Dave asks what you did when you got home, tell him you put on your fuzzy jammies and relaxed on the couch. No lies. No deceit.”

My pulse beats in my pussy, begging for another taste of what we started but didn’t finish at the restaurant.

Well, it’s not like Dave and I have decided to be exclusive already. At this point, it isn’t really any of his business what I do.

I let out a little sigh. Now I’m justifying. Great.

Jackson leans over and slides the tip of his tongue over my bottom lip. “Love the one you’re with, Peaches. Or, just let the one you’re with love you.”

My breath escapes out of parted lips. He takes full advantage and deepens the kiss, his fingers stroking my pussy lips in rhythm with his tongue. I put my hands flat on his chest. His pecs flex like they did earlier. Wonder if he can make his dick do that?

Heat warms my belly and sends liquid to my entrance.

Jack slows his kisses as he moves down. When he slides his hands beneath my shirt, he pushes it, and I raise up long enough for him to yank it over my head.

His eyes go to my naked breasts.

Oh Lord, he thinks they’re too big. Or not perky enough. Or both. I move my hands up to cover them.

He takes my wrists. “No. Don’t.”

I relax my arms a bit.

He licks his lips and quirks an eyebrow. “Butterfly.”

I look down. The tattoo. I lift one shoulder. “Yeah. I like them.”