“Jackson. Come to bed with me.” This time it’s not a request, but a demand.
He steps away, and runs a hand through his blonde hair. “In a minute. I like looking at you.”
“I like looking at you, too.” I tug at the hem of his shirt. “I’d like it better if you didn’t have clothes on while I looked at you.”
He gives me a familiar grin—wicked and smug. “I will if you will.”
I rise, kneeling in the middle of the bed, and take off all my clothes. “Done.”
His hands go to the collar of his shirt, pulling it over his head in that way only men seem to do. Then he unfastens his jeans, agonizingly slow. By the time he gets to the last button, I’m ready to tackle him, and when he places a knee on the bed, I do.
“Wild child,” he laughs, pulling me on top of him.
I sit up, and then lean forward, kissing him. “I think I love you.”
He brushes back my hair. “Thinking will get you into all sorts of trouble.”
It’s not the response I hoped for, but maybe he’ll forget about my half-teasing confession.
“Teach me a new position.”
Moving behind me, he picks me up and sets me in his lap, his erection hot and hard against my bottom. “Reverse cowgirl can be fun.”
“What do I do?”
“First, I have to make sure you’re real wet, baby.” He sinks one finger inside of me, from behind. I’m sore, but not enough to stop me from being with him again. “Not wet enough.” He adds another, and I slowly start lifting my hips. “That’s it. Ride my fingers before you ride my cock.”
His free hand comes around me, grabbing mine, and I watch in complete fascination as he puts it between my legs. “Touch yourself.”
“Like this?” I put my fingers right where I’m throbbing.
“Oh yeah. Play with that swollen clit, Bliss.”
My head falls back against his shoulder as I rub myself. His hand goes to my breasts, plucking at each nipple and making them hard.
Just as I’m about to come, he pulls his fingers out of me. “No! Don’t do that… wait.” He shoves the head of his erection in me. “Oh God.” I try to sink down, but he grabs my waist and refuses to let me go further.
“Just like this, beautiful girl.” The hair on his legs rubs against the back of my thighs and my butt. He feels so different from me, so hard and overwhelming.
“More. I want—”
He bites my shoulder, and I cry out in pleasure and pain. “Not this time. This time I’m in charge.”
I whimper. “Okay.”
“How about another inch, since you’re being so agreeable.”
“Please,” I moan, and he slides a bit deeper.
“Oh sweetheart, you feel so damn good,” he rasps, like he’s about to come apart like me. “So damn tight. This hot little body of yours is mine, all mine.”
“Yours is mine too.”
He slides in even deeper. “Say that again.”
“You’re mine.”
Another thrust and he’s halfway inside. “Louder.”
“Mine, mine, mine,” I shout.
He pushes me down on the bed, my face landing on a pillow. The movement sends him deeper than ever. I can’t move; he has me pinned to the bed.
Grabbing my waist, he pounds into me, hard and out of control. I keep touching myself, like he asked, building closer to my orgasm again.
This, whatever is happening right now, isn’t making love… it isn’t sex... it’s desperation. We’re desperate for each other. This is months of waiting, of longing, and of wanting each other.
His hips twist, and my eyes widen. “Do that again.”
“No.”
Belatedly remembering his bite, I quickly add, “Please, baby.”
He curses and does it again and again, until I come, sobbing his name. He joins me seconds later, and then collapses on top of me.
He eases up on his elbows, pulling out of me, and I turn over to face him.
“Were you touching yourself the entire time?” he asks.
Blushing, I nod. “You told me to do it.”
“I’m not complaining, just making sure you were taken care of.”
“You take very good care of me.” I reach up, tracing his bottom lip. “I don’t want to leave this place, ever. This is my home. This is our home. No matter where we go, we should always come back here.”
A questioning look enters his eyes. “Why would you have to leave?”
“When the honeymoon’s over, I assume we have to go,” I frown a little, “somewhere else.” Where that would be, I have no idea. I assume Jackson doesn’t still live with his parents in Nashville.