Waking Up in Vegas(75)

Bending to scoop her up, I cupped my hands under her backside and slid her up my legs, stopping when the cradle of her thighs was nestled against me so tightly I thought I would burst.

“My God, Jen,” I rasped between kisses.

She squirmed her hips against my crotch and smiled against my mouth. “I wanna get you naked.”

She didn’t have to say it twice. We careened down the hall to my room, her thighs still wrapped around my hips, and the dogs wisely nowhere to be found. Still, I managed to close the door with a hook of my heel because neither one of my hands was willing to let go of Jensen’s body.

Most of my brain screamed to just yank down the necessary clothing parts and plunge inside her, while the rest of me wanted to explore every last inch of her skin. And since this was Jen, and since this was love (at least it was for me), the fraction that begged me to linger won out.

Disentangling her legs from around me, I lowered her gently back to the floor, our lips still locked like our very existence depended on it. I know mine did.

My hands skimmed under the hem of her tee, bunching the shirt on her body as my fingertips traveled lightly up and over her ribs. I paused when I reached her breasts, enfolding the beautiful mounds of flesh in my palms so I could pass a thumb over their centers. I heard her sharp intake of breath at the first caress over the thin fabric of her bra, and I didn’t have to wonder why. Her nipples were pebbled and hard and in desperate need of more attention.

For my own sanity, I had to oblige.

I shimmied her shirt up over her head, then my patience slipped and I pushed her bra out of the way instead of taking it off. I squeezed both tight points, increasing the pressure when she gasped and shuddered against me. My lips worked their way down her jawline, and my groan shot straight into her ear when her hand molded my cock through the denim and started to knead.

To hell with slow.

“Take my jeans off,” I murmured into her skin as I started in on her buttons to do the same.

Instead, she started with the top button of my shirt, pushing it down over my shoulders and raking her nails down my abs to my zipper. Slower than I ever could have imagined, she lowered the thing, tooth by goddamn tooth.

It was exquisite torture.

I wanted to commit each detail to memory, but as her jeans, and finally that bra, joined her shirt in a heap on the carpet, the only thoughts I could register were perfect and beautiful and more.

More caresses, tasting every one of her beautiful curves with my lips and tongue, the sheer perfection of her hands roaming over my skin. I’d backed her to the bed and, without breaking contact, lowered her down until my body covered hers. It seems impossible that I didn’t pass out—the electricity was humming under my skin from every touch of her fingers.

I tugged on the strap of her panties. “These gotta go,” I whispered against the curve of her neck. She raised her hips so I could shimmy them off and, despite the pounding of the pulsebeats in my ears, I made out the faint sound of tearing fabric.

“Sorry,” I mumbled into her skin.

“Sorry for what? I shredded your boxer briefs when I yanked them off. I should be the one apologizing,” she murmured into my hair with a soft chuckle.

“Never apologize for ripping off my clothes. You can do it every day until I have to wander around naked.”

She laughed again as I reached into my nightstand for a condom and tore the packet open with my teeth.

And FYI—just because I haven’t brought a woman home doesn’t mean I don’t keep them by the bed. I gotta store them somewhere.

When she rolled on the Trojan, I thought I was going to come right then and there.

I was breathing in little pants–so was she–making my head spin with an astonishing yearning I’d never experienced in my life.

“Now, Tack. Please,” she gasped into my lips. “I need you inside me.” She squirmed beneath me and dug her nails into the cheeks of my ass to drive her point home.

I hesitated, even though I’d never wanted anything more in my whole existence, gathering my scattered wits. There’d be no forgetting this. Once she leaves and all I have are memories, this would be the one that I’d take out and relive until it was old and tattered, in every agonizing, full-color detail.

This was not sex or bumping uglies or mere fucking.

This was the first time in all my life that I was making love.

I pulled back, tucking a snapshot of her face into the album in my head labeled ‘Jensen’; her lips were parted and swollen from kisses and a flush of color stained her cheeks. I didn’t make it beyond her eyes, though. She could have had a shaved head and, at that moment, I wouldn’t have noticed. The usual feisty amber irises had darkened to warm brandy, and instead of the slightly glazed look I was expecting, they shone clear and straight into my soul.