Page 57 of Kiss Marry Kill
“But now you’re back and I’m here.” She smiled as he walked back into the room a moment later with a hand towel. “And we need to do this again, and often.”
“Open your legs for me, Meg.” He gestured, tenderly.
He had never had sex without a condom, and thinking of how a part of him was still inside of her began to stir his dick again. Gently wiping her clean was perhaps the most intimate thing he’d ever done, which was weird because he’d just fucked her senseless and now planned on kissing every square inch of her body.
“That spark we had,” she said, settling back on the bed, her front to his side, one leg tossed over him as she played with his beard, lazily. “It’s still there, isn’t it?”
“Fuck yeah, it’s still there,” he said, holding her closely as the exhaustion from the day and the sound of the storm lulled them both to sleep.
“I never doubted it, Jax.”
“Neither did I, baby. Neither did I.”
* * *
“If you don’t hurry up and get dressed soon, I’m fucking you against that shitty old dresser.” It was early the next morning and the jet was already waiting for them, but Megan was procrastinating. Right now, they were in a perfect bubble that did not include stalkers, letters, or prank calls, but did involve delicious orgasms by Jax. Jax who was playful, but also demanding. She didn’t mind, though, not when it came to sex. In fact, his dirty demanding words turned her on in a big way.
Naked, she watched Jax, who was already dressed and focused on something on his phone, waiting on her to finish. Wanting at least one more round, she bent over, her forearms on the “shitty old dresser.” “Maybe I don’t want to hurry up,” she said, wiggling her ass and gazing at him over her shoulder.
He looked up, his green eyes becoming heated. “Woman . . .” he warned, a smirk on his face, and tossed his phone on the bed. Pushing down his bathing suit, the only clothes he had, and releasing his cock, he stalked toward her. “You play dirty.”
She lowered her chest and pushed her ass up in the air, wanting him inside her immediately. Needing the stretch of him. His body pressed against hers. His fingers digging into her skin, reminding her that this was—they were—finally happening. She could feel her wetness dripping down her thigh.
“This won’t be slow.”
“I don’t want slow.” She could see him from the mirror right in front of her. The way he confidently gripped his cock made her whimper and her clit throb. “I want it, Jax. Please.”
Pushing her down on the dresser, he guided his thick cock inside her. In this position he felt bigger and more consuming, his entire body enveloping her. And, just like he’d warned, it was not slow. Not only was it fast, it was hard. Hard and perfect.
“Hang on,” he grunted as she planted her palms on the mirror, pushing back as he pushed forward. Their bodies slapped against each other, but he didn’t ease up, not one bit. With one hand he reached underneath her to find her clit. “I’m not waiting,” he grunted. “I’m getting you there.”
She was unsure what he meant until she felt him pinch her clit. “Holy shit!” she screamed, faintly thinking the neighbors were hearing everything, but not caring enough to stop.
Again he pinched and rubbed as she felt his cock swelling inside her. It was like a detonation switch—all sensation converged in the bundle of nerves in her pussy and she needed to grab hold of something as she came, but the mirror gave her no purchase and she felt herself slipping, her arms Jell-O as the orgasm took hold of her. He placed his hands over hers, interlacing their fingers, his palm to the back of her hand against the mirror. He bit her not-so-gently on the shoulder as she felt him explode inside of her.
Both sweaty and breathless, they slid down to the floor. “You, woman, are trouble,” he said, lifting her up and dumping her in the middle of the shower.
They were an hour late and it cost her a small fortune, but it was well worth it.
* * *
It was still early when they arrived back in Miami. While Jax met with some of his crew at Megan’s house to discuss some new business ICS had contracted, Megan sat on her bed to write. She was worried that now that they were back, things would be different. She wasn’t sure where they stood, and they hadn’t talked about it. But he’d seemed lighter and genuinely happy on the plane ride back, and she hoped this was a change that would stick.
“I’ve scoped out your house top to bottom. I know you have a music room,” he said, walking in and sitting next to her later that day. His hair was slicked back, his beard long and unkempt, and he wore a T-shirt and gym shorts with steel toe boots. The combination was messy but he looked hot.
She sat up and put her pen and notebook aside. “I do. I hired a designer to create the best space to help me write. To feel creative and comfortable. It was supposed to help the words just flow right out.”
“So why are you writing in this room? Hunched over on the bed looking uncomfortable,” he asked, twirling her pencil with his thumb and forefinger.
“It’s the only place I can write. It’s where I feel most inspired. Never been able to write a single word in the music room,” she laughed and shook her head. “Kind of a waste of space, that room.”
He pushed her down on her back and crawled over her. She wanted to do a girly little squeal of happiness that what had happened in the Bahamas wasn’t just a twenty-four-hour fluke. “I’m taking it over, then. That’s going to be ICS while I’m here, planning for the tour and working on some other things that are going on.”
“Have at it.” She wrapped her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist and kissed him. “I have plans for this afternoon, by the way.”
“What kind of plans?” he asked, pushing up a little and tenderly swiping some hair off of her face.
“The kind that involves fun.”
