Page 12 of Fifty First Times (Sharing You 0.40)
“I was in a pretty bad place then,” he whispers against my mouth.
I know that. Of course I know that. “And you’re not now?”
A slow smile spreads across his face. “Right now, I’m so happy I can’t even think straight.”
I suck in a breath and watch his expression turn into something so intense my hands freeze on his shirt. This is the moment we’ve both been waiting for. Something we’ve discussed on several occasions. My hesitation is only brief and then I’m working the buttons free on his shirt. After I reach the bottom, I slide my hands down his arms until the shirt falls to the floor. My fingers explore his bare chest, drifting over his skin so lightly, not committing to anything just yet. The line is gone, but I still remember the night it was drawn.
Not only were we kissing with a newfound intensity, but we were also falling backward onto Jack’s couch, my body stretching out over his. All I could think in that moment when I lay on top of a man for the first time, though still fully clothed, was I’m not afraid . . . I’m not afraid . . . and that in itself scared me. My shy persona had protected me from making decisions like this one for so long. But Jack didn’t miss my conflicted actions.
He pulled his mouth from mine and brushed the hair off my face, tucking it behind my ears. “I’m sorry. That was too fast. I wasn’t thinking.” He sat up, bringing me with him.
My palm was still pressed on his chest, his heart thudding fast against my hand. I hadn’t missed the excitement pouring from him, the desire in his eyes. “I’m waiting, Jack.”
His eyebrows pinched together. “For what?”
“I’m waiting,” I repeated, emphasizing the last word despite my face already heating up with embarrassment.
“Oh . . . You’re waiting.” He nodded. “Okay, that makes sense. I understand.”
“You do?” I stared at him, trying to hide my disbelief. Of course waiting for marriage had hypothetically been my plan, but I couldn’t really make that choice until I found someone that I wanted to break that rule with. So, in all honesty, the only reason I spoke those words to Jack that night, the only reason I adopted that belief from that point on, was to test him. I thought if he couldn’t resist the temptation—and after seeing the desire in his eyes, I knew it would be a challenge—then maybe there was hope for us. There was hope that when the time came to go back to his work, to the dangerous mission he spoke of once, he’d push his need for revenge aside. He’d push his career aside and need me so badly he’d figure out how to come back home. I wanted to see him cave and have a moment of weakness.
But he never did. I drew the line in the sand that night and he never once crossed it. And I felt him fighting it, struggling to hold on to control and winning every battle.
Once, on the phone with Jack, needing to hear his voice while tucked into my bed before drifting off to sleep, I even admitted to touching myself. I admitted that I didn’t think it was wrong and I didn’t think premarital sex was wrong and I also truly believed that my parents wouldn’t condemn me if I chose to experience sex before marriage. My mother even told me one time that these choices were mine and the only thing that mattered was being sure I knew what I wanted and taking the time to consider all the options.
After I got to the “touching myself” part Jack said he’d suffer all night long with that image etched in his mind and then he told me abruptly that he had to go, ending our chat. I remember snuggling into my pillows laughing at the idea of shy, quiet Audrey sending Jack off to take an icy cold shower.
THE RECORD IS still playing and Jack’s still swaying us to the music, but now his fingers are playing with the zipper on my mother’s dress, tugging it down slowly. I give him a second in case he wants to shuck it off like I’d done with his shirt, but when he doesn’t, I lay my cheek against his broad, hard chest again. The zipper goes all the way past my butt. Jack slides his hand inside the opening, his fingers drifting over my bare lower back. I close my eyes and exhale, releasing all the pent-up nerves inside me.
Breathe, Audrey. Enjoy this. Don’t waste precious moments.
He moves up higher, taking a second to unhook my bra, and then both arms wrap tightly around me, his fingers inside my dress, molding themselves to my sides. “I’ve been thinking about this since the night I asked you to marry me.”
I turn my head and kiss his chest. “I’ve been thinking about it even before then.”
A rumble of laughter erupts in his chest, vibrating against my lips. “Well, okay then. I’ve been thinking about it without guilt since I proposed.”
I hear him draw in a breath, then he lifts my chin so our gazes are locked together again. Slowly, his hands land on my shoulders, pushing the dress down my arms until it falls in a heap at my feet. Already my face and neck are flaming just imagining him looking at me naked. It’s probably more scary than thinking about sex and touching places that only my own hands have explored.
Jack stares down at the dress, watches as my strapless bra joins it on the floor. Then his arms snake around my waist, lifting me up over the pile of clothes and placing me down beside them. He must know I’m not quite ready yet, because instead of allowing his eyes to graze up and down my nearly naked body, he pulls me to him again. My breasts press into his bare chest and we’re dancing again. He dips head down and plants kisses up and down my neck, on my shoulder, my collarbone until I’m breathing faster and my skin is on fire. There’s a throbbing between my legs that I’ve become all too familiar with over the last few months of kissing Jack, of hands that drifted up the back of my shirt but
never the front. Never below my waist.
His relentless discipline will be the death of him. His inability to allow himself to fail will be the death of him. Jack won’t come back home to me.
More tears drip from the corners of my eyes, down my cheeks. His lips touch my ear lightly and he whispers, “Stay here with me, Audrey. Don’t fall into tomorrow. Not yet.”
My gaze meets his again and I nod, understanding what he means. Jack takes my face in his hands and kisses me long and hard, then he drops down to his knees in front of me. I’m startled and my legs are shaking from nerves. The sun is now setting, casting long shadows over the apartment. I can see the image of me and Jack, his face level with my breasts. It’s beautiful and erotic and sends my head spinning.
He must have sensed my lack of balance because he holds me steady around the waist with one arm. My hands are in his hair now, combing through it and hanging on tight for fear of my shaking legs collapsing. Warm lips move over my skin—my stomach, my sides, my breasts—until his mouth is completely covering a nipple. I hold my breath and tighten my grip around Jack’s hair.
So this is what it’s like to have so much desire for something it clouds all fear and embarrassment. I lower my gaze as Jack releases my breast and moves his kisses south. It’s only then, watching his mouth move over my skin, that I realize we’re still swaying. Our dance has turned sexier and more explicit, but we’re still dancing. And under this cloak of movement, I feel comfortable, I feel at home.
The song switches to “I Put a Spell on You” and suddenly all the movements happening between us take on the song’s rhythm. My hips swing to the tempo and Jack’s hands willingly follow them. His mouth covers all my naked skin one kiss at a time, not breaking tempo once.
We’re a symphony—our limbs and lips and skin making up the instruments, working together to create a beautiful piece of music.
I remove my hands from his hair and allow them to drift up my own body while I sing along with the lyrics. Jack sinks back on his heels, his eyes glued to me. I smile, feeling suddenly like the diva in the song, capturing him under my spell.
