Page 118 of The Worst of Them

She must have said it aloud because a soft laugh brushed over her chin.

“My love for you drives me to madness,” he said, and his tone had darkened with something she hadn’t heard before. Desire or lust, but certainly nothing she wasn’t bound to be acquainted with soon. “You test my patience and my control, and I’m dying to lose them in ways I haven’t with you.” As he spoke, the hand on her leg moved up the outside of her thigh. He set his cheek against hers so he could whisper, “You don’t know how badly I wish to touch you, to explore you, to make you feel things you’ve never known. I want to find where you love to be kissed and how easily I could make you tremble and sigh and beg for more.” His teeth grazed her ear, and she shivered against him, trapped against his body, the desk, and the wall.

“I want to be good to you and show you pleasure,” he said, then lifted his head enough so she could see his eyes, his pupils blown wide enough to swallow most of the blue. When he spoke again, the heat in his voice had dampened, his words turning careful and tender. “But you’ve never loved someone. You’ve never been with anyone. You’ve guarded this part of yourself, and I won’t take it until you ask. I love you too much to dominate or assume, and I want you badly enough that I’ll wait for as long as you need. Having you here, kissing you, sleeping next to you—however much you’ll give me will be enough.”

She could have begged him then, because she was sure of him now. Sure of him, them, everything.

“I love you,” she said. “And I don’t need any more time to know I’m yours.” Then she arched up into him and closed the distance between their mouths.

His kiss was deep and desperate, like he’d been starved for her. She yielded to him, trusted him as his fingers gripped her waist and slid higher. His teeth scraped over her lip, and she moaned.

“Shh,” he whispered, and she could hear his smile. “The walls are thin.”

“Your fault—” She gasped as his hands slid to her behind, lifting her again. He turned, and her heart leaped as she assumed they were headed for his bed. But then he paused in the middle of the room. His grip shifted to her lower back, and he let her slide down until her feet were under her and she stood with her arms around his shoulders.

She glanced over her shoulder at the bed.

Like before, his finger pressed against her jaw, bringing her gaze back. “In a moment,” Jack whispered as that sweet smile returned. “Or several. I want to take my time with you.” The pad of his finger traced along the edge of her face, drawing a line of tingling heat as it trailed down her neck, pausing over her jugular where her pulse hammered in response.

“Nervous?” he asked. His eyes followed his hand as his touch skimmed over the base of her throat and then along her collarbone, leisurely enough to make her head swim.

“Perhaps,” she answered weakly. Every part of her was weak, her knees, her heart, her breath.

“I’ll go slow,” he promised. When he reached the collar of her shirt, he pushed just slightly beyond it, letting his finger wander beneath the fabric before he stopped and met her gaze.

Softly, he bade her, “Breathe.”

She hadn’t realized she’d stopped.

This felt different than the other times they’d been close, maybe because their previous encounters had been reactive and passionate, rushed and drunk on their love. But this…it was calculated, sensual, and though Cecily knew what this would be and had seen and heard countless iterations of it in prison and on this very ship, being with Jack would be something beyond her expectations—possibly because she’d never considered what an act of true love would be like: vulnerable but safely guarded where no one was welcome but the two of them.

He flattened his palm over her thundering heart. She placed her hand over his heart too, finding it beating in time with her own.

She giggled, he chuckled, and both of their heartbeats slowed. Jack’s hand slid from her chest, down to her side, and settled on her waist. She did the same, moving her hand to his stomach, over the clasps on his vest.

Outside, the sky had darkened. The shadows were longer, leaving only the small lantern on the wall to cast a warm glow about the room.

“I want to see you,” Jack said.

Her breath froze in her throat, and it took a conscious effort to get her lungs to work. No one had ever seen her naked, and now he would.

She wondered what he would think, if he would like her, if she would like him seeing her, if it would feel odd or wrong or terrifying. Even so, she knew she still wanted it.

So she gave a small nod.

She still wore his shirt from the day before, its hem tucked into her trousers. With slow movements, he began to draw the shirt up, the bottom creeping over her hips before it lifted free of her pants. He held her gaze as he continued, his hands on her skin now, rather than the shirt, rising over her waist, the bottoms of her ribs, her sides, pushing the fabric as he went. His palms skated over the sides of her breasts, and she lifted her arms. Jack disappeared from view as the shirt passed over her head.

She took that brief, hidden moment to pull in a heavy breath, easing the tightness in her chest and calming the fluttering in her belly. Then Jack reappeared and the shirt fell to the floor.

For long seconds, he held her gaze, giving her time to grow used to her own nakedness before he looked lower. When the newness of it passed and she felt her body begin to relax, his eyes traveled over her curves, looking in a way no one ever had.

If a bit more innocence had slipped away from her just now as she learned what it was to be viewed by a man, it made her feel no less than she was before. Not as he looked his fill, his cheeks coloring slightly, and he whispered, “Beautiful.”

He pulled her back to him, his hands on her waist, her bare back, her neck as he kissed her.

With shaking fingers, she set to work on his vest, popping the clasps free and pushing it from his shoulders. She lowered it gently before letting it drop, cautious for the sake of the knives tucked inside.

“Thanks,” Jack breathed, and he kept kissing her as she relieved him of his shirt. He broke away to finish shrugging it off.