Page 69 of Then You Happened
He takes his hands off me to shrug out of his shirt before trying to dive back in again, but I stop him.
I’m crazy for doing it because I can feel my body already burning the fuse and lighting its way to detonation . . . but I put my hands on his shoulders and just look at him.
The toned torso. The sun-kissed skin. The scar running over his left pec. The happy trail at the base of his abs.
“Tate?” he asks in a husky voice as he tucks a piece of hair behind my ear.
Forcing a smile to work through my sudden nerves and insecurities, which are running rampant, I focus my attention on unsnapping the button on his jeans.
Then tugging down his zipper.
And then on the size of his cock when he shoves his pants down and it springs free.
It feels like it’s been forever since I’ve been with a man, not since Fletcher died, and I hate the riot of emotions that try to fight their way to the surface.
I don’t want to acknowledge them or think about them because they have no right to appear in this space and time.
So I reach out and encircle his dick with my hand as I press my lips to his, using Jack to help me through this.
To take something I want—to have sex with a handsome man. A moment where I don’t have to think about anything other than him or my own need.
His groan that I swallow with my kiss is a good start.
The way Jack pulls my dress over my head in one fell swoop a close second. How his eyes scrape over every curve of my body, the swell of my small breasts now bared for him, and the blue lace underwear I miraculously found in the back of my panty drawer an even better third.
But it’s the way he spins us around and clears the few things left on the kitchen table with a swipe of his hand before laying me back onto it that wipes all thoughts from my head.
“It’ll take too long to find the bed,” Jack says as his lips find mine again, his smile curved on them.
His lips taunt me as my hips lift to beg him for more. His tongue slides down my neck as his fingers skim up the inside of my thigh, my breath hitching when he pulls my panties off. His mouth sucks on my nipple as he pushes apart my legs, the cool air hitting my most sensitized of skin. He only stops touching me long enough to put a condom on, something I didn’t even think of but find oddly sexy watching.
Then his gaze fuses back to mine as his hands grip my hips. “Now, where were we?” he asks playfully and pulls me to the end of the table so that my thighs are parted around his hips and his hard length is lined up perfectly to me.
“Mmm,” I murmur as I reach out and scrape my fingertips over that delineation of muscle in the V at his hips. His abs flex at my touch, his dick jerks slightly, hitting my inner thigh.
“Tell me what you want, Tate,” Jack says as he presses the head of his cock into me. My body stills, my breath catches, my muscles tense, and we both groan, moan, whatever you want to call it so that it’s the only sound that fills the room like a soundtrack for us to begin this intimate dance to.
My eyes close. My hips lift.
“Tell me what you need, Tate.”
You.
This.
Me.
Now.
But I don’t speak. I can’t. I’m swamped with emotions as Jack Sutton bottoms out within me and then stills there as my body accepts and wraps around him.
When the sensation overwhelms me, it’s my mewl that tears through the room, matching the pleasurable, burning ache that’s rioting through my body.
It’s my hands finding his where they are on my thighs and grabbing on to them.
It’s my hips that lift to tell him to move. To pull out. To push back in. To grind against me until it feels so good I can’t think. I can’t speak. I can’t open my eyes because all I want to do is absorb every single damn thing he’s making me feel.
The nerves I had are obliterated by the sensations Jack is battering me with. O
