by Jill Shalvis
holding her open for him, his hands on her ass. She’d never been quite so open and vulnerable before.
“God, you taste good,” he murmured, shifting gears, going from nuzzling to kissing and making her tremble. Her hands started to slip from the headboard, but his eyes met hers and she tightened her grip—just as he captured her tender flesh and sucked.
It drove her straight to the very edge, even past it, just enough that she hovered there over the precipice, in that stomach-dropping heartbeat just before the free fall.
Had she ever felt like this? So wild, so completely, utterly out of control? So…close to another human being?
That answer was easy.
No.
Which brought its own terror. Because what the hell was she doing, allowing him to see her like this? Hell, allowing him to take her like this, turning her into a panting, whimpering, overheated ball of messy lust?
And that’s when she froze, too open, too exposed, too damn…scared about what it might all mean. “Wait—I can’t,” she panted, her fingers white-knuckling a death grip on the headboard. “I can’t—”
Jacob immediately reached up, covering her hands with his large warm ones, using his fingertips to run between hers and gently pry hers from the wood. “I’ve got you,” he murmured huskily, squeezing her fingers. “Sophie, I’ve got you.”
She nodded wildly. Good. He had her. That was really good, because God knew, she didn’t have herself.
“Breathe,” he ordered quietly, running his hands up and down her thighs—which were hugging his ears! “Just breathe.”
Right. Breathe. She sucked air in and out, in and out, even as he kissed one inner thigh so gently and then the other. And then in between. She moaned, and he did it again.
And again, slowly driving her back up.
And then her fingers were in his hair, holding tight because he took her someplace she’d never been, someplace completely outside of herself, and when she came, she came long and hard. Afterward, her entire body collapsed. She just went completely boneless, unable to pick up her pieces and put herself together again.
But it didn’t matter because Jacob scooped her in close, wrapping his arms tight around her, murmuring some sweet nothings in her ear. When she finally returned to herself, he smiled and kissed her, and then rolled, tucking her beneath him. “Now,” he said. “Let’s review the ‘I can’t.’ Because you just did.”
She laughed. “Show-off.”
His smile faded, and he cupped her face. “Any more reservations?”
She couldn’t think of a single one, so she slowly shook her head. He smiled again as he reached over her for something in his nightstand.
A condom.
Okay, good. Really good. One of them still had an operating brain. Because all she could do was run her hands over his chest, over the ridged muscles of his abs, which quivered beneath her touch as she headed south to the promised land. When she stroked him, he let out a very male sound of appreciation and thrust into her hand.
“Hold that thought,” he said. He tore open the package with his teeth and then rolled the condom down his length, leaving her practically panting as she watched. This was lust on a seismic scale. It was something more, too, but she shoved that way down deep. She had no idea how, but he was making it impossible for her to resist him, or even remember why she’d wanted to. “You keep forgetting to hurry,” she complained.
With a half laugh, half groan, Jacob sank inside her. Weight braced on his forearms, he cupped her face as he moved, taking his time, going so deep she gasped and her eyes threatened to roll back in her head. And then again. And yet again, and she felt her toes start to curl as she rocked up, cradling him between her thighs like he belonged there. “More,” she moaned.
He thrust again and she tightened in anticipation, but instead of more, he pulled his mouth from hers. She opened her eyes, and in his dark gaze she saw her own heavy-lidded look reflected.
“I’m not really into hurrying,” he said.
“What are you into?”
“Slow. Long. Hard. Hot. Dirty…” His teeth sank into her earlobe. “You still in?”
She took a breath to steady herself and rocked up, seating him even deeper inside her, clenching her inner muscles at the same time.
He groaned out her name. “Yeah, you’re in.”
“No, you’re in,” she said, making him snort.
Then he gripped her hips and took her. Slow. Long. Hard. Hot. Dirty…She was gasping, panting, begging for more in thirty seconds, but he continued to take his sweet-ass time, remaining buried deep and rocking gently, only to pull out and push in slowly, stretching her, reaching deeper with each stroke.
When she arched up into him and dug her nails into his back, crying out his name, she finally unleashed the beast. He set a pace that had her writhing beneath him, desperate as he moved over her, holding her head between his hands, kissing her with the same intensity that their bodies moved together.
When she burst again, crying out as the pleasure took her, he came with her, mouth to mouth, his eyes holding hers through the shocking pleasure. He stayed with her, over her, buried deep, leaving no part of her untouched, and when she finally caught her breath, she realized she was clinging to him like he was her security blanket. She quickly let go and gave a tentative wiggle, thinking he’d roll off of her and then the awkward aftermath could be had and gotten over with.
But he didn’t move except to nuzzle at her jaw.
She wriggled again and this time added a little shove.
He let out a low, rough laugh, giving her one of those little post-sex body shudders that was practically another orgasm. “You make a man forget he’s got obligations,” he murmured, and rubbed against her like a big ol’ cat.
Oh God. He was getting hard again. And even more shockingly, her body had twined itself around him like she was the salt to his pretzel. “Oh no,” she said, slapping her hands to his chest. “Nope.”
Lifting his head, eyes heavy-lidded, hair tousled, a bite mark on his neck—holy cow, a bite mark on his neck? She’d bitten him? When had she bitten him?—he gave her the full view of his post-coital expression, and damn. Damn, he was so effing hot. “I mean it,” she said weakly as he brushed a kiss over her temple and then her cheek.
He gave one last lazy thrust, and though she would deny this until the end of time, she nearly came from that alone. “What are you,” she asked, “one-hundred-proof testosterone and pheromones? You’ve had your fun, now move.”
So he moved.
Inside her.
“Like that?” the bastard asked sinfully.
She gasped and clutched at him. “You know that’s not what I meant.”
Giving another soft laugh, he kissed her, soft and sweet, and finally, thank God, he moved off her.
She felt the loss like she would a missing limb…Not that she would admit that. Ever.
But he took one look at her face and flashed a knowing grin.
Chapter 10
Sophie opened her eyes and realized she was wrapped up in a pair of strong, warm arms, which were curled possessively around her. Pulling back an inch, she found Jacob watching her from those fathomless dark eyes.
“Welcome back,” he said.
Oh God, she’d dozed off in his big, deliciously comfy bed. She would blame the damn boat, the stupid lake, too many sleepless nights in a row, but she could tell her denials would fall on deaf ears because, given the smug look on his face, he knew the truth. It was the orgasms.
“Tell me I wasn’t snoring,” she said.
“Nope.” He paused. “Drooling, yes. Snoring, no.”
“I did not drool!”
He just smiled.
“You should know,” she said, “I’m only here for your shower.”
His lips twitched. “Sure.”
She jabbed a finger into his chest. “I mean it. I slept with you because you have hot water. Sure, the sexy times were okay, but don’t mistake th
is for something…mushy, because I won’t put up with that.”
He tipped his head back and laughed.
She stared at him. “You’re supposed to be insulted.”
“And you’re supposed to be honest. Stop trying to scare me off.”
She huffed out a sigh. “It’s my thing.”
“Your thing?”
“Yes, and I’m good at it.” She frowned. “Why didn’t you believe me?”
“The sexy times were just okay…?” he repeated, heavy on the disbelief.
She blushed. “That could’ve been true.”
He laughed again. “Babe, you came, like, twenty-five times.”
“Fine.” She struggled with something to insult him with, but the guy even woke up looking hot. “You farted in your sleep,” she said.
“Try again.”
“Fine, you did something else. You…talked,” she said, rather brilliantly, she thought. “You totally talked in your sleep.”
It was subtle, his reaction, especially since not an inch of him moved, but he definitely…retreated?
“Hey, I’m kidding,” she said. “You didn’t talk.” She paused. “But if you had, what is it you think you’d have said?”
He closed his eyes.
“Okay. So I’m assuming it wouldn’t have been ‘I know where the bodies are buried,’” she tried to joke.
His eyes opened, and she realized her mistake instantly. This was a soldier, a Wounded Warrior even if his wounds were on the inside. He probably knew where lots of bodies were buried and her joke had been in poor taste. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “That was thoughtless.”
He didn’t speak for a moment, just let out a slow, deep breath like he was gathering his thoughts. “I think I probably do sometimes talk in my sleep,” he said. “Or dream badly. It’s like that for a while after a rough tour.”
“I can imagine.” Unable to help herself, she sifted her fingers through his short hair and shook her head. “Actually, I can’t imagine what it must be like to come home after all you’ve been through and try to fit into regular civilian life.”
“I didn’t expect to come home.”
He met her gaze when hers flew to his face.
“I didn’t,” he said. “I thought I’d be a career soldier.”
“What changed your mind?”
“Brett’s death.”
The pain, sharp and dark, was buried deep in his words, pain he was clearly fighting to hide, and it slid right through her, taking her a moment to find her voice. “Were you hurt in the explosion? Is that why you’re on leave?”
His profile was tight, the corners of his mouth hard. “Just a few scratches and a concussion, no big deal,” he said. “Another buddy was hurt far worse. Chris Marshall. He broke every bone in his left leg and lost his arm.” He lifted a shoulder. “I can’t complain. But I’m not crazy about the idea of going back.”
Neither was she. “What will you do when you’ve finished out your tour?”
“Something quiet,” he said.
She gave him a little nudge. “Like maybe live in a cabin on a mountain lake?”
His eyes warmed as he let his gaze roam over her face. “Something like that, yeah.”
She got lost in his eyes a moment and then reminded herself that she had to get out of here and to work before she did something she regretted—like lick him from head to toe. “I gotta go.”
“How much time do you have?”
She eyeballed his clock. It was nine. “I don’t have to be at work until ten thirty today.”
“Good to know.” He pulled her beneath him and settled himself between her legs, his hands roaming, warming her up and revving her up, too, until she arched into him, already halfway to heaven. “You mind?” he murmured, mouth at her breast.
She slid her fingers back into his hair to hold his head to her. “Only if you stop…”
A while later, she was drifting again, mind blank with all the pleasure, when, from Jacob’s dresser, the alarm on her phone went off. With a groan, she closed her eyes.
“Someone dying?” Jacob asked, not moving an inch.
“Just me.” She sighed. “That was my alarm reminding me to call my sister.”
“You set an alarm for that?”
“We talk on her days off when she needs a moment from her kids.”
“At least you call her,” he said, something in his voice. But his eyes were closed, so she couldn’t tell what.
“Feel free to talk to her now,” he said, his chest rising and falling with his slow, even breath.
She loved the sound of his morning voice, rough and gruff. An octave lower than usual. Heart-stopping. As was the sight of him in the bed, covered only by a sheet that had pooled low on his ripped abs. She blew out a sigh and reached for her phone.
“Oh, my God,” Brooklyn answered. “I was having the best sex daydream about Chris Evans!”
“Sorry to interrupt that,” Sophie said. “Hard to compete with sex and Captain America.” Then she realized what she’d said and slid a look at Jacob.
He was paying her no mind, seemingly not listening. In fact, she thought maybe he’d drifted off to sleep.
“Listen,” Brooklyn said. “Dad’s birthday is coming up. I thought we could do a surprise b-day visit.”
“Are you kidding? Dad hates surprise visits.”
“No, he doesn’t.”
“Yes, he does,” Sophie said. “Remember the time I flew home for Father’s Day and brought him a kitten because his therapist had mentioned it’d be good for him to have something to take care of?”
“Well, who’d have guessed he was violently allergic?” Brooklyn asked.
It’d been a disaster of epic proportions. “At least I called nine-one-one in time to get him an epi shot before his throat closed up completely,” Sophie said on a sigh.
“And you did try to make it up to him by sending him and Mom to dinner the next year at that new fancy restaurant downtown,” Brooklyn said.
“You mean the time they got stuck in the elevator and the paramedics and firefighters had to rescue them? No. No more surprises, not from me.”
Brooklyn laughed, and Sophie laughed a little, too, but deep inside she couldn’t help thinking that she was tired of always being the joke in the family. Then someone yelled “Mom” in the background of Brooklyn’s call, followed by a bellow of “wipe me!”
Sophie laughed, genuinely this time.
“Please come visit?” Brooklyn asked.
Sophie sighed. “Yeah. I’ll come.” When they disconnected, she tossed her phone aside, flopped back to the bed, and stared at the ceiling.
Jacob peered down into her face. “I can see the wheels turning.”
“I don’t want to be like this,” she said.
“Naked?” He stroked a hand from her belly to a breast.
“No,” she said, and snorted, rolling to her stomach so she wouldn’t feel so…exposed. “I don’t want to be like this to my family. The one they laugh at.”
He palmed a butt cheek, squeezed. “Then don’t.”
She craned her neck, cutting her eyes to his. “You make it sound easy.”
“It is,” he said in the way of an alpha man who’d never given a single damn about what anyone thought of him.
And maybe there was something to that. Maybe she was holding herself up to an impossible standard, like to Brooklyn, who was a