Follow Me (Corrupted Hearts)

by Tiffany Snow

  16

  “But when are you coming home?” Mia asked.

  “You’re dangerously close to whining,” I said.

  “It’s been two days, and the news said Cysnet and you were cleared of all corporate espionage charges. That it was an inside job. The reporters left this morning.”

  “I’m just going to make sure Jackson gets home okay, then I’ll be home. Go ahead and order Chinese. I’ll be home later tonight, I’m sure.”

  “You’ve been there almost constantly.”

  “Job security,” I lied. I hadn’t wanted to leave Jackson’s side since the helicopter had brought us here. He’d been wheeled into surgery immediately and I’d paced the hallways until the doctor had come out and told me he would make a full recovery.

  “Okay, but I need to catch you up on my calculus teacher,” Mia said. “We got into it again today.”

  I sighed. “If you’d stop correcting him, this wouldn’t be a problem.”

  “I can’t help it.”

  The nurse wheeled in a very irritated-looking Jackson.

  “Gotta go,” I said to Mia, ending the call. “So how’s the patient?” I asked Jackson.

  “Ready to get out of here,” he grumbled.

  I gave the long-suffering nurse a look of silent apology. The doctor had said he could leave this morning and, by golly, that’s what he was going to do. Being Jackson Cooper could get a lot done very quickly, and less than twenty minutes later we were sliding into a black Mercedes. Lance was driving.

  “Let’s go home,” he told Lance, pulling me into his arms.

  I nestled close, tucking my head underneath his chin, careful of his wound. We hadn’t discussed my constant presence in the hospital. I hadn’t offered to leave and he hadn’t said I should. So while I’d gone a couple of times to shower and change, I’d come back each time.

  “Are you feeling all right?” I asked as the car got underway. It was late evening.

  “I’m fine. The surgeon did a wonderful job and I’ve had excellent company. My ego is still fighting for recovery, but the rest of me is in good shape.” His wry tone made me smile.

  “The ego battered by not being able to avoid a bullet when you were trying to save the girl?”

  “You make it sound all heroic,” he teased. “For what it’s worth, I’m not accustomed to the role of martyr.”

  “Then why did you upload the software?” I asked. “You had to know that she’d kill us both anyway.”

  “I thought there was a chance she could be lying, or that if I gave him more time, Clark could save you.” He hesitated, his fingers lifting my chin so our eyes met. “It seems I have . . . feelings for you. Strong feelings I wasn’t even fully aware of until you were threatened.” His smile was rueful. “And here I’ve always prided myself on not being a cliché.”

  My stomach had somersaulted when he said he had feelings for me, and I struggled with how to react, what to say. I decided on the truth.

  “I have feelings for you, too,” I said softly. My gaze drifted from his eyes to his mouth. He was such a good kisser . . .

  “Well, that’s good,” he said, one side of his mouth lifting higher than the other. “I’d hate to think of being rejected by the first woman I’ve ever legitimately been shot for.”

  I laughed. I couldn’t help it. Despite the trials of the past few days, I was falling in love with the man of my dreams. And it was very possible—maybe likely—that he felt the same.

  Lance pulled into the driveway of a house that wasn’t the one I’d been to before. I glanced questioningly at Jackson.

  “The house in the woods,” he reminded me. “I thought we needed some privacy.”

  Lance held the door open for us and I followed Jackson inside. The downstairs was shrouded in shadows, but I could see the outlines of furniture against a wall of windows. Dim lights shone above the counters in the kitchen, which I glimpsed before he began climbing upstairs. The floors were all hardwood and Lance was nowhere to be seen, thank goodness.

  “So . . . I’m just going to stay here?” I asked, my voice a little squeaky as I followed him down the hallway. “With you?”

  He stopped suddenly and I found myself pressed against a closed door, his mouth on mine. It took my breath away. When he finally came up for air, I was overwhelmed.

  “Yes. With me.”

  Okay, then.

  “Open the door for me, sweetheart,” he said, his voice a low rasp that sent a bolt of heat right through me.

  Reaching behind me, I turned the knob on the closed door, then gave it a push. Jackson pushed me backward through the opening. Not bothering to look around, I clung to him. I couldn’t resist stretching upward, fastening my lips to the skin of his neck where it met his shoulder.

  His sharp intake of breath encouraged me and I licked his skin. Mmmm . . . a bit salty, very warm, and softer than I’d imagined.

  He kicked the door shut and the room was lit only by the moonbeams shining through windows lining two walls. No blinds were lowered, so we could see the outline of pine trees and the stars glistening above them.

  There was a huge white bed in the middle of the room. When I saw it, my heart rate tripled. I wanted to be in that bed. With Jackson. I wouldn’t have thought I’d want Jackson as badly as I did so soon after our ordeal, but then again, I’d heard about and read numerous anecdotes over my life about those who had brushes with death wanting to reaffirm life.

  Jackson set me down very carefully on the bed, then stood. I was immediately dismayed. Was he going to leave me? I reached out and snagged a fistful of his shirt.

  “Don’t go,” I said, and it sounded more like a plea than a command.

  He disengaged the fabric from my fingers, then kissed my knuckles. “I wasn’t planning on it.”

  Jackson began to unbutton his shirt, and I was transfixed. My eyes had adjusted to the moonlight, making it nearly bright enough that it seemed as though a light was shining through the room. He undid one button after another and my mouth grew drier with each expanse of skin as it was revealed. By the time he was tugging his shirt from his slacks and tossing it aside, the flesh between my legs was throbbing.

  His shoulders and arms were so big and hard . . . the muscles flexing as he undid his belt. Even with the bandage on his chest, he looked amazing.

  Jackson stood unembarrassed in front of me, my eyes devouring him as his body was revealed, inch by glorious inch. I didn’t think I’d ever seen anything more arousing than Jackson watching me watch him undress.

  “We’re not getting interrupted this time,” he said, setting one knee on the bed and leaning over me. I fell back against the pillows and he followed me down, resting half his weight on me. He kissed me and it was as though we’d been lovers who kissed for ages. No longer any awkwardness, just mouths and tongues meeting in joint desire. The taste of him was familiar now, as was his scent.

  Scent. Wait a minute.

  I inserted a hand between us and pushed. He lifted his head, his brows drawn together in a frown of confusion. “What? Are you okay?”

  “I want a shower first.”

  The look of surprise on his face would’ve been comical if I’d been in a mood for laughing.

  “Seriously?”

  I nodded. “We’ve been in the hospital around sick people and germs all day . . . it feels gross.” And now that was all in my head, my arousal and desire had completely gone. “Please? A shower?”

  With a surge, he got to his feet, then pulled me up, too. “If you want a shower, then that’s what you’ll have,” he said.

  Taking my hand, he drew me through a doorway, switching on the light. I took a good look around while he turned on the shower.

  It was a gorgeous bathroom, with a deep, claw-foot tub and a standing shower enclosed by glass. The shower had a giant, round head in the ceiling that poured water like a rain cloud, with additional spigots in the walls to spray toward the center. Steam was already rolling when Jackson turned to me an
d tugged at the belt of my jeans.

  “Wait, what are you doing?” I asked, holding the hem of my T-shirt down. He tugged my hands loose anyway.

  “You said you wanted a shower. I’m giving you one.”

  Holy shitballs. “You’re giving me a shower?” It was like one of my romance novels! I was so excited and yet . . . “It’s really bright in here.” Like, could-see-my-pores kind of bright. “I look better in low lighting. And amazing in full dark.”

  Jackson laughed, a low rumble that made me smile, too, and despite my shyness, I didn’t resist when he tugged the shirt over my head and pushed my jeans down my legs. In another moment, he’d added my seafoam lace matching bra and panty set to the pile of clothing.

  “I beg to differ with that assertion,” he said. “You are beautiful.” And since he said it while his gaze roamed over my face, hair, and chest, the look in his eyes soft and warm, I believed him. The massive erection he was sporting didn’t hurt either.

  It was the first time I’d seen a man fully without clothes—a real live one, that is. I mean, like everyone else I’d paused, rewound, and rewatched Hugh Jackman’s naked behind in X-Men. (I may have even paused the video. Twice.) But this was different, and my pulse was racing so fast, I was nearly light-headed.

  “Come with me.”

  He didn’t have to ask twice.

  The water was deliciously hot and his skin was warm. It was like standing in warm rain. Another first: the first time I’d ever been fully naked, held against a man who was likewise naked. Which prompted a thought, and though Jackson was kissing my neck in a delicious way that sent shivers through me, I still spoke.

  “What’s the difference between naked and nude?” I asked, tilting my head so he could reach farther underneath my jaw. Mmmm, yes, just like that . . .

  “Naked and nude?” He sucked my earlobe into his mouth and his hands moved down to cup my rear.

  “Mmmhmm . . .” Okay, maybe I should have rethought the whole talking thing while doing this.

  “Well, naked implies that being without clothing was something of an accident,” he said, his knee nudging my thighs apart. “Whereas nude implies intent.”

  “Intent?”

  “Intent to be bad.”

  His hand slid in between my legs, stroking me, and I lost track of even that little bit of conversation. Water sluiced over our skin as he spread my legs farther apart. His finger pushed into me and I moaned. I clung to him, my breasts pressed against his chest. His erection prodded between my legs and an answering flare of heat echoed deep inside me.

  Abruptly, he stepped back, his hands retreating to my hips. “My apologies,” he said. “You wanted to wash, correct?”

  My mouth was slightly agape in surprise, but then I saw the twinkle of mischief in his eyes. Ah. Revenge then. He wanted to play. I could do that.

  “Absolutely,” I said, reaching for the bar of soap sitting in a silver dish attached to the wall. I kept my eyes on his as I lathered my hands, then slid the soap down each arm, then back to my neck. I took my time soaping my breasts, watching the Adam’s apple in his throat move as he swallowed and his eyes grew darker when they met mine.

  There was a seat along the back wall and I lifted my leg to rest one foot on it, slowly dragging the soap down my leg, then back up my thigh. I had my back slightly turned toward Jackson so I could only see him out of the corner of my eye.

  Pretending obliviousness, I took my time washing between my legs, letting my slippery fingers slide between my folds. Part of me couldn’t believe I was doing this, that I could be so bold in front of Jackson. The other part of me was shouting YOLO! and Carpe Diem!

  I gasped in surprise when he grabbed me by the waist, spinning me around. He sat me on the bench and dropped to his knees. His hands pushed my legs apart and then his head was there, and his tongue was on me, inside me, and it was better than I’d ever imagined it would be.

  I wanted to keep my eyes open, because the sight of Jackson—his dark head between my pale legs and the water cascading over his back—was something I wanted to memorize for forever. My fingers threaded through his wet hair and he lifted his eyes to mine. It was a shock, the burning desire in his gaze. He watched my face as he licked me and I struggled to keep my eyes open, but then I couldn’t any longer.

  My eyes closing must have been a signal to him because he intensified his caress, nuzzling me and sucking on a part of my body I hadn’t ever considered suckable. I made more noises of approval, which he echoed. His fingers dug into my thighs as he pulled me closer to the edge of the seat. Then he did this thing with his tongue, so fast and sweet . . .

  I came in a shattering climax that had my cries echoing against the glass. I had fistfuls of his hair, my body still trembling inside, as he gentled the strokes of his tongue. My breathing was more like panting as I pried open my eyes.

  The look on Jackson’s face was a mixture of lust and satisfaction. I knew without a doubt that he wanted me, and it was the most intoxicating feeling on the planet.

  Raising my arms up, I turned off the water by the taps above me, then stood.

  “I think I’m clean enough now,” I said, combing my fingers through his hair. “Take me back to bed?”

  Jackson pressed a kiss to my abdomen, then stood. I heard his knees pop and I winced.

  “Ouch,” I said. Now I felt kinda guilty. Here he’d been kneeling on the hard, marble floor of the shower—

  “Totally worth it.” He winked at me.

  Huge bath sheets were on a heated towel rack next to the shower and he grabbed one, wrapping me in it before getting another for himself. I watched with interest as he quickly scrubbed the water from his hair, then did a cursory job of drying his chest before tossing the towel aside.

  He scooped me up and I kissed him as he carried me back to the bed. When he lay me down, he unwrapped the towel slowly, as though to prolong the Big Reveal. It made me smile.

  “Best Christmas present ever,” he murmured, catching my smile.

  “But it’s not Christmas,” I teased, admiring the way the light from the bathroom illuminated the muscles in his arms and shoulders.

  “You’re right,” he said, feigning puzzlement. “That means you’ll have to think of something to top this when Christmas rolls around. Good luck with that.”

  I was bare before him now and ideas for a witty reply flew out the window. My mouth went dry at the sight of him. His body was beautiful with not an ounce of fat anywhere, which made me think I’d definitely have to make sure he never caught a good look at my ass.

  His . . . manhood? Member? Staff? I didn’t know what to call it that wouldn’t make me blush. All my romance novels used words like that, but somehow I thought Jackson would probably laugh out loud if I complimented the size and stiffness of his “rod of pleasure.”

  Best not to call it anything at all, I thought.

  Though I couldn’t take my eyes off it. I was lying down but remembered what he’d done in the shower and abruptly sat up.

  “My turn,” I said, tugging at his arm until he obliged, laying back against the pillows on what I internally had already assigned as “his” side of the bed.

  I called to mind every sex scene I’d ever read where the heroine had done this particular act for her hero, wondering how to begin exactly. I hoped my enthusiasm would make up for a decided lack of experience.

  Okay, I had to call it something. Mr. Happy sprang to mind. It did kind of look like he was smiling . . . Decided then, I scooted in between Jackson’s spread legs and tossed my hair over my shoulder (without the neck cramp this time—Mia had taught me well). Mr. Happy looked pleased at this turn of events, judging by the way he jerked a bit when my breath touched him.

  I took that as a good sign. Tentatively, I licked the tip, and could’ve sworn I heard Jackson gasp. I liked that, so I did it again, a longer and slower lick this time. I saw his fist clench the sheet.

  A sudden surge of power filled me. I could give him this a
nd he was utterly enraptured by it, just as I had been in the shower. It was a heady feeling, and an aphrodisiac unto itself. The actual act wasn’t bad either. His skin was soft as silk, the shaft hard as a rock, and I fitted my lips around the head, letting him slide into the warm cavern of my mouth.

  “Holy shit, China,” he breathed as I took him deeper. I couldn’t get him terribly deep before my throat rebelled, but I just let him slide out, then did it again.

  “Jesus . . .”

  Okay, invoking the Lord’s name meant he really liked it. That was good. Sounds were good, kind of like an instant opinion poll of how I was doing. But I didn’t want this to be boring, so I put to use one of the racier scenes I’d read in the Harlequin Desire series (and reread, read, and reread again).

  I slid one hand underneath Mr. Happy to cup his balls, squeezing gently. The other hand I curled around the shaft as I took him again in my mouth. I sucked lightly, tracing my tongue down the underside, then back up. Instant opinion poll analysis said this was a Good Thing, so I did it again.

  Turning him on was having a major impact on my desire as well. The more noises he made and the harder he got, the more into it I was, little moans in the back of my throat sending little vibrations through Mr. Happy.

  “Oh God, China,” he said. “Holy fuck.”

  I raised my eyes to see him watching me. The corners of my lips lifted in a seductive smile as I circled the sensitive tip with my tongue, then deep throated as far as I could, which turned out to be all the way down. Yay me—I always was a quick learner. Judging by the mingled curses Jackson gritted out, and gasps, he appreciated my quick aptitude as well.

  Closing my eyes, I inhaled deeply, recalling a line I’d once read in a racy Judith Krantz novel. She’d said until you’d smelled a man precisely there, a woman couldn’t possibly know him. I had to agree.

  Suddenly, he pulled away, his hands closing on my upper arms. Without any warning, he was tossing me back against the pillows, settling between my legs and kissing me with a voracious hunger I readily returned.