by RC Boldt
Her light blue eyes are dancing mischievously. “Like ‘Must gird ovaries if in close proximity to this one.’”
My chuckle is cut short when she removes her shirt, leaving her in a simple beige bra. With her eyes locked on mine, she reaches back to unclasp it before slipping it down over her shoulders and tossing it aside.
My hands immediately move to cup her bare breasts with nipples already hardening, and when she arches into my touch, it urges me on. Dipping my head, I latch my lips over one rosy peak, sucking it into my mouth before flicking it with the tip of my tongue.
Moving to the other, her fingers tighten their grasp on my hair, pressing herself closer as if she can’t get enough of my touch. Her responsiveness drives me on, my cock painfully hard, and it’s as though she recognizes this. One of her hands moves to dip beneath the front waistband of my jeans, and her fingertips graze the head, causing me to jerk at her touch.
Suddenly, I’m desperate for more. Shifting our positions and placing her back on the couch, my fingers are frantic in their movements, working to unfasten and remove her jeans. Sliding them down her slim legs, my eyes feast on the sight of her body clad in only panties and socks. When my hands shift to remove her panties, she stops me.
“You’re wearing too many clothes.” Her gaze is full of heat as she watches me comply and stand. Removing my jeans and socks, I hitch my thumbs in the waistband of my boxer briefs.
“What do you think? Can you handle all of me? Naked? Or do you need to gird your ovaries?” I tease.
With a pointed look, she lifts one leg, removing a sock then repeating the action with the other before sliding her panties down her legs and kicking them off. With a sly smile, she nods toward my underwear. “I can handle it.”
Shoving the briefs down, I kick them to the side before joining Sarah, a hiss escaping our lips at the touch of our naked flesh. My cock nestles between her thighs, pressing against her core. With my forearms braced on either side of her head, I rest my weight on them, hands framing her face, thumbs lightly brushing against the softness of her cheeks. “You’re beautiful,” I say softly, my gaze direct.
You’re beautiful, and I’m falling in love with you.
Something shifts in those light blue eyes as if my declaration has made her uncomfortable. Before she can get herself worked up in a panic, my mouth crashes down on hers, and I find myself kissing her with a unique desperation. Because I’m trying to communicate my feelings to a woman who wants nothing to do with feelings, emotional entanglements, or anything remotely connected to a romantic relationship.
I’m trying to get her to see past her misgivings, to see what I bring to the table, to see us. I want—need—for her to see how well we work.
She returns the kiss with a passion rivaling my own, her palms gliding down my back until she gets to my ass and pulls me toward her roughly, bringing my tip to prod at her entrance.
Breaking the kiss, my voice is hoarse with arousal. “Condom,” I manage to get out, shifting to reach for one in my pants pocket, but she stops me.
“I’m on the pill, and I always get tested.”
My head turns slowly, my eyes searching her expression before I speak. “I’m clean and haven’t been with anyone sin—”
Sarah doesn’t let me finish; instead, her palms tug me roughly toward her, and my cock easily slips inside her. Fuck, the feel of her wet warmth surrounding me is almost too much; not to mention, I’ve never had unprotected sex before. A part of me is dying to know if this means she’s on the same page with me, if she’s opening up to the possibility of us being…an us.
The moment she wraps her legs around my waist, causing me to shift even deeper, my thoughts disappear, my intent only to show the woman beneath me just how good we can be together. To show her I love everything about her.
It’s up to me to break down those walls around her heart so my love can finally surge through, filling all those tiny fissures until my name is etched on her heart.
The way she’s etched hers on mine.
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
Sarah
I can’t get enough of this, of Jack’s frenzied thrusts. His touch is addictive, and the look in his eyes makes me feel like I’m teetering between bursting into flames because of my fast-approaching orgasm or falling victim to a panic attack because… Hell, those eyes, darkened with an unfamiliar intensity, are too much. And I know I can’t handle it.
I move to shift our bodies, trying to get him beneath me, thinking that might help. But when I do so, something happens, and I cause Jack to lose his balance, slipping off me and hitting the edge of my glass coffee table.
With his head.
“Holy shit!”
I rush to the kitchen to get a clean towel and race back to where he’s sitting on the floor with his hand pressed against the gash on his forehead. I quickly assess it with dismay before taking his hand to place it firmly against the cloth in an attempt to help staunch the bleeding.
“I’ll be right back. In the meantime, get dressed because you’re going to need stitches.” I’m pulling on my clothes as I rush to my bathroom for supplies.
“You’ve got to be shitting me.” I hear a rustling and turn to help him tug on his shirt and jeans while he attempts to hold the towel against his forehead.
Minutes later, I manage to clean up his wound a bit and apply some Steri-Strips to the laceration, which will make do until I get him to the ER.
With a wry laugh, I grab my purse and keys and usher Jack out the door. Rushing down the steps to the nearby street parking assigned to residents, we get inside my car, and I drive us to the hospital.
I quickly dial Clint’s number using the car’s Bluetooth. Surprisingly, he picks up right away, and I’m hoping it’s a sign that things have been slow at the hospital.
“Hey, sweets. My break is about to end, but I have to ask: Did you get lucky with Mr. T.D.H. last night? Or should I continue to call him Mr. B.B.?”
I feel Jack’s attention on me, but I ignore it…as well as Clint’s question. “I’m driving Mr. Tall, Dark, and Handsome to the ER for stitches, as we speak.”
There’s a brief pause. “I cannot wait to hear the story behind this injury.”
Frowning as I navigate, and luckily only two blocks from the hospital now, I say, “We’re two blocks away. See you in a few.”
“Am I on speaker?”
I hesitate. “Yes.”
“Hey, handsome.” Clint’s voice takes on a flirtatious tone.
Jack tosses out, “Hey, man.”
“Talking back to our girl is dangerous, huh?”
Jack chuckles. “She’s dangerous, all right.”
“We’ll get you fixed up in no time. See you in a few.” The call disconnects, and I turn the corner to pull into the drive leading up to the ER drop-off.
“I’m going to drop you off and park really quick.”
“I can walk,” Jack protests.
Pulling up and stopping by the doors, I turn to him. “It’ll only take me a minute.” Frowning with concern, I nod to his head. “I’m worried about that gash, so let’s play it safe. See you inside in a moment.”
With a nod, he exits the car, and just as he’s about to close the door, he stops, eyes meeting mine. “Hey, Sunshine?”
“Jack?”
His features soften, eyes crinkling at the corners slightly. “I had the best day with you. Even this can’t put a damper on it.” With that said, he closes the door and turns to walk through the automatic doors.
* * *
“So let me get this straight. You fell into the edge of the glass coffee table when you were shifting positions on the couch?” Clint asks, his features screwed up in an overly serious expression.
“I just told you what happened,” I say through gritted teeth. “Three times.”
Clint grins. “Oh, but I enjoyed hearing it.” His smile widens. “Yet again.” Turning to Jack, he asks, “So you’re saying you were on top and then Miss Bossypan
ts here had to change it up?”
My eyes fly to Dr. Mills, who’s concentrating on the last few stitches in Jack’s forehead, before narrowing back on Clint. “Would you please stop?” I hiss.
“Nothing to worry about, Miss Matthews.” Dr. Mills finishes up the final stitch before placing a bandage on it. “You know I’ve heard and seen a lot worse.”
“And it’s better when it’s one of our own,” Clint insists, smugly. To me, he prods, “So blue balls strikes again, huh?”
“Clint,” I snarl.
He pats Jack’s knee consolingly. “You guys are just two Calamity Janes trying to navigate your way to the elusive Orgasm Island.” He pauses. “Or two Magoos, blindly fumbling your way to Bang-Bang-ville. Or—”
“We get it,” Jack and I chant in unison.
“All set, Mr. Westbrook.” Dr. Mills hands Jack his paperwork. “Schedule an appointment with your family doctor to have the stitches removed in seven to ten days or”—he pauses to glance over at me—“if you feel brave enough, you can have Miss Matthews do it for you.”
“And maybe she’ll give you a little extra TLC wh—”
“Thank you,” Jack interrupts Clint, shaking the doctor’s hand.
“—ile finally providing relief!” Clint finishes with a flourish.
“Clint,” Dr. Mills, Jack, and I all scold in unison.
With a dramatic eye roll, he tosses his hands in the air. “I can’t possibly be the only one who finds this so fascinating! I mean, really,” he scoffs, “two people who seem like the universe is taking major offense to the prospect of them getting it on that something’s always cropping up.”
Shaking his head, he lifts his chin toward Jack. “Take care of yourself, B.B.” To me, he leans in and winks. “You, missy, had better not shove any other men into coffee tables while Mr. Winky’s still inside your hot box.”
I’m still sputtering after he’s left the room with the doctor in tow, leaving only Jack and me in the quiet room.
Heaving out a long sigh, I glance over at Jack. “Ready to head home?”
He flashes me a weak smile. “Ready to go, Bruiser.”
Except this time, his teasing doesn’t quite hit its mark. Instead, I’m still wondering about Clint’s remarks about the universe.
Wondering if there’s any validity to it whatsoever.
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
Jack
Sarah’s quiet on the ride back to my place. Far too quiet, actually, and I can’t help but wonder as we ride along the streets of downtown Saratoga Springs if she’s pondering Clint’s unsettling remark.
As if the universe has anything against us getting it on, I scoff internally. Glancing over at her profile as she maneuvers the car through heavier than usual traffic for a Sunday evening, I notice the slight furrow in her brow. The sight of her troubled expression sends a dense rush of foreboding rolling through me.
When she pulls into the numbered guest parking spot assigned to me, the pressure in my chest lessens slightly because I assume she’s coming in with me. The tension is still present on the elevator ride up to my floor.
“Thanks for tonight.”
Her eyebrows shoot up, lips twisting in a humorless quirk. “You’re thanking me for causing you to slam your head into my glass table?”
I eye her carefully. “You know what I mean.” The elevator chimes before the doors slide open, and she steps out before I follow suit. “Thanks for sticking around.”
Stopping at my door, I reach for my keys in my pocket, sliding the key into the lock before turning back to her. Sarah’s leaning against the wall, eyes guarded. Stepping closer, I rest my palms flat against the wall on either side of her and cage her in.
“Sunshine, you have no idea how long it’s been since someone’s hung around and taken care of me. So thank you.” My voice is low, gravelly with emotion, because even within my dim memories of my mother, I recall her being the last woman to take it upon herself to go above and beyond to care for me.
Her features appear to soften, the tenseness on her face easing. “You’re welcome,” she replies softly.
Opening my door, we enter and remove our shoes. “You should try to get some rest, but…” She trails off, looking uncomfortable, and I know in my gut what she’s about to say next.
The knowing doesn’t make it sting any less, however.
“What Clint said earlier got me thinking.” The crease between her eyebrows pops up, begging me to smooth it out. Reaching into her small purse, the strap across her chest, she pulls out one of those chocolates she keeps on hand. She averts her gaze, focusing on her fingers unwrapping the foil, plucking the chocolate out, and reading the message on the inside wrapper. Taking a tiny bite, she chews and swallows before pressing on.
“Think about it, Jack. We’ve been through this how many times, right? And every time, something happens. An interruption or something bad happens to throw things off. That’s not normal.” Shaking her head, she puts the remainder of the chocolate back into the wrapper. “I think we should take it as a sign that it’s not meant to b—”
My hand reaches out to grasp her wrist with the chocolate. Stepping closer to her, I watch as her eyes widen. I can see the uncertainty in her expression, wondering what I’m doing. Bringing her hand to my mouth, I wrap my lips around the remainder of chocolate, licking her fingers clean, and I give her my response.
“No.”
Shock is visible on her face. “No?” she repeats in disbelief. “What do you me—”
“I mean…” I swallow, allowing the bulk of the melted chocolate to coat my tongue, then dip my head closer to her so my breath washes against her lips. “No, I’m not letting you take it as a sign.”
“But—”
I cut off her response, my mouth crashing down on hers in a deep, chocolatey kiss, pressing my body against hers and trapping her between me and the wall. Our kiss is desperate, needy, passionate, and devouring—all these emotions are running through me at this exact moment.
Nudging her thighs further apart, I press closer, letting her feel my arousal. My hands slide up her sides, dragging the hem of her shirt with them until my thumbs rest beneath her breasts. Her chest is rising and falling with labored breathing, and I wonder if she even realizes she’s arching into my touch as if desperately trying to urge me on. Cupping her bra-clad breasts, I brush the pads of my thumbs over her nipples, and at that moment, a moan escapes her.
Practically tearing off her shirt, I make quick work of her bra, and soon, her torso is bared to me. Without allowing her any time for more doubts to cloud her mind, I drag my lips down the column of her neck, placing wet kisses along her collarbone before latching onto one of her nipples while my finger and thumb toy with the other. Loving it with my lips and tongue, I revel in her harsh breathing, the tiny gasps that my actions elicit before moving my mouth to the other hardened peak.
“Jack,” she breathes. “Jack, we need to—”
I choose that moment to suck hard before letting her nipple free with an audible pop as my eyes lock onto hers. “I think you should let me figure out what we need, Sunshine.”
Hastily unbuttoning her jeans, I tug them down and off with her underwear and socks following. Without any pause, I slide one finger to her entrance to test her wetness and find her absolutely fucking drenched.
Fuck control. I’m laying it all on the line. She needs to see that nothing—no hokey shit about the universe—will keep us from making love.
Thrusting another finger deep inside her, I swallow her moans with my mouth on hers. My other hand delves into her hair and fists the soft strands. Working her with my fingers, I feel her arousal coating them, and her hips begin to rock, urging me on.
Dropping to my knees, I press her thighs further apart; my mouth goes directly for her clit, lips wrapping around it, and applying a gentle suction. Her hands fly to my hair as my name falls from her lips in a whispered moan. My two fingers continue moving in and out of her in rapid thrust
s, and she tightens her grasp of my hair.
“Jack,” she whispers my name, again, but this time I can hear it in her voice; I can hear that she’s on the precipice.
Fastening my lips firmly to her clit, I use the tip of my tongue to toy with it while my fingers continue sliding in and out of her wetness. As soon as I feel her inner muscles tighten, I speed up my motions, and it catapults her over the edge. Her hips work as she rides out her orgasm, pressing against my tongue shamelessly.
Once her tremors subside, I raise my eyes to meet her languid gaze, holding it as I slide up her body and lift her by the waist. Instinctively, she wraps her legs around my hips and her arms around my neck, and I carry her to my bedroom. As I head down the hallway, she dusts a trail of delicate kisses from my temple downward—opposite of the side where I’m sporting a new set of stitches—and nibbles at my earlobe.
Lowering her to the bed while leaving her legs dangling over the edge, I take a moment to take in the sight of her lying back against the dark gray bed sheets.
Carefully, I remove my shirt without brushing against my bandage before shucking my jeans, boxer briefs, and socks. The way her eyes drift down my body sends a surge of arousal rushing through me, and my cock jerks slightly. Gripping the base, I slowly stroke the length, watching her eyes track my movements and her lips part in anticipation.
I step between her legs, my hands going to her hips. Her eyes widen in surprise when I tug her closer to me, moving her ass to the edge of the bed and placing her feet flat on the mattress. My gaze locked with hers, I guide my cock to her, tracing the tip over her entrance.
“Nothing’s stopping this from happening, Sunshine,” I murmur, pressing inside her barely a centimeter, my voice hoarse from restraining myself. The heat radiating from her, the scent of her arousal, is nearly more than I can withstand.
“Don’t go slow,” she protests breathlessly, gently rocking her hips, urging me on.
I have to grit my teeth; the urge to thrust wildly into her fully is so tempting. But I can’t do that—won’t do it. I need to show her I have finesse. That I will—