“Am I embarrassing you?” It occurs to me a bit too late that maybe I’m making him uncomfortable. He shouldn’t be uncomfortable. He should have sex with me.
“Nope, but when I tell you about this tomorrow, I’m pretty sure you’re going to want to die of shame. It’s going to be epic.”
“I bet your firehose is epic,” I say and bat my eyes because batting your eyes is sexy as shit. I think. He takes me into my room and lays me down on the bed. He wraps his big body around mine and spoons me.
“I’m not ready for back door sex,” I admit on a whisper with a giggle trailing my comment.
“Go to sleep, babe.”
I wake up before Jameson and try to remember how we got here. We’re both fully clothed and in my bed. My head pounds a little, but it’s nothing too bad. I’ve had worse. I trace my steps from the night before and come to the conclusion that we can’t have alcohol at our wedding. I guess I’ve never been as drunk and nervous as I was last night, because while stupid silly things happen, that never has. I’m a babbler and a pretty funny lady, I’ll admit. But the crazy comments about firehoses and sharing his toys is just plain over the top.
I slide out of bed and head for the bathroom where I brush my teeth and wash my face. I go through my basic morning ritual, and when I walk back into the bedroom, Jameson is still sound asleep, so I sneak off to the kitchen for a bottle of water. Hennessey is passed out on the couch and doesn’t move a muscle as I tiptoe past him.
Back in the bedroom, I find Jameson coming out of my en suite bath. I take a quick sip of water to quench my thirst and drink him in. God, he’s handsome in the morning. This is what I have to look forward to, and it’s amazing. His straight, light brown hair shoots in all different directions like little sticks on his head. His blue-gray eyes shine, totally free of sleep and full of a hunger I’ve only dreamed about.
Something clicks in my brain, and I practically break out into a sprint when I realize what his hooded eyes mean—morning sex.
I cross the room and throw myself at him excitedly. He stumbles backward, into the wall, and wraps his arms around my torso. His hands claw at my shirt as he lifts it up over my head and I retract my arms. He says, “Tell me you’re not going to get sick and you’re sober enough for this.”
I’m never going to be sober enough for it, but if I don’t just go with it, I’m going to freak out and backpedal because I’m terrified of a million things that probably don’t matter. I’m terrified of not being enough for him. Not sexy enough. Not good enough. Not exciting enough.
Since I can’t really verbalize what’s going on inside my head, I opt for unbuttoning the top of my jeans. His gaze travels south and watches as I undress myself for him. Very slowly, he does the same. He starts with his shirt and tosses it aside. I slide my jeans down as my legs shake, but only a little, and he removes his socks. I take a deep breath, scared as all get out that I won’t measure up to the women he’s used to, but do it anyway and remove my bra. He stops what he’s doing and focuses in on my movements as I then inch my panties down over my hips and down my thighs until they fall to the floor.
“I love you,” I say.
He nods his head and drops his boxers, then closes the distance between us. When he presses his naked body up against mine, I gasp. It’s like being electrocuted without actually having unnatural currents of electricity running through my body. Every part of me is charged with this very clear, decisive choice to give myself to this incredible man.
Jameson claims my lips with a kiss that begins slow and soft, but when I’m moaning into his mouth, with my pulse beating between my legs and feeling so damn needy, I swipe my tongue against his swollen lips. He deepens the kiss, and soon we’re both panting. He groans into my mouth and uses one hand on my lower back to press me harder into him as he lines us up and bends at the knees just enough to slide his hardness against the very front of my center. My head falls back as he slowly, carefully, rubs himself against me. He’s not where I want him, need him, but he’s so close. His lips claim my neck, trailing gentle kisses from the base up to my jaw and back down again. He makes a point of kissing the wishbone around my neck and tilting my head so when I open my eyes, he’s all I see.
“I want you to move in with me, and to say yes when I ask you to marry me, and to take my last name, and to have my babies. I want every tiny fucking little moment of the rest of our lives with you, only you, and I get it if it’s too soon for you. We just got together, but in my heart, I’ve been yours since the day I met you.”