There was no tease to his thrusts, no flirtation with his intent, but she was right there with him, pushing harder, gulping for the same air he gasped at to fill his lungs. Her hips ground upward, seeking that delicious friction the scrape of her clit against his hair created, as she dug her heels into the edge of the bed to reach higher.
Their scents lingered in her nose, the slide of their sweat-slick bodies and the suction it created in her ears. Em’s muscles contracted around him, tightening, drawing him deeper inside her until it all became an overload of everything.
Everything incredible. Everything delicious. Everything she’d always read, heard, daydreamed about, but never dared to imagine could ever happen to her.
Jax was so much—so much pleasure—so much perfect—that when she came, her orgasm was one part wild release, and a million other parts stingingly, achingly sweet. Em slammed her eyes shut, stupidly hoping it would chase away this startling sense of connection—this sense of being right where she belonged.
Jax stiffened above her, his back muscles tightening under her palms as he settled deeper into her, taking his last long draw before he cupped her jaw and ran his thumb over her bottom lip and reared up.
And then he came, too. As strong and as powerful as the rest of him. A release of tension-filled energy before he sagged against her, breathing harsh rasps of breath.
As if it were possible, in that second, while he was above her, rigid and firm, when his chest was ripped with tight muscle, and his jaw was clenched, he was even more amazing.
Did anyone look that good when they came? But watching him from hooded eyes hadn’t just turned her on, it made her heart curl, twist, beat harder as if it were begging for attention.
No.
These wispy-warm tendrils of satisfaction would not dig themselves any deeper than into a layer of her flesh. Her heart was sacred—off-limits—temporarily out to lunch.
Reason would return, and she’d look back on tonight and realize what she was feeling right now was just the afterglow of love well made. It left you vulnerable, and open to a world of hurt. It was why so many mistook love for incredible sex.
Love took time, and sometimes, even when it had time invested, it wasn’t real love after all. That wouldn’t fool her again.
She definitely wouldn’t be fooled by this “connection” business.
They’d been connected all right. By limbs, and sweat, and mouths and tongues.
And it had been unbelievable.
The sex. Just the sex.
No overthinking it, Emmaline Amos.
Twelve
“Ms. Amos?”
Em looked up from the mound of paperwork that had been waiting for her on her desk when she stumbled into Call Girls, bleary-eyed and yawning. She and Jax had well overextended themselves last night.
After all that business makin’, they’d stayed up far too late going through her idea book, choosing colors for the multiple rooms in his aunt’s old farmhouse, looking on Jax’s laptop at appliances, fixtures, lamps, throw rugs, outlet covers, bedding—you name it, they’d tapped it.
Every second they’d spent drinking wine and eating Jax’s stash of Twizzlers, hunkered under that itchy army blanket had been pure heaven for her. A heaven she was bound to fall from if she kept thinking that way.
Em folded her hands in front of her and examined her nail polish. To look at Dixie could be likened to confession, if she was Catholic and she went to confession.
Dixie knew her better than anyone. She had a way of making her confess things she didn’t want to confess. “Yes, Ms. Davis?”
Dixie sat down in front of her desk and gave her an endearing smile. Em knew that smile. Dixie had smiled it back in high school—just before she’d talked her into prank calling the local pizzeria and ordering twenty anchovy pizzas delivered to Louella Palmer’s house because Louella had made her angry at cheerleading practice. “I’m going to be bold.”
Em’s eyebrow rose in the way it always did when Dixie declared she was going to do something she did on a regular basis. It was the new Dixie’s way of warning you she was going to stick her nose where it didn’t belong. “Because you and demure are so tight?”
“You’ve had sex.”
Oh, boy. Did I ever. I’ve had the best sex I’ve ever had, and I can’t stop thinking about it. But Em cocked her head and gave Dixie the “you’re crazy” look. “I have not.” She had to be very careful here. If she went too far in her “I didn’t have sex” defense, she’d ramble and look guilty because she was the worst sort of liar. If she remained silent, she’d look just as guilty.
This was a delicate matter she was going to have to handle with kid gloves—find the in-between and ride that fence.
“You have, too.”
“No, I haven’t.”
Dixie bounced her hand on the desk, slapping it. “You have so, Emmaline! I know it. And if you don’t want to tell me about it, that’s just fine, but I know I speak the truth.”
“You wouldn’t know the truth if it hit you with a Louboutin.”
“I call foul. You did so have sex.”