Stop thinking, I told myself. Just enjoy this for what it is and stop trying to read anything into it. I couldn’t control what the future held, and I wouldn’t try. If Jackson loved me, if he loved Sam, he would show us. We wouldn’t have to guess.
For now, all I had to focus on was Jackson’s finger, toying with the lace of my panty. His hand was inside my dress, pulling at the elastic of my thong. He was touching my sensitive skin, sending shivers of anticipation through me.
“Jackson,” I said.
“Faith,” he said.
“What are we doing?”
“Whatever we want,” he said and leaned in close and pressed his lips against mine.
It was incredible. More intense than the one outside the bar. Have you ever waited twelve years for a kiss? His tongue was all over mine, dancing with it, entangling itself in the most delicious way imaginable.
“Divine,” he said when our lips broke contact.
“Mm-hmm,” I moaned. I wanted more. I wanted more of that kiss and I didn’t care what I had to give to get it.
He leaned in and kissed me again, this time on my neck, allowing his tongue to slide down toward my breasts. It made my blood shiver. I leaned back in the truck and opened my legs a little. What was I doing? Trying to signal to him to come in and take me? God, was he going to think I was desperate?
He lay me down flat and leaned over me.
“Good lord, you’re a beautiful woman,” he said. “Has anyone ever told you that?”
“Not lately.”
He smiled.
“In fact,” I said, “the last man to tell me that, was you.”
“Well, I was right,” he said.
He pulled his shirt over his head and threw it away. Those muscles. Those tattoos. That perfectly chiseled chest. It wasn’t exactly the same as I remembered—it was hotter. And I wouldn’t have even believed that was possible. He had more scars, more wounds, more tattoos, and I knew every one of those marks on his body had a story behind it. Each held a meaning.
The memories of his body came flooding back to me. They were the treasures I’d stored away twelve years ago. I’d kept them in a safe place where only I knew about them. They were mine. And now they’d come to life again.
He was like something from a movie poster, built like a model. His muscles were perfect. He had ripples and bumps and grooves everywhere they were supposed to be. He had a perfect six pack, large, hard pectorals, arms like tree trunks. He was like a marble statue.
I smiled at him while he reached under my dress and clenched my thighs. Holy hell. His hands slid under me and grabbed my bare buttocks. It sent a shiver of passion through me like an electric pulse. I wanted him to take me, to possess me in the deepest way imaginable, to own me, to destroy me. I was his.
I’d always been his.
When he lifted my dress and peered underneath, I gasped. I was thrilled and terrified at the same time. I wanted him, but I was scared he wouldn’t want me back. What if he didn’t like what he saw?
“What have we got under here?” he said, teasingly.
I giggled like a girl. I’m not exaggerating. On an ordinary day, I could count myself as a normal, mature, adult woman. But with Jackson I felt like a teenager all over again. I felt like I was about to lose my virginity all over again. I wanted to shut my legs as tight as I could, stop him from exploring me, but I couldn’t. Something deeper within me allowed him to do what he wanted.
I held my breath and waited.
He put his head under my dress. A moment later I felt his hot breath against the skin of my inner thighs.
“What are you going to do to me, Jackson Jones?” I whispered.
I didn’t even know if he heard me. He pulled my underwear down to my ankles and then off completely. My shoes fell off in the process. Then he leaned down and let his tongue touch the soft skin of my clitoris.
Can I tell you one thing? There is nothing in life as thrilling as a guy like Jackson climbing up under your dress in the dark. He gently sucked my clitoris while I just lay there and looked up at the stars.
It was crazy. I couldn’t believe what was happening. Jackson sucked my clitoris like it was a popsicle. He put his mouth over it and sucked till I thought I would faint. I could feel his drool all over me. His saliva combined with my own juices. I was so wet anything could have slid up inside me. Especially his cock.
“I want you,” I moaned.
He didn’t stop sucking. His tongue went from my clitoris, down over the mouth of my vagina, and probed inside me. From there it went down even farther and before I knew it, he was holding me up, his strong hands on my buttocks. I gasped when he licked my anus.
“Please,” I begged. “Fuck me. I want you now.”
He lowered me down. I felt his finger touch my *. I thrust forward, forcing my clit back against his mouth, and when his finger slid into my gaping *, I cried out in pleasure. I was desperate for him. I moaned. I didn’t want his finger, good as it felt, I wanted his cock.
He kept sucking my clit while his finger probed the depths of my vagina. Then I felt another finger, and this time it was touching my anus.