Page 112 of The Other Guy

“Sexy or not, it’s necessary. If we’re going to be together, we need to be open with each other. I’ve never gone without a condom, but that doesn’t mean I’m willing to risk it for you.”

“Yeah, I’ve never trusted anyone enough to go without but still… it’s good for us to make sure.”

“You’ve never trusted anyone enough?” he asks.

I shake my head, my ratty bed head moving against my shoulders. I’m sure I have mascara under my eyes, too. But the way he’s looking up at me, I feel beautiful, despite the fact that we fell asleep without doing anything as far as bedtime rituals go.

“But you just about mounted up without one,” he gently reminds me.

I trail my fingers along the smattering of hair that runs down the center of his waist, dipping into the waistband of his boxers if he were wearing them. Thankfully, he isn’t. “I guess I trust you.”

“If I wasn’t already hard, that would have made me get there fast.”

I laugh and reach over, nabbing a condom and making quick work of putting it on him. I raise up and position him where I need him, lowering slowly onto him.

“Holy hell,” I moan, throwing my head back. The ends of my hair brushes against my butt cheeks and his thighs. His hand slides up my back and fists it, tugging slightly. It makes me cry out in both pleasure and pain and I want him to do it again but can’t get the words to form on my lips.

“Yeah.”

I dip forward, placing my hands on his chest and getting to work. Swiveling my hips as I slam up and down on him. He grips my hips and keeps me working, staring at our connection between us. Jack pushes the back of his head into the pillow and looks like he’s straining to maintain his composure. He needs to let loose but isn’t ready yet.

“Fucking mornings. I’ve been hard and ready for you for what feels like hours,” he growls. “You feel so good. Too good, sweetheart. Perfect. Fits me perfect.”

“Oh, shit,” I moan and try to hold back myself. But I just spent the last several hours wrapped up in Jack and both of us were completely naked. I woke up hot for him, too. He slipped in easily, my body more than ready.

I raise up on my haunches and place my hands on his thighs, bringing us to a different angle. “Oh, fuck,” he grunts. “Yes. Don’t stop.”

“I can’t…” I pant and curse myself for not being in better shape but it’s a lot of work first thing in the morning. My thighs are burning and sweat is beading on my forehead. My arms feel like jelly. He seems to understand what I need and slides his hands under my butt cheeks and helps me.

The noises that we’re making are blending together as one. Loud and animalistic. Soft and whimpering. Our bodies strain to be closer, even though we’re as close as two people can be. My fingers grip his thighs, his on my butt. I hope we both have finger marks left on our skin tomorrow and next week and the week after.

I shift so my knees are once again pressed into the mattress, eager to lay my eyes on him again. The whiskers on his face, the small mole under his left eye, the slight part of his full lips.

I’m panting and staring and can hardly move because he’s reaching a spot inside me that hasn’t been discovered by anyone else. I’m trembling above him, my heart about to beat straight out of my chest.

“So good,” I whisper.

“Sierra,” he growls. “Fuck it,” he says suddenly and thrusts up, his hips moving at such a speed that I can only hang on.

It doesn’t take either of us but thirty more seconds to come. He holds me down onto him, wrapping his strong arms around my back and pinning me to his chest.

“It just gets better.”

“It does,” he agrees gruffly.

We lie here long enough to calm our breathing and for him to begin to soften.

“I think we need to clean up,” he says, tugging me with him to the bathroom to do our thing. The toilet in his room is behind a hideaway door so I’m able to do my business in private while he waits his turn.

He turns on the shower and we brush our teeth while we wait for the water to warm up then climb in.

Nothing about showering with Jack feels unnatural or cumbersome. Like everything else, it feels normal. Like it’s something we’ve been doing together for years.

Three days ago that scared me.

But somehow, in the time between my freak-out when he was bringing me to Uncle Kyle’s and last night when he showed up for our date, the butterflies that have remained in my stomach aren’t from nerves. But rather from excitement of the possibilities of what my future — our future together — brings.

After we get out of the shower, we check the weather, grateful it doesn’t appear to be snowing anymore. March snowstorms seem like such a slap to the face. When other parts of the country are celebrating spring break weather, it feels like Michigan is stuck in an endless winter.

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