Page 32 of Cupid's Beau

“Faster.”

“God, baby,” he groans, pounding into me.

“Yes. Yes!” I explode around him. My whole body convulses with pleasure.

“Fuck, baby,” he growls, coming hard.

He collapses next to me, both of us sweaty and breathing heavily.

“Holy shit,” he pants.

“That was amazing.”

“It was.” He turns to look at me. “You’re amazing.”

He pulls me closer, kissing my forehead.

* * *

Later - much later - I watch him pack, enjoying the view as he moves around the bedroom. Even in worn jeans and a simple black t-shirt, he looks unfairly gorgeous. The past few days have left him more relaxed, the guarded celebrity replaced by this playful, warm man who can’t seem to stop touching me.

“You’re staring,” Jack says without turning.

I grin like a fool, feeling my face heat.

He glances over his shoulder, eyes dark. “Keep looking at me like that and we’ll miss another flight.”

“Promise?”

In two strides, he’s got me pressed against the wall, his mouth hot on mine. “You,” he rumbles between kisses, “are trouble.”

“The good kind, I hope,” I counter, sliding my hands under his shirt, reveling in the feel of his soft, warm skin.

“The best kind.” He catches my wrists. “But Sandra will actually murder me if we miss this press thing.”

Right. Reality check. We have a carefully scripted statement to deliver about our “new relationship.” The thought must show on my face because Jack’s expression softens.

“Hey.” He tilts my chin up. “Nothing changes. Not the important stuff.”

“I know. It’s just…” I gesture vaguely. “Out there, you’re Jack Ellis. In here, you’re just…”

“Just what?”

“The guy who kisses me like…”

“Like what?” His voice has gone low.

Something flashes in his eyes - heat and tenderness and something deeper that makes my heart race.

He kisses me again, soft and firm. “Now come on. The sooner we deal with this shit, the sooner I can get you alone again.”

I step back before he can kiss me senseless again. “Fine. But I’m wearing this.” I hold up his black hoodie, the one I’ve been sleeping in.

His eyes darken at the sight. “That’s mine.”

“Not anymore.”

“Neneh.” The way he says my name should be illegal. “You can’t wear my clothes to a press conference.” His gaze is feral. Possessive.

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