Page 43 of Tee’d Up For Trouble

I slid further up, my head close to his pillow. He straddled me and started to unbutton my shirt. “You know what’s the best part of sex?”

“An orgasm?” I suggested sarcastically.

“Well, that’s a requisite, darlin’. But no, the best part is consent. I don’t want you to ever regret this. I don’t want you to ever think that you were weak and you gave yourself to me.”

Feck the man! If I weren’t already in love with him, I’d be now, wouldn’t I? Why did he have to be so good? Why couldn’t he be the way I thought Yanks were…arseholes?

“Jax.” I put a hand on him before he proceeded to peel my shirt off. “I want this. I wantyou. I’m not scratching an itch. I wantyou.”

He smiled and brushed his lips against mine. “I want you too, Dee. Very much.”

My heart began to race as I let go of all the suppressed attraction and denial I’d been holding onto for weeks.

“Now, Dee,” Jax looked at me seriously. “I want you to know something before we get started.”

I waited.

“I’m going to ruin you for other men.”

I rolled my eyes.

“I’m serious. Women get addicted. I just want you to know that could happen to you. I’m okay with that.” He pulled my shirt away and sucked in his breath as he saw me in my lacy bra and jeans. He cupped my breasts. “I don’t mind it at all. In fact, I want you to.”

“What if you’re the one to get, you know…addicted?” I demanded, though my thoughts were scattering because he was scraping his thumbs over my nipples.

“Baby, I already am, and I haven’t even been inside you.”

He kissed the top of my breasts and nuzzled against the fabric that covered my nipple. “I’m going to take this off now.”

Aye, please.

He slid a hand to my back as he cupped a breast, and used it to unsnap my bra. Now, those were some fine undressing skills.

He removed the fabric slowly as if he were watching a striptease. He threw the black lace on the floor and stared at my breasts.

What did he see, I wondered. I had nice breasts. I mean, nothing to write home about. A decent 34C. I had a regular body. A slight pouch—but then I’d never had a flat stomach. My bum, I’d been told, was pretty sexy. But there was sexy for Ballybeg, and then there was sexy for professional athletes.

“Wow.” He touched the tips of my breasts reverently. “Beautiful. You’re beautiful.”

His hands slid down to my waist, right above my jeans, and then went back up, cupping both breasts, his thumbs playing with my nipples.

I began to pant. He was goingslow. I was used to fast, passionate, let’s get this done kind of a tumble. This was seduction.

“I’m going to taste now.”

I wasn’t sure if he was still asking for consent, just telling me what he was planning to do, or talking to himself.

He took a nipple in his mouth and began to suckle. As he did, he raised his eyes to meet mine. He watched me as I watched him shape my flesh and as his fingers manipulated my nipple.

“Jax.” My fingers tangled with his hair. Silky, beautiful hair that I’d often thought about touching, running my hands through.

He kissed a nipple and then blew on it. “Yeah, baby.”

I pushed my hips up, wanting the friction, wanting to feel him hard between my legs.

“You want more?” he asked.

His eyes were hooded. His jaw was tight. His cheeks rouged. He was aroused.

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