Page 75 of Where You're Planted

“Same,” he said. “I’ve also…”

“What?”

He dragged his palm down his face and looked down at her chest instead of her face. “I had a vasectomy a few years ago.”

“Oh,” she said in surprise. “Okay. Aren’t you—” She stopped herself from bringing up his fertility issuesright now, especially after how he’d reacted earlier with the baby shoes.

“Just needed it entirely off the table.”

“That’s fine,” she said quickly. “I think I’d still feel better if we use the condom, though.” She hadn’t considered a circumstance when protection wasn’t needed. It felt reckless to make the decision in the moment, even if there was essentially no real risk. “Is that okay?”

“Of course.” He nodded for her to open it.

“Take off your clothes, Jack.”

He sat back on his heels to unsnap his shirt. Tansy yanked the last few snaps apart herself and then went for his belt buckle. They both shoved at his jeans, which were wet enough to stick to his thighs. He had to stand beside the bed to get out of them.

She’d seen his chest already, but she took a moment to really marvel at him in the soft glow of the lamp. His skin was tanned, with dark hair across his pecs and another soft trail bracketed by the distinct V of his pelvis and disappearing into his boxer briefs. He was sosolid. Solid and broad and thick, his muscles shaped by the work he loved.

He was about to unceremoniously remove his black boxer briefs, but Tansy scrambled to her feet and hooked her thumbs into his waistband. As she pushed them down, he pulled her flush against him so his coarse chest hair lightly scraped her nipples.

“Been wanting you right here,” he said, voice rough. “Just like this.”

22

Jack

He took the condom from her and rolled it on while she stepped back to watch, her cheeks and neck flushed pink and her eyes as dark as the nighttime woods surrounding them. He stroked himself once under that hot gaze of hers—he couldn’t help himself—and then he squeezed the base to stem the pleasure, drawing in a deep breath.

Tansy lay back on the bed, and he covered her, his elbows propped on either side of her head but letting the full weight of his hips press into hers.

“Your ankle okay?” he asked before dropping kisses on her forehead, her jaw, and the corner of her mouth, deliberately forcing himself to go slow.

“It’s fine,” she breathed.

“You don’t have your wrap on.”

“If you’re worrying about hurting me, then you won’t—” She huffed a breath against his cheek.

He pulled back to look at her. “I won’t what?”

Her teeth pressed into her lower lip, forming a word.Fuck me, he thought—that was what she wanted to say. But she abandoned it with a shake of her head.

Her fingertips feathered lightly up his back. He twisted at the too-light pressure, his hips pinning her down harder, which he realized, from her contented sigh, was her intention. She rewarded him with firmer pressure, smoothing her palms back down to his ass and then squeezing as her shoulders and head lifted to kiss him. This kiss wasn’t a slow, languid warm-up. This was a full-court press, and fuck if he was going to fight it.

Jack lifted his hips for her hand to slip between them and bring him to her entrance. In one thrust, he pushed deep, all the way in, the warm, soft clutch of her so fucking perfect his vision blacked out at the edges. He braced his hands by her shoulders a moment, controlling himself, and then he began to move. Droplets of water had pooled from her hair into the dips of her clavicles and the base of her throat, and he lowered his mouth to suck it out of each hollow, tasting her greedily as she opened like a goddamn feast to him.

The thought hit him like a lightning strike: He was already running out of time.

He’d waited since the festival to be alone with her, had waited weeks before that to act on the rising tide of his attraction. One week wasn’t nearly enough time for all the ways he wanted her. The more he touched her, the more disquietingly and desperately he needed her. More time with her, more of her vicious kisses. He needed her every frenzied and gasping release, each one rushing into the next, spilling through one another indefinitely.

He shoved his hand between them to thumb her clit, his palm pressing her thigh open.

“I’m not ready,” she panted, pushing at his hand. Her body told a different story, her muscles clenching around him, her back arching off the bed.

“You sure? I think you are.” He sounded as raw as he felt, desperate for her to get there so he could start working her up all over again.

“It was too fast earlier. I was—”

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