Page 168 of New York Love Stories: Vol. 2

He’s quick to return a message this time:Do you always tell jerks you want to have sex with them?

I type:Apparently.

Jackson:What’s the plan for getting you sexed? You need a wingman at a bar, or maybe a hookup to the club tonight. My password to watch porn? What do you need? Like the insurance, I’m there.

I slide lower on the cushion, kicking my feet up on the arm of the white leather sofa. Me:You’d help me pick up another man to have sex with?

Jackson:Fuck no. No other man is coming near you.

Why is it such a turn-on when he gets possessive? There’s just something so sexy when Jackson’s territorial instincts kick in. Me:But you just offered.

Jackson:Yeah, fuck that. Sexing you up is my job.

Me:You’re hired. When can you start?

A knock on my door has me bolting upright. I type:Hold on. Someone’s here.

Jackson:A little late, don’t you think?

I hurry across the apartment and lift onto the balls of my feet to peek through the peephole.

The smirk.

The deep-blue eyes.

And the little tousle of hair that’s fallen over his forehead.

Before I open the door, I playfully ask, “Who is it?” but also start unlocking the bolts in my excitement to see Jackson again.

“The Big Bad Wolf.”

I might have once said I didn’t believe in fairy tales. “My grandmother’s not home.” I swing the door wide open, and add, “But I am. Will I do?”

He eyes me from head to toe and back again, his tongue dipping out to wet his lower lip. I hold the door a little firmer as the sight of that tongue teasing me has my legs weakening under me.

“You’ll more than do, Marché.” Rushing in, he takes me by the waist and lifts me into the air. I wrap my legs around his waist and secure my arms around his neck. Our lips crash together, and then he pins me to the wall. A harsh breath is sucked in before a wry grin appears. “Why do you have to be so damn tempting?”

I lick my lips and find myself taking a deeper breath—the heat, the proximity, the man. I gulp and then shake my head. “I don’t know what to say to that, Jackson.”

He cups my cheek. “It’s okay. You don’t have to say anything. You just have to?—”

“Kiss me.”

Our mouths come together again in a flood of passion as his need presses hard against me. I tighten myself around him, wanting to feel this again, needing him, and wanting all of this, all of us again like we’ve always been.

When our lips part, Jackson dips his head to the side with my body, and whole being, still safe in his arms. He says, “You always did have the prettiest eyes.”

I get compliments on my looks all the time. So I’m not sure why my cheeks are suddenly heating under his gaze other than this compliment feels different coming from him. It’s as if he’s always felt this way but never shared before.

“Thank you,” I whisper, not having to pretend to act shy at all. I feel it for the first time, making me realize it matters what he thinks of me.

Kissing the corner of my mouth and then the middle of my lips, he has me melting between him and the wall, and then kissing him right back. Seconds pass before our mouths open, and our tongues begin to tangle again. He moves to my neck, leaving a surge of goose bumps in the wake.

His jaw is rough to the touch of my lips, but I kiss him, dragging myself across him to feel the burn of our connection. Pushing the tip of my nose against the shell of his ear, I whisper, “Why are we still out here when we could be in the bedroom?”

“I’m starting to think you only want me for my body.”

“Is that a problem?” I grin and bat my eyelashes.

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