Page 62 of Jessica's Hero
“Yes,” I growl as I carry Jess towards the bedroom. “And whatever I ask you to do, I’ll make sure you love it.”
“I know you will.” As she looks at me, her expression shifts from desire to something… deeper. Something beyond affection. Something that might verge on the same feelings I have about her.
Feelings I’m not quite ready to say, but keep circling around in my head.
I know it’s soon, but I’m falling in love with you.
CHAPTER 13
JESS
I’ve never been one for surprises.
I’m not sure why. Maybe it stems from the first unpleasant—strike that, awful—surprise I can remember, back when I was eight-years-old and I came home from school to find out my dad had left. Not left, as in he went to the store or his work needed him to make an impromptu business trip. Butreallyleft. And he never came back.
Then there were the little nasty surprises, like when I was all set to go on the class trip to DC in seventh grade but found out last minute that my mom couldn’t afford it. Or when I walked in on my first boyfriend—Tyler Denton, in tenth grade—talking with his friends about how soon he thought he could convince me to have sex with him.
Then there were the really awful surprises. Like the ride home with Liam that I foolishly thought could turninto something special, but came close to taking my life. Finding out that my mom was dying after she’d been keeping her diagnosis from me for months. And most recently, the package left in my office, another harsh reminder of the animosity in this town I can’t seem to escape.
So when Kane announced over breakfast that he had a surprise arranged for me, I wasn’t exactly excited about it. I tried to put on a good face, plastering on my bestoh, I can’t waitexpression, but inside, my stomach started churning.
“I know we talked about staying home and doing something low-key for your birthday,” he explained, “but since it’s the first one I get to celebrate with you, I wanted to do something special. I hope that’s okay.”
What was I supposed to say? No? And crush the hopeful look in his eyes by admitting that a quiet day at home sounded like the perfect way to celebrate my thirty-sixth birthday?
“It’ll be good,” he added earnestly. “You know I wouldn’t do anything that would make you uncomfortable. No naked sprints through town park. Or an extreme winter hike up Slide Mountain.”
It’s not that I don’t trust Kane. Of anyone I know, I think I trust him the most.
No. I don’t think. I know. Even though we haven’t been together long, I just have this gut feeling he’d never do anything to hurt me. That he wouldn’t lie to me, even if the truth hurt.
So here I am. Sitting in the passenger seat of Kane’s car with a blindfold on, my heart jackrabbiting in nervous anticipation.
Though I can’t see anything, I focus on other things to ground me, just like the counselor in my PTSD group suggested. The warmth of Kane’s hand wrapped around mine. The faint scent of his body wash I catch with every breath. The gentle rumble of the road and the soothing swish of the windshield wipers chasing away the flurries that started just as we left.
“You’re not feeling sick, are you?” Kane asks, breaking the silence in the car. “I didn’t think. But if the blindfold is making you feel ill… the surprise isn’t that important.”
“No, I’m okay.” And I am. At least, I don’t feel like I’m in danger of vomiting all over the car. “The blindfold doesn’t bother me.” Not knowing where we’re going, on the other hand… But I won’t say that.
Kane flips my hand over and traces little circles on my palm with his thumb. “That reminds me. If you don’t mind the blindfold… What would you think about trying it out back at home?”
The butterflies in my belly burst into flight, taking with them my nervous anxiety. In their place, desire builds at my center, hot and heavy and insistent. “You want to use the blindfold in bed?” I ask idiotically, because, duh. What else could he be talking about? Vacuuming blindfolded? Washing the dishes?
The car slows, then leans slightly to the left. As it accelerates again, Kane replies in that low, rough tone he gets when he’s talking about sex, “Only if you want to, sweetheart. I just thought since you liked the scarves so much, this might be fun, too.”
A mental image fills my mind—me, wrists carefully tied to the posts of Kane’s bed, the same silky fabric across my eyes, my breath catching with each unseen kissand caress. My heart fluttering not from nerves but wondering where Kane will touch me next, all my senses focused on his hands, his mouth, his smell…
With a hint of amusement in his tone, he says, “So you like the idea, then?”
“Yes.” I squeeze my legs against the heat building between them. “I like it. A lot.”
“Good.” He releases my hand to stroke my cheek. “When we get home, then.” And then, even more gruffly, “I can’t wait. Imagining you stretched out on my bed, giving yourself to me…”
Oh.
Now I can see him in my mind, gloriously naked as he braces himself over me, his biceps flexing and his gaze dark with desire…
The heat at my core expands, blossoming through my body. My breath quickens.
