Page 5 of Hot Chicken
I barely had time to shiver before he was tugging off my T-shirt, skimming his callused fingers up my sides, tangling his hands in my hair, pushing me until my lower back hit the island.
“Here?” he asked, his voice rough as he trailed wet kisses down my neck.
“Oh yeah. Totally here,” I confirmed, gasping when his teeth scraped my collarbone.
We’d had kitchen sex before. Like, alotof kitchen sex. Christening this island and the marble countertops, the braided rug in front of the sink, and, on one memorable occasion, the door of the refrigerator (which had caused a messy but worthwhile ice-cube avalanche when my elbow had wedged against the dispenser).
But there was something different about this time. An intensity that hadn’t been there in weeks… or possibly ever.
Maybe it was the heat. Maybe it was the realization that I’d missed spending quality time with Jack over the past few weeks. Maybe it was the happiness that fizzed like champagne bubbles under my skin every time I realized that Jack—the man I’d wanted since before it was legal—was now as dependable and necessary a part of my life as oxygen and didn’t hesitate to show he felt the same way about me.
Whatever it was, it made my blood sing in my veins as Jack’s hands made quick work of my jeans.
“God, you’re beautiful, Hawk Sunday,” he murmured, pulling back just slightly. His eyes roamed my body hungrily, reclaiming every single inch of me. Then he dropped to his knees on the hardwood floor.
The first touch of his mouth made me cry out, hands clutching the edge of the stone counter and head lolling back to rest against the upper cabinet. Jack had always known how to take me apart, but by now, he’d memorized every pressure point that made me tremble and the precise rhythm that drove me wild. He used that knowledge ruthlessly now… and I loved every damn minute.
“Jack.” My legs trembled—literally, no kidding, trembled, like they might give out. “Inside me. Need you in me.”
He pulled back, his lips shiny with spit and precum, his eyes wild. “You sure, baby? I was enjoying myself here.”
The gravel-roughness of his voice sent a shudder of want through me.
“Very sure.” I pulled him to his feet. “Hurry.”
Jack chuckled as his hands fumbled with his belt. “So demanding, Hawkins.”
“You love it,” I countered.
“I loveyou,” he corrected. Then, he lifted me up to sit on the counter and kissed me so hard I forgot my name.
“L-lube,” I instructed a short time later. My breathing sounded like I’d been running marathons—plural—and I barely had the energy to wave a hand, but Jack knew exactly what I meant. I hadn’t lived here a full week before Jack and I had realized the importance of keeping lube stashed all over the house.
He tore open the second drawer next to the oven and located the tube behind the measuring cups and spoons. His hand shook as he squeezed some out onto his fingers butsteadied when he prepped me—gently but not too gently, just the way I liked it—his mouth never leaving mine.
When he finally pushed inside me, we both groaned and stilled for a minute. The physical burn, the fullness of it, was overwhelming. But the sensation of having him inside me, of being connected to him this way, was even more so.
“I missed you,” I whispered, wrapping my legs around his thighs to draw him deeper. “Is that crazy?”
His expression softened. “If it is, I’m right there with you. I’m so fucking lucky.We’re so lucky.”
“You are the best thing in my world,” I told him, meaning it.
Jack smiled. “Youaremy world,” he said simply.
Then he started to move. The kitchen filled with the sounds of our breathing, with the staccato slap of skin against skin, with whispered endearments and little broken moans. The counter wasn’t exactly built for comfort, but at that moment, I couldn’t find one single fuck to give. The entire universe had narrowed down to Jack’s hands, Jack’s mouth, Jack’s thrusts sending pleasure arcing up my spine.
His rhythm faltered as he got close, and his fingers dug into my thighs in a way I knew—and was fuckingthrilledto know—would leave marks.
“Hawk,” Jack gasped, pressing his forehead to mine. “I?—”
“Yeah,” I breathed. “Fuck yes. Come for me. Comeinme.”
His whole body tensed, and his face froze in an expression of ecstasy that bordered on pain, and then he came with a shout. Seeing him,feelinghim pulsing hot inside me, sent my own release crashing over me like a tsunami.
After, we clung to each other, damp and breathless, like survivors of a peculiar kitchen shipwreck. Jack’s heart pounded so hard I could feel it in my own chest.
“Holy shit,” he finally managed, pulling back to look at me with glassy eyes. “That was…”
