Page 67 of Forever Wild
“This dress,” he grumbles as his hands roam down to my ass and squeeze.
“Had to bring me all the way up to your private lair to keep other men from looking at me,” I tease.
“Damn fucking straight.”
His words light me up. The song changes to one of my favorites and I turn around, giving him my back and moving to the beat. Those big hands of his stay on me, moving up and down my sides, from my ribs to my thighs. I’m still holding my champagne, but my other hand rests on his leg.
Jack moves with me, chest pressed to my back. He pushes my hair off my neck and drops his mouth to my shoulder. My eyes flutter closed as his teeth scrape and then his lips kiss away the pain.
He’s a good dancer, not that we’re actually doing much more than grinding. Still, he has rhythm and keeps up with me as I shake my hips and bounce around to the music.
His attention focused on me is a heady drug, combined with the champagne, and I’m floating.
I drop my head back onto his chest and his hands roam around to my stomach, keeping me in place. I love the feel of his strong arms holding me against him.
Eventually his fingers drop to the hem of my dress. It hits highup on my thighs and the dancing has inched it higher so that it’s only just covering my ass. His thumbs glide up, taking the material with it. The cool air pebbles my bare skin. He growls against my neck as he reaches the lacy material of my panties.
I’m soaked. A realization he finds out for himself seconds later when his fingers brush against my center.
“Is this what you had in mind when you picked out this dress for me?” he asks as he slips one finger under the material.
I gasp as he circles my clit in lazy strokes.
“No, but I’m not complaining.”
He sucks on my neck as he adds another finger under my panties. It’s euphoric with the loud music and couples dancing below us, watching them while his fingers are buried inside me.
I’ve been so keyed up since yesterday. Two orgasms should have satiated me, but instead, it awoke a desire I’ve never felt before. Also, I just missed him. Like really missed him.
I swivel my head around and he immediately takes the hint, crushing his mouth down on mine as he continues to pump his fingers in and out of me. I cry out into his mouth as I come so hard my legs feel weak.
If he weren’t already so damn arrogant, I might tell him I have never come so hard in my life as I do for him.
His fingers continue lavishing me with attention as the orgasm subsides, then he squats down in front of me, placing a kiss on my inner thigh as he slides my panties down. I step out of them and he pockets them before pulling my dress down like nothing happened.
When I’m breathy and starting to sweat, I turn back around to face him.
“I should have brought a second pair of panties.”
He grins. “They just get in the way.”
My breaths are still ragged when I ask, “How’s your knee?”
“You don’t need to worry about me. I’m good.”
“I like worrying about you.” My gaze moves to one of the cushy chairs. I set my champagne down on a table and pull him with me to the chair. The room has graduated floors so that even in the back, you can see the dance floor.
He smirks as I playfully shove him down into the chair.
“Take a load off, big guy.”
He sits like a man in a throne, legs spread apart and arms draped over the sides. I step between his spread legs. He doesn’t move, but his eyes darken and his jaw flexes as my arms lift. I brush my hair off my neck and then raise them in the air. The movement inches my dress higher. I’m lost to the beat and to the weight of his stare. It’s electric. The way he watches me makes me feel cherished, possessed. Men never make me feel that way. I never wanted that.
But I crave Jack in a dozen different ways. His words, his smile, his touch, just to name a few. I even missed watching him work out today – and no, not just because he looks damn fine while doing it, but because I’ve been seeing him progress a little at a time. His knee is stronger every day. It’s incredible.He’sincredible.
It’s hard to wrap my brain around this thing between us. A month ago, I would have laughed if someone said that Jack Wyld was going to change the very fabric of what I want from men.
Placing one knee on the chair between his thighs, I lean in and kiss him. He still doesn’t place his hands on me, but his mouth shows me how much he wants me.
