Page 115 of Play Along With Me
Mr. Darcy chooses this moment to vocalize his feline disapproval, meowing indignantly from somewhere around our ankles.Crap.
"Bedroom," I suggest, pulling back reluctantly. "Away from judgmental cat eyes."
Jake doesn't need to be told twice. He scoops me up with embarrassing ease—the strength that stops speeding pucks now deployed to carry me down the hallway, my legs wrapped around his waist and my lips never leaving his.
Inside the bedroom, he sets me down gently, but I immediately push him back toward the bed.
"Nope," I say when he tries to take control. "Tonight is about you. Let me..."
A flash of understanding crosses his face, followed by a smile that sends heat spiraling through me. He sits on the edge of the bed, looking up at me with an expression that's equal parts desire and adoration.
I pause just long enough to close the door on Mr. Darcy's offended face before turning back to Jake. I pull my Saints t-shirt over my head, enjoying the way his eyes follow the movement, the way his hands reach for me automatically.
"Patience, Hockey Jesus," I tease, stepping between his knees but staying just out of reach. "We have all night."
"Five months together, and you're still calling me that?" he asks, though his amused expression belies any actual complaint.
"Five years from now, I'll still be calling you that," I promise, the casual reference to our future together slipping outwithout a second thought. There was a time when such certainty would have terrified me—sent me running for the emotional exit, throwing up barriers of humor and deflection. Now it feels as natural as breathing.
I finish undressing slowly, methodically, maintaining eye contact with Jake the entire time. There's power in this—in the deliberate revelation of myself, in his undivided attention, in the knowledge that I affect him as profoundly as he affects me.
When I'm standing before him completely bare, I reach for the belt of his dress pants. "Your turn."
He lifts his hips to help me, and soon he's as naked as I am, all evidence of his desire for me plainly visible. I take a moment to simply look at him, this beautiful man who has somehow become the center of my universe without my noticing the exact moment it happened.
I push him gently back onto the mattress, climbing over him until I'm straddling his hips, my hands pinning his wrists beside his head.
"What do you want?" I ask, leaning down to brush my lips against his ear. "Tell me how to celebrate you properly."
His eyes, darkened with desire but still so intensely focused, never leave mine. "Just you," he says. "Just this. Us."
The simplicity of his answer, the unadorned honesty of it, makes my heart contract painfully in my chest. This is Jake—straightforward, direct, no games or pretense or hidden agendas. Just pure emotional transparency that still takes my breath away after years of relationships built on guesswork and mind-reading.
I release his wrists, taking his face in my hands instead. "I love you," I tell him, the words inadequate but necessary. "I love you so much it scares me sometimes."
He pulls me down into a kiss that's both tender and possessive, his hands roaming my body with the perfect blend of reverence and urgency. He knows me now—knows the places that make me gasp, the rhythms that make me moan, the whispered words that send me spiraling.
I reach between us, guiding him to exactly where I want him, where I need him. The moment we connect, I close my eyes, overcome by the sensation of completeness that I've only ever found with him.
"Look at me," he says softly, his hands stilling my hips. "I want to see you."
I open my eyes to find him watching me with an intensity that would be unnerving if it weren't so familiar. Jake has always looked at me like this—like he's committing every detail to memory, like I'm something precious and fascinating and essential.
I begin to move, finding a rhythm that has both of us breathing harder. Jake sits up, changing the angle in a way that makes me cry out, my nails digging into his shoulders as the pleasure builds.
"I've got you," he murmurs, his arms encircling me, supporting me as I move above him.
And he does. He has me, completely and utterly, in ways I never allowed anyone to have me before. The realization hits me with unexpected force—that the independence I guarded so fiercely for so long isn't diminished by letting him in but enhanced by the partnership we've built.
My movements become more urgent as I chase the peak I can feel building. Jake's hands guide me, his lips never leaving my skin—my neck, my shoulders, the sensitive spot below my ear that he discovered that very first night together.
"Jake," I breathe, my body tightening around him. "I'm close."
"I know," he says against my throat. "Let go, baby. I'm right here with you."
His words push me over the edge, the pleasure crashing through me in waves that leave me trembling in his arms. Jake follows moments later, his face buried in my neck, my name on his lips like a prayer.
We stay connected as our breathing gradually slows, my forehead resting against his, our bodies still joined in the most intimate way possible. In this moment, suspended between ecstasy and reality, I find myself overwhelmed by how far we've come—from fake relationship to real love, from cautious boundaries to complete trust.
