“Ididn’t mean to fall asleep,” he mumbled apologetically, voicegroggy. Grabbing the neck of his t-shirt, he lifted enough from the bed to pullit over his head and threw it onto the floor. Then, as he set to work his shoesoff and undid the button on his jeans, he said, “You were wrong, by the way.”
“About what?”
He shoved his pantsoff, kicked them away, and got under the covers. “We met because my chatterboxof a daughter—dressed in a princess costume, complete with tiara andwand—walked up to you in a bar, of all places, to tell you that you’re pretty.That’s funny, charming, anddefinitelyquirky.So…” He leaned over, kissed my lips, and laid down against the pillows. “I’d saywe have a pretty awesomemeet-cute.Go ahead and write aboutthat.”
My mouth curled into asmile of its own accord. “Maybe I will.”
***
I woke to his chin, prickling against myneck, and his lips—kissing, opening, and kissing again. They worked their waydown from behind my ear to my collar, where he stopped and whispered my name ina way that felt both coy and romantic. A combination of lust and love, drivenby the hardness pressing against my butt and the thump-thump-thump of his heartbeating into my back.
I hummed sleepily,nuzzling my cheek into his forearm beneath my head. “Jon, let me sleep for justa few more minutes?”
“I’d love to,” hereplied, “but there’s something we didn’t get around to last night, and I’dreally like to fit it into today’s itinerary before we have to go.” His handslid over my arm to navigate the curve of my waist, and reaching my hip, hegripped firmly and gave a squeeze. Ensuring I was very aware of what he meantwith an insistent press of his groin against me.
My smile stretched overmy lips, although my eyes werestill remainingclosedto the morning sun streaming through the curtains. “Hmm … seems you have alittle problem I might be able to help you with.”
Flopping his headforward, Jon groaned. “Tess, you can’t use words like ‘little’ when talkingabout a man’s penis.”
“What? That’s not whatI—”
“I know it’s not what youmeant, but that’s all I can thinknow.”
Rolling to face him, Iframed his face with my hands and kissed his lips sweetly before saying, “Yourpoor ego. How can I make it better?”
He wrapped his armsaround me and pushed out a forlorn sigh. “I don’t think you can. I’m toodamaged now.”
“Oh, my God,” Igroaned, rolling my eyes, as he tightened his arms around me and laughed,shushing my voice with a hard press of his lips against mine.
The movement of hismouth from my lips to my jaw to my neck was delicate andfeather-light.A savoring of the silence and solitude, with no immediate needs to be met orkids to care for. His palms moved to the hem of my shirt, curling his fingersunder and pushing the fabric up to press his fingertips to the small of myback, dipping his pinkies under the waistband of my underwear to graze thecurve of my backside.
“Too many clothes,” hemuttered before pressing an open-mouthed kiss to the base of my throat. The tipof his tongue traced a careful, patient line up and around, to my chin, wherehe placed one small kiss, and I shuddered.
Cumbersome garmentswere pulled over my head, pushed from my legs and thrown to the floor to beforgotten. With a hungry look in his eyes, I thought the need for sex would bemet immediately. I thought he’d spread my legs, appreciation reflected fromevery glimmer in his eyes, and sink into me to drown for a few minutes beforeneeding to leave. I would’ve obligedgratefully, andbeen a willing participant in whatever he could manage with his limited time.
But my assumption of amorning quickie was squashed when his body wrapped around mine, accompanied bya passionate kiss. Fingers twisted into my unruly case of bedhead, a palmmolded to the nape of my neck, gripped tight and held on as tongues slid andtasted, moving together in a lazy dance. His lips left mine too soon and Iwhined with the loss, then moaned as his head dipped and put his mouth to mybreast.
I thought I shouldremind him of the time, as he patiently massaged and sucked and moved lowerover my belly and to my thighs. I’d initially thought it would be theresponsible thing, to send him to work satisfied without a care for my ownneeds. But we were truly alone for the first time since our relationship hadmoved forward, and who knows when this opportunity would arise again? It hadbeen two weeks since we made this thing official, two weeks since Grandmapassed away—oh God, how has it been twoweeks?
My throat tightenedwith the reminder that time flies whether we want it to or not, as Jon pushedme to my back and scattered me with kisses. He held me open and manipulated histongue in ways that I would’ve found surprising a few months ago. I decidedthen that work could wait. That his bandmates would understand. That this,right now, was more important than anything in the world, because this, loveand enjoyment, was more imperative to happiness than any amount of work evercould be.
He created a roadmapwith his tongue, moving back up over my stomach to one breast and then theother. I arched my back and held my breath, with a desperation tighteningbetween my legs, anxiously awaiting the moment I now wanted to rush. I draggedmy nails along the softly defined muscles in his back, then the hard curve ofhis shoulders, and his chuckle reverberated through my chest, past my heart,and right to my spine. I shivered and gasped, and he laughed again.
“You’re so impatient,”he observed, lifting his head from my chest. He stared at me, with hooded eyesand curved lips, and his hands cupped my cheeks. “Don’t rush it. This is myfavorite part.”
“What? Torturing me?”
“Nah,” he shook hishead, aligning his hips to mine. My breath was caught in my lungs, unable tomove past the restriction in my throat, as he stared into my eyes and collectedthe poetic words I knew had to be coming. “This moment, right before, when youstare at me like all you want in the entire world is this, with me. This iswhen I feel like the luckiest man alive.”
“Wow,” I laughed, soaware of the heat searing between us and feeling like that fire was misdirectedand needed more elsewhere. “Most guys would say they’re the luckiest whenthey’re actuallyhavingsex, butokay. Whatever you say.”
“Yeah, maybe, except …”His thumbs brushed my eyelashes and settled on my cheekbones. “That’s when youclose your eyes, which is fine, but you could be thinking about anybody. I haveno idea who you’re picturing then, and maybe I don’t even have a right to know.But right now, when your eyes are open and begging, I know it’s only me you’reseeing. And for that, I feel really, really lucky.”
It didn’t seem natural,that any man could really speak like this while gazing into my eyes. This wasthe kind of talk that came out of the mouths of unrealistic heroes in romancenovels. But he was saying it, and Jesus, my heart literally ached with everyword. Scouring and searing. Clawing at its enclosure of bone and skin,desperate to unleash itself and drop into his hands, bloody and beating.
“I never picture anyoneelse,” I told him honestly, brushing a lock of hair from his forehead, and forone shameful, dreadful moment, I wondered whohepictured.
But then he smiled andwhispered, “Neither do I,” and from the sincerity in his eyes to the depth ofhis voice, I knew that was the truth. Andthatmade me feel like the luckiestwomanalive.
