“Well, then no more champagne for me,” I declare, and my words earn me another appealing smile from him that makes me want to spring up from the sofa right this second and race him off to my bed.
For the next couple of hours, we sit around, talking and joking with our friends. Jarrod beside me on the sofa, his muscled thigh inches from mine. His familiar woodsy cologne teasing and tempting me as I fill my lungs with his masculine scent. Damn, I want that man’s body so badly, and not only because it’s been a while since I last had sex. I mentally count back the months to when my ex and I broke up and then count back some more to when we’d last had sex. Yes, it’s been way too long.
Cassie becomes my favorite person when she announces she’s tired and is off to bed. Especially when it sets off a chain reaction and everyone chooses to do the same. Everyone, that is, except for Jarrod and me. He looks comfortable lounging back on the sofa, with his feet resting on the coffee table. But while his body says he’s relaxed, his hot, hungry, dark eyes tell a different story when he turns his head toward me.
“Alone at last,” he drawls. It’s a perfect bedroom voice. I fiddle with the hem of my festive red sweater. This was a lot easier when I’d had a few drinks. Last night, I just jumped in and took what I wanted, not that it did me much good.
He clears his throat, then leans his head sideways. “I have something for you in my room. Would you like to see what it is?”
Okay, that works for me. A straightforward proposition. I play along. “Really, what could that be?” The smile I give him is seductive, I hope. But probably, knowing my luck, looks more like I’ve got a muscle cramp.
He shifts to get a better look at me. “It’s not what your dirty little mind is thinking … although that’s certainly being offered.”
Now I’m confused. But not for long, as Jarrod suddenly jumps up, offering me his hand like he’s asking me to dance. I guess what he’s offering is a form of dancing. Horizontal dancing. My favorite kind.
I take his hand and let him lead me upstairs, then quietly along the hallway past the doors of our friends’ rooms. Opening his door, he ushers me in. His bedroom is a mirror image of mine. The only difference is the view through the glass doors and large side window. I wander over to peer out through the dark glass and realize this is the balcony that overlooks the hot tub.
Jarrod comes up behind me, placing his arms around my body. I drop my head back onto his chest, staring at our faint reflections in the window. His direct gaze locks on to mine as he sweeps my hair to one side, leaving my neck bare. Totally accessible to the kisses he is beginning to trail from my collarbone up to my ear. I tilt my head to the side and close my eyes, reveling in the pleasurable, teasing touch of his lips on my overly sensitive skin.
I’m lucky his arm is holding me firmly because my knees feel weak, my stomach fluttery. And my pussy is practically dripping with need. In seconds, he has turned me into a moaning mess of desire. One large hand is splayed across my stomach and hip as he pulls me flush against his body, or, more precisely, against the large bulge in his jeans.
Wow, he feels big and hard. It triggers a vague drunken memory from last night of me pushing up against his rigid cock. But the thought is replaced by the reality of tonight, as his hand edges under the band of my sweater, inching it up to my ribs, then higher, until his hand rests against my chest on the underside of my breast.
I want to beg him to continue, but before I can form the words, he whispers in my ear, “May I?” Oh man. That is so sweet … and hot as hell. I’m melting.
“Yes, yes, and yes again. I want you to keep touching me … everywhere.”
He makes a deep growly sound that reverberates through my body and tells me there’ll be no stopping, no holding back tonight. I lift my arms up, and he rolls my woolen sweater up my chest and over my head. Hoping for this exact scenario, I wore my sexiest black sheer lace bra. It’s a favorite, as it makes my tits sit up and be noticed. In the reflection, Jarrod’s devilish eyes and open-mouthed stare seem to convey his agreement.
“You are so damn sexy,” he murmurs, then, catching me by surprise, he spins me in his arms to face him. Our bodies close but not touching, his hands resting on my hips, and those dark eyes tracking across every inch of exposed skin, he drinks me in with an intensity that makes me shiver.
“From the moment I saw you, I’ve hoped that you would offer me a look at your gorgeous breasts again, and here you are presenting them to me, wrapped so prettily in black lace.” His words sink down into my heart, awakening a passion that’s lain dormant for too long. My nipples pebble and poke at the lace that barely contains them.
“It’s the season for gifting. Please feel free to unwrap them,” I say, a little breathless, my need for his touch stealing the air from my lungs. I push my chest up, begging to be touched, anywhere … everywhere. I want him to ravage me, consume me whole, but he appears to be in no rush.
He reaches behind me to undo the clasp, and the lace cups loosen on my chest but still remain in place. I want to wriggle to shift the bra aside, but I hold myself in check and let him do his thing, a slow seduction.
Goose bumps chase over my skin, not because it’s cold in here, but purely because his index finger has begun to track a path from my collarbone slowly down my chest. Over the mound of my left breast to the top of the black lace. Hooking under the delicate fabric and dragging it over the peak. A shiver runs through me as he touches my nipple for the first time. I gasp. I don’t know that I’m made for a slow seduction, as this torment is turning me into a quivering, sweaty hot mess.
“Jarrod, please, you’re killing me here.”
A low rumble rises from his chest as his molten gaze shifts from my tits to my eyes; I could drown happily in those dark liquid depths. I stand up straighter, scrambling to keep some control. My bra finally releases to fall at my feet. A perfect distraction, and the sound from him this time is a low, drawn-out groan. A little cheer goes up in my head. He wants me.
My hands go to the hem of his loose long-sleeved T-shirt, and I tug it up. Not slowly, like his movements, but quicker and more frantic. I want to see this man naked and I want it now.
But I can only tug it up so far. “Come on, help me get this off. It’s only fair that I get to touch you too. See you.”
In seconds, the T-shirt is off and thrown to the side. I don’t waste any time in reaching up to hook my hands around his neck, eager to press my naked chest against his. The light dusting of hair tickles my nipples so deliciously that the fire in my belly shoots heat to my core. I rub against him like a cat demanding to be stroked. Yes, I want him to stroke me, lick me, taste me. Honestly, the list of things I want him to do to me is endless.
Jarrod growls out, “Come here,” and he physically lifts me in those thick, muscled arms like I weigh nothing. I wrap my legs around his waist, clinging tight while he takes a couple of steps forward. My back lands flush up against the glass windows. I gasp. The cold, hard surface is shocking against my heated skin. He peels my fingers from his neck, holding my wrists high above my head in the clasp of one of his bear paw-sized hands. Then, ducking his head, he feasts. Not just simply teasing my nipple with licks. No, he sucks first one, then the other. Each peak is lavished with attention and … a love bite. My head drops back onto the glass, my eyes flutter closed, and my body shakes with unbridled passion.
I’m grateful now for the cold glass behind me as the flame in the pit of my stomach flares into a consuming wildfire, searing through to my core. I may orgasm right here, right now, purely from the way he is devouring me … and that has never happened before.
Chapter 15
Jarrod
Finally,Ihavehernaked in my arms. Those gorgeous breasts in my hands and mouth. Ever since my first fleeting glimpse of her creamy globes with their dusky pink nips, I haven’t been able to erase the vision when I close my eyes at night. But being able to touch the lush softness … I’m a lucky bastard. I’ve never thought of myself as a breast man, but you could sign me up as head of the fan club for Madison’s.
