Another surge of his hips, and the coil of need winding tighter and tighter inside him finally detonated. With a hoarse shout, he came in a dizzying blast of pleasure, with Tara taking everything he had to give until his dick was utterly spent and completely satisfied.
At least for now.
Chapter Ten
Tara finished her shower with a delighted smile on her face while Jackson promised to go and make them breakfast. Well, actually, he’d been more than willing to return the oral favor, but that wasn’t why she’d given him a blow job. She’d done it because it was something that brought her a different kind of pleasure and gave her a thrilling rush of satisfaction. And because she really liked shattering Jackson’s self-control. There was nothing sexier, or hotter, than watching him let go completely with her.
She washed her hair and cleaned her face and gently skimmed the mesh scrubber over her body, careful to be extra gentle with her sore breasts and sensitive nipples and the insides of her thighs where she was tender from Jackson’s stubble abrading her delicate skin. Not that she was complaining. No, after six years without sex with a man, she welcomed all the delicious twinges and aches as a result of Jackson’s intensive fucking. Her body felt more vital and alive than it had since that incredibly dark time in her life. It was merely a bonus that Jackson also made her feel beautiful, desirable, and happy.
After getting out of the shower, she dressed in a pair of soft cotton shorts and a tank top—sans a bra for now—and used her blow dryer to remove most of the moisture from her hair so that it was damp but would dry in soft waves. She brushed her teeth, then followed the scent of something enticing and savory, along with the smell of coffee, to the kitchen.
/> Jackson was standing at her stove cooking breakfast, his back to her. His hair was still wet from his shower and looked as though he’d already run his fingers through it a few times. He was wearing only his jeans, giving her a spectacular view of his broad shoulders and his smooth, lightly muscled back and the tight ass encased in denim. Quietly, she padded across the tiled floor in her bare feet, and when she was standing behind him, she skimmed her fingers down his spine to the waistband of his jeans.
He glanced over his shoulder at her, a sexy smile on his lips. “Hey, beautiful. You hungry?”
“Umm, very.” She wrapped her arms around his waist, flattened her hands on his firm stomach, and placed a soft, warm kiss on his back. She inhaled the scent of her body wash lingering on his skin and grinned. “Maybe I’ll just take a big bite out of you. You smell like a delicious, juicy peach.”
He chuckled, the sound wicked. “You can eat me, lick me, and suck me later. I promise. Right now, I think we both need real food.”
She couldn’t disagree. She was starved. “And caffeine,” she added, gravitating toward the coffeemaker. “I didn’t get much sleep last night since a certain someone kept me up for hours.”
“If you’re expecting an apology, it’s not gonna happen,” he replied unrepentantly as he flipped a monstrous omelet in the large pan he had on the stove. “Not once in the six times that I fucked you did I hear that mouth of yours say, ‘I’m tired, let me sleep.’ So really, it’s your own fault.”
She laughed as she stirred cream and sugar into her coffee, then moved to the counter next to the stove and leaned against it. “I have to admit, your stamina is impressive.”
Turning off the burner, he plated the fluffy egg dish, set it on the counter beside her hip, then kissed her mouth as he murmured, “My dick was totally influenced by the softest, warmest, tightest pussy it’s ever had. Yours.”
She bit her bottom lip as a heated flush swept across her freshly scrubbed cheeks. She shouldn’t be embarrassed after all the delightfully depraved things he’d done to her last night, but Jesus, the man had the dirtiest, filthiest mouth and had a way of catching her off guard with his shocking statements.
He took the coffee mug from her hands and set it aside, then grabbed her waist and lifted her until she was sitting on the counter. She gasped in startled surprise as he pushed her knees apart and moved in between so that her legs bracketed his hips.
“What are you doing?” she asked breathlessly.
He gave the mug back to her to hold and shrugged. “You only had enough eggs in the refrigerator for one omelet, so we’re going to have to share.”
She’d had at least a half carton of eggs, so his idea of what constituted one omelet was a huge serving size, not to mention the ham, mushrooms, and cheese he’d overstuffed it with. “I do have a table we can sit at, you know.”
“Yeah, I know,” he said, his eyes bright with amusement as he brought a forkful of eggs to her mouth. “But this is much more convenient. And fun.”
“You’re going to feed me my breakfast?” she asked incredulously.
A bad-boy grin lifted the corners of his lips. “It’s the least I can do to thank you for that phenomenal blow job you just gave me. So just relax and enjoy, okay?
She rolled her eyes. “Okay. Fine.”
She took the bite he offered and had to admit that he made one amazingly good omelet. For every one bite he fed to her, he ate two, not that she minded since he probably needed the calories more than she did. And once she did relax, she realized how much she appreciated being the center of his attention. She felt spoiled and pampered and cared for . . . and those were luxuries she’d lived most of her life without.
She just needed to be careful and not get too used to Jackson’s sole focus and attention. Whatever this was between them, it was amazing and exciting, but she knew better than to read more into this affair than what it currently was. There was no telling how long it would last, and it had taken her once broken, damaged heart so long to heal that she was cautious about giving someone that part of herself again.
They finished the breakfast he’d made, and Jackson rinsed the plate off, then came back to where she was still sitting on the counter. She expected him to help her down, but instead he braced his hands on either side of her thighs, his expression suddenly more serious than it had been since leaving Clay’s the night before.
He exhaled a deep breath, his eyes so gentle it made her heart ache because she couldn’t remember the last time anyone had looked at her with such understanding and affection. “So, now that you have a full stomach, there’s something I’d like to ask you, but I’ll understand if it’s something you don’t want to talk about.”
She swallowed hard, feeling uneasy. Those were pretty much the same words she’d spoken to him last night, before she’d asked about his assault charge. When he’d turned around and asked her about her secrets and she’d managed to evade the question.
“Okay,” she replied, hating the slight quiver in her voice and the dread of the unknown question coming her way.
“I saw your tattoo last night,” he said, his gaze holding hers steadily. “What does ‘The struggle is part of the story’ mean?”