Under My Skin (Stark International Trilogy 3)

“Sylvia.”

I stop in the doorway, entirely naked, and though I have never felt vulnerable in front of Jackson, I do right now. My eyes adjust to the light, and I see him get off the bed and come to me. He stands just inches from me, and suddenly I am very aware of my breathing. Of every hair on my body. Of his proximity. And, yes, of my need.

I lick my lips. “I looked for you at the apartment.”

“Funny,” he says, his voice gentle. “I looked for you here.”

He moves a few feet to the left to the chair that sits next to the door. My robe is there, and he picks it up and then hands it to me. And that simple gesture, so seemingly polite, terrifies me.

My breath hitches, and I make a little gasping sound. I hold the robe clutched to my body, but I don’t put it on. “Jackson—I—I’m sorry.” I try to read the expression on his face, but I can’t. “Did I ruin everything by walking away? I don’t want to lose you or Ronnie because I was afraid.”

“Was? You’re not afraid anymore?”

I look down. “No,” I say. “I still am. But it’s a fear of what-ifs, and I don’t want to live like that. I’m still terrified of screwing up, but I’d rather risk screwing up with you than not even try.” I lift my head and meet his eyes. “I love you, Jackson, and I’m so scared that I’ve lost you.”

I see the break in his expression. The glow of tenderness and relief. And when he steps closer to me, I can’t help but notice the way his jeans are tight over the bulge of his erection.

“Don’t you know you can never lose me?” He reaches out and strokes my cheek. “Do you think I don’t understand fear? Being a parent—hell, being in love—it’s about making scary choices. But choosing you—choosing us? That one’s not scary at all.”

My heart twists with emotion at his words, and I can’t wait any more. I need his touch to match his words. I need to know that we’re truly back, that the world has righted itself.

I drop my robe and without warning, I pull him tight against me, claiming him with my mouth, pressing my breasts hard against him.

I slide my hands down and cup the firm curve of his ass, pulling him toward me until I can feel him beneath the denim. He groans, the sound full of need, and it rolls through me, battering my senses. I’m naked, my skin on fire, and there’s no denying the reaction of my body as his pelvis crushes against mine.

One of his hands is on my hips, and I reach for it, stepping back enough so that I can slide our joined hands between my thighs. I’m wet and slippery.

“I’m yours,” I say huskily, my words stuttering as a small, unexpected orgasm sends electric sparks fluttering through me. “And you’re mine.”

“Hell, yes I am.”

He holds my gaze long enough for me to see passion and promise. And, yes, understanding. Then he draws his hand away, the sensation making me melt a little more. He licks his fingers clean and my cunt clenches in response to that simple, erotic action.

He takes a single step backward and pulls his T-shirt over his head. Then he reaches for his jeans.

“No,” I say, then go to him. I unbutton his jeans and ease them over his hips, taking his briefs with them. His cock hardens as I do, and I bite back a satisfied smile.

I slide down his body until I’m on my knees, and his cock is stiff and magnificent in front of me. I tilt my head back to look at him. I meet his eyes, and I can tell he knows exactly what this is. It’s more than desire and need. It’s my apology, my submission, my promise.

I tease him first, licking the length of his shaft and teasing the crown. But I want more than that. I want to get him off. I want to give him that moment when everything disappears and he is reduced to sweet sensation. I want to wash away the pain I caused.

I cup his balls with one hand and take his cock into my mouth, and the taste of him, so very male, so very Jackson, slices through me, making my nipples hard and my own body demand attention. But I keep my focus on Jackson. On the way he’s thrust one arm out for balance. On the low moans he is making as passion builds.

And—oh yes—on the way he holds my head and guides me as he gets closer and closer and then finally explodes in my mouth.

He is holding me in place, and I have no choice but to swallow. And after I do, I stand up and kiss him, sharing the taste of him as he slides his hand between my legs to stroke my slick cunt. “Your turn now.”

I squeal as he scoops me up, then lays me on the bed. Then slowly, he strokes his hands over me, his touch driving me wild because there is no part of me to which he doesn’t minister. I squirm and writhe under his attention, my skin sensitive, my body needy. He doesn’t relent. Not until every tiny nerve ending is tied to my core, and when he thrusts inside me—when he strokes my clit and sends me reeling—it is like the sun is rising inside me, illuminating my entire body, turning me brighter and brighter until I can’t contain it any longer and I explode into golden rays of sunshine.