Marriage For One

“You want to have sex with me?” I asked, still stuck on that. Evidently we were thinking the same thing. She didn’t realize I’d taken a step forward and she was now backed up against the wall.

“Really, really bad.”

My heart hammering in my chest, I leaned my head down and whispered in her ear. “Tell me how bad.”

She arched away from my lips, and I noticed the goose bumps on the skin of her arms. Mirroring me, she put her hands on my neck and pulled me down to her so she could whisper back. “I don’t think I can put it into words, Jack.”

It struck me that even though we were alone in this big apartment, we were acting like we were quickly running out of space. It was just the two of us, yet still we were whispering as if we wanted to make sure no one could hear our thoughts.

No one could hear our wants.

No one but us. We didn’t want to share anything.

We wanted it to be just us.

Rose and Jack.

“Your suits make me go crazy. Your frown?” She let out a small groan and pulled me down farther until her lips were grazing my ear with each word out of her mouth. “Your frown kills me, Jack. Every time you frown, it does things to me, and then you roll up your sleeves and I feel like I’m watching porn specifically made for my eyes. You kiss me…you kiss me and you’re not a turtle anymore. You’re so good at it that whenever you kiss me, whenever I think about you kissing me, I get so wet and I don’t want to stop. I don’t ever want to stop kissing you.”

“Rose,” I growled, my cock already hard.

My arm still around her waist, I pulled her flush against my body. Her shoulders still pressed against the wall, she arched her back and kept whispering into my ear.

“That’s not even half of it, Jack Hawthorne. Whenever we’re walking somewhere or just walking next to each other, you always put your hand on the small of my back, and even that little gesture turns me on. I get the goose bumps just because you’re touching me.”

My hand was resting at the small of her back, so I curled my fingers, bunching her soft sweater until I heard her gasp. I nuzzled her cheek and she moved her hands from my neck up into my hair, keeping me in place. We were both breathing hard and when I took her lips, our kiss was nothing like the innocent ones we had shared just a few minutes earlier. We both took from each other, our tongues ravenous, our lust unending.

When I swallowed her groan, I put my hand right under her ass and she lifted her legs, one by one, wrapping them around my hips. After I was sure she wouldn’t drop them, I put one of my hands behind her head so she wouldn’t get hurt and crushed us into the wall, my cock pressing right between her legs.

She turned her head away, her breathing almost as ragged as mine. I kissed and nipped her, tracing along her jawline and neck and then gently sucking on her skin. She moved her hips and I had to push harder into her so she couldn’t, which didn’t help at all. My control was shot to hell, and I was afraid if she rolled her hips one more time, I would have no choice but to take her—to hell with what the doctor said.

“Jack.” She moaned my name as if she had done so her entire life, and I buried my head in her neck so I could at least try to control my breathing.

“Stop talking,” I ordered.

She didn’t listen. I didn’t think she ever listened to me.

“You feel so good against me,” she whispered, sliding her temple against mine, adding more fuel to my fire.

Involuntarily, I rocked my hips, and her moan spurred me on. She was in my arms, I could smell her need, could smell her skin, and I still couldn’t have her, not yet. Seemed like this was my life story when it came to her.

“How many months since the surgery?” I managed to get out in a hoarse voice.

“What?” she asked dazedly.

I looked into her eyes and they were already glazed, much like what I expected mine looked like. I took her mouth in another long kiss until I couldn’t remember my own name.

“How many months, Rose?”

“Not three yet,” she whispered, out of breath. “Not three.”

My breaths coming out in short bursts, I pressed my forehead against hers and tried to gain some sort of control back. She didn’t let me.

“You bring me flowers every Monday.” She gasped, one arm wrapped around my neck, the other one grasping my hair. “And every time you come in with your arms full of such beautiful roses, I just want to grab your hand, dump the flowers, and take you into the bathroom in the back so you can…so I can…”