Flirting with Fifty

Dinner was another buffet, with two different pastas and various vegetables for sides. Paige thought the eggplant parmigiana was excellent, as was the red wine served. She was also grateful Jack sat close. Under the table, he held her hand, and then later, rested his hand on her thigh. His warmth eased some of the coldness in her chest. She didn’t want to be afraid, didn’t want ice around her heart. Fear wasn’t good. Fear was destructive. If they had been eating alone, she would have leaned over and kissed him, kissing away the anxiety. She liked Jack. The more time she spent with him, the more time she wanted to spend with him. He was incredibly interesting, incredibly good company.

She glanced at him and he met her gaze, his lips curving faintly. “After the presentation ends, maybe you and I could just sneak away,” he said.

“I’d like that,” she whispered.

His eyes never left hers. “So would I.”

She grew warm, cheeks flushing. “I don’t want to get you in trouble.”

A spark heated his eyes. “I wish you would.”

She captured his hand beneath the table, lacing her fingers with his. “I think you enjoy trouble more than I do.”

“Probably,” he agreed.

Thirty minutes later, he was steering her out of the dining room, leading her to his cabin, which sat toward the back, at the end of the gravel path.

Inside his cabin he flipped the lock, then walked her back against the door, his hands up on either side of her head, his big body pressing against her, holding her captive. The kiss was hot, possessive, demanding. Paige felt Jack’s hunger, his desire barely leashed as he reduced her to a quivering mass.

“The things I want to do to you,” he growled, dragging his fingers through her hair, moving it off her face to nip at her neck, making her breath catch in her throat. “I could eat you.” He corrected. “I will eat you.”

She closed her eyes, shy, but also turned on. Ted hadn’t been a fan of oral sex—at least, not when it came to giving her pleasure. She couldn’t even remember when she’d last done that . . . gone there. “I haven’t had sex in years.”

He lifted his head to study her, his eyes dark with passion. His thumb caressed her mouth, making her lower lip throb and tingle. “After Mara’s diagnosis, we didn’t make love, but I still loved her. She was my wife, my friend, my partner, my son’s mother. Sex didn’t make us a couple. Love made us a couple.”

“Sex is confusing,” she said.

“It is,” he agreed, just before his head dropped and he pressed her lower lip down, so that his tongue could flick the inside, tormenting nerve endings, making her whimper. The kiss deepened, and he sucked on that soft, throbbing lower lip, and then bit at it, sending a shock of heat through her, making her warmer, wetter. Her head was spinning. Her body felt boneless. She wrapped her arms around his neck. “You make me want things I never thought I’d want again.”

“Good. But I’d rather leave you wanting than push you into bed and lose what we’ve gained. I want you to trust me. I want you to feel safe—”

“I’m getting there,” she whispered, eyes widening as his palm slid down her body, over her breast, her ribs, her stomach to cover the apex of her thighs. He did nothing else, nothing invasive, and yet just having his hand there made everything in her ache and burn. “I think you know your way around women’s bodies.”

His mouth kissed the corner of her mouth. Such a fleeting kiss that her belly clenched, and she pressed her nails into his nape.

“I have a thing for your body,” he said. “I have a thing for you. In case you haven’t noticed.”

He kissed the same spot on her lips again, and then caught her upper lip in his teeth. A sharp bite that had her gasping. His hand was still against her, pressed to her, and he ground his palm to her mound, and she shuddered and clutched his shoulders. “We can’t,” she said.

“No, you’re right,” he agreed, taking her mouth, his tongue teasing, seeking, before drawing her tongue into his mouth. He sucked on the tip and she whimpered again.

She could feel his hand against her, the sensation exquisite, the pressure building. She couldn’t believe he could make her feel so much, and she should stop him, she should. But her body wasn’t interested in what her brain had to say. Her body wasn’t even hers now, but his. The rhythmic sucking on her tongue matched the pressure between her legs and she wanted him, wanted relief from this. It had been forever since she’d felt anything so intense.

Paige stopped fighting with herself, stopped fighting the pleasure. Her legs quivered as he pushed his hand between her legs, pressing, stroking. She couldn’t hang on, couldn’t hold back. Paige let out a cry. Helplessly, she arched against him, stiffening, shattering, tiny sparklers of light exploding behind her closed eyes.

The orgasm went on and on—an intense shuddering that rocked her from head to toe.

By the time she opened her eyes, she felt as if she’d crossed into a different universe.

Jack still stood close, his hand on her hip, his other arm braced over her head. He said nothing, just looked into her eyes. She could barely focus. She certainly couldn’t think.

“Wow,” she murmured.

“Now, that wasn’t so bad, was it?” he teased, drawing her into his arms and hugging her close.

“No.” She leaned against him as her legs weren’t functioning. “But it wasn’t supposed to happen. That wasn’t on the agenda.”

He laughed softly. “Sometimes the best things aren’t scheduled.” His lips brushed her forehead. “So, a question. Do you want to stay here with me tonight? Or would you be happier in your cabin?”

She stared up into his face, her gaze boring into his. He felt familiar in the best sort of way, as if being in his arms was a coming home, a return to herself. “Can I stay with you tonight?”

“Absolutely.”

“But can we just . . . sleep?”

“Agreed.” He pulled her toward the bed. “We’ll know when we’re ready. We’re not ready.”

She arched a brow. “I think you’re ready.”

“Not if it means I could possibly lose you. You mean too much to me.”