Letting Go (Thatch 1)

Grabbing one of my hands, he pulled me up and pressed a soft kiss against my cheek before pushing me toward the edge of the couch. “When you come back.”

I sent him a pathetic look as I slowly stood up, and he leaned forward to grab me and pull me back down.

“Don’t pout, beautiful,” he whispered before placing his lips on my neck.

I tilted my head away and sighed softly. “I thought I smelled gross,” I said when he continued making a line of kisses down my neck.

I felt his smile against my skin, then he said, “I never said ‘gross.’ I said ‘lake.’ You took it to another level with ‘fish.’ ” Jagger bit down gently on the base of my throat, and his hand gripped the back of my thigh when he moved lower.

My breathing was uneven by the time he made it back up to my lips, and the hand that had been gripping my thigh slowly moved up to grab the side tie of my bikini bottom. Pulling until it came undone, he reached under my shirt to undo one of the ties of my top, then the other. I was still wearing my shorts and tank top, but I knew I would be pulling them off soon if he didn’t do it himself, and suddenly I wanted that shower. I didn’t want to smell gross if things were heading in this direction.

“Um, I . . . shower—I should shower,” I stuttered.

“Then go shower,” he challenged.

It took another few moments before I was able to gather the will to move away from him, and the only thing that had given me the strength to do so was knowing that I wanted to smell clean.

“Five minutes,” I shouted as I ran up the stairs, his low laugh following me.

I’d never showered that thoroughly that quickly in my life. Barely giving myself time to dry off and towel-dry my hair, I ran into the loft and put on the clothes that were sitting on the end of the bed. I glanced down at the boxers and long shirt I was wearing, and fought with myself for a minute about whether or not I should take off the boxers. But I had nothing underneath, and I knew if I went down like that, Jagger would think I wanted something.

Something I knew I did in fact want but wasn’t sure I was ready for yet. I wanted him, I wanted his hands on me, but that still didn’t stop the fear of finally giving myself to him. By the time I stopped arguing with myself and was on my way down the stairs, I still had the boxers on and was trying not to seem as eager to get back to him as I was.

“That was longer than five minutes,” he said with his signature lopsided smile when I made it down the stairs.

“Hey, at least I’m clean.”

“And looking amazing,” he murmured as he reached for my hand and pulled me down so I was sitting on his lap.

“Amazing?” I asked against his lips. “Somehow I doubt that.”

Jagger leaned back and gave me a look. “You have no idea how amazing you look in my clothes.”

The gravel in his voice was enough to make a shiver go through my body, and I sat up to crush my mouth against his. His hand slowly ran up and down my legs, each time going a little higher, but nowhere near high enough. I wanted to ask him to touch me, but couldn’t find my voice even though the words were repeating in my head. Pushing away from him without ever breaking the kiss, I slid one leg over his lap so I was straddling him, and slowly rocked my hips against him.

His hands went to my hips to press me harder against him, and a low growl rumbled up his chest as I continued rocking against him. Jagger dropped his head a

nd slowly ran his nose between my breasts before moving over to suck on one of my nipples through the shirt.

My phone chimed from where I’d left it on the other side of the couch, but I ignored it until it chimed again, and again, and again.

Jagger lifted his head and looked over for a second before reaching for it.

“It’s probably just my mom.” I leaned forward to kiss his jaw, and couldn’t stop the giggle that sounded in my throat when I said, “She asked me earlier if we had protection, and I never responded.”

Jagger’s body went rigid, and the hand that was still on my hip gripped tighter. “Grey,” he breathed.

I sat back quickly at his tone to look at him. I’d been expecting him to laugh or look embarrassed because of my mom, but instead he looked like someone had just beaten the shit out of him. He looked weak, exhausted, and pale.

“What is it?” I asked, my voice rising in panic. I tried grabbing my phone, but he held it away. “Jagger, give me the phone!”

“Grey,” he whispered. “I’m here, okay?”

“What happened? Is it my family?” I practically shouted, and this time when I reached for it, he handed me my phone.

I looked at the screen, and my blood ran cold when I saw the Facebook message pulled up.

Ben Craft: Grey, I love you.