The Truest Thing (Hart's Boardwalk 4)

He hesitated a second before realizing resistance was futile.

Jack wrapped his arms around her. Tight. Crushing her against him. He buried his head in the crook of her neck and breathed her in. She smelled of faded perfume and coffee. Em shook a little as she cried for him, and the ache in his chest expanded until he could barely breathe through it.

Eventually her shaking eased, as did her tears.

Then she turned her head, and Jack’s breath stopped altogether at the feel of her lips on his neck. He moved to lift his head away but her

lips caught his throat, the tip of her tongue teasing his skin.

Jack groaned as heat flooded his groin.

His fingers clenched at her tank top, pulling the fabric up until he felt her soft skin beneath.

“Em …” He meant to stop her. To push her away.

He did.

But she pressed her beautiful mouth to his and he tasted the salt from her tears in her kiss, tears she’d shed for him. And Jack was lost.

He let himself drown in their fiery, hot kisses, his hands disappearing under her top, caressing the smooth skin of her back, itching to rip the damn thing off. He felt the tug of Emery’s hands on his T-shirt and he was being pulled forward.

“Couch,” she huffed breathlessly.

Not wanting to break the kiss, Jack shifted his hands to her ass and prompted her to hop up into his arms. Her long legs wrapped around his waist and his dick grew impossibly hard with the need to be inside her.

His mind was a haze. Thoughts, rationale, all completely overwhelmed by her scent and the soft, supple feel of her in his arms.

And her kisses.

Fuck, the woman could kiss.

He hit the sectional and they fell onto it, his dick pushing between her legs with the movement.

“Oh!” she moaned, breaking the kiss, her eyes dilated, her cheeks flushed.

Jack thought he’d lost it before.

Now he lost it. He kissed her deeper, dirtier, hungrier as he rubbed his dick against the heat between her legs. His skin was on fire, and every time she whimpered, he swallowed it in his kiss and he got one step closer to spending himself like a fucking prepubescent kid.

Needing more of her, Jack took hold of the hem of her tank top and tugged it upward. Em scrambled to sit up halfway to help, taking over and pulling the thing off, her full breasts bouncing with the movement.

“Holy fucking Christ,” he muttered hoarsely as she laid back on the couch, waiting for him, her chest rising and falling with anticipation. Her beautiful face was soft with need.

She was perfect.

She was so fucking perfect, it was a wonder she was real.

His hands itched to reach out and cup her, to fondle and squeeze, to hold her to his mouth so he could taste and suck. But his reason was returning. Slowly, through the haze of desire, he was remembering why they couldn’t do this.

Then Em sat up, reaching for the waistband of his jogging pants, her hand dipping inside before he could stop her, brushing his dick.

Jack bit out a curse and grabbed her hand, holding it away from him.

She winced and he released her, realizing he was holding on too tight.

Emery blinked at him, confused. “Jack?”

Pushing off her, swallowing hard, trying to ignore the pain between his legs, Jack reached for the blanket she had thrown over the coach and he held it to her.