If It's Only Love (Boys of Jackson Harbor 6)

Receiving oral sex has always made me uncomfortable—it’s too vulnerable, too intimate—but his tongue sends my thoughts scattering. He slides two fingers inside me and touches some spot I’d chalked up to mythical before this moment. I lose all control and come against his face with a violent jerk of my hips.

He stays right there, licking me through the aftershocks, stroking me as I slowly find my way back to earth.

When he stands, he watches me as he strips out of his clothes and slides on a condom. His eyes are on mine, and he’s . . . smiling.

“What is that look on your face about?” I ask. My cheeks blaze hot.

“I’m just realizing I’m not going to want to let you leave this room tomorrow.” His gaze dips to my sex. “Christ, Shay. I want to make you come over and over again.” He trails his fingers over me and I shudder. “I almost came just listening to your sounds.”

I reach for him. I want to feel the weight of him on me and kiss that smile.

“In a minute.” He guides my legs around his waist, and I wait for him to climb on top of me, but he stands there at the edge of the bed, his big hands curled around my hips as he lifts them off the bed and slowly enters me.

My breath hitches and my body stretches around him. I’m so tender from my orgasm that the pleasure is almost too much, but it’s so damn sexy to watch him look down, his eyes fixed on the place where our bodies are joined.

He moves slowly at first. His thrusts are gentle, tentative, like he plans to do this all night. But I need more, and when I arch my back and reach for him, he finds my clit with his thumb, stroking that spot I thought was too sensitive for more contact. My body clenches and he squeezes his eyes shut. “Damn, Shay. You feel unreal. I can’t even . . .” His hips jerk and his pace increases. I can feel him trying to hold back and love that he’s losing the battle.

It’s my turn to watch him fall apart, and it’s glorious. He tries to keep his gaze locked on mine but surrenders to it, throwing his head back and growling, gripping my hips like he’s afraid I might disappear.

Easton

“Can I tell you a secret?” Shay asks.

We’re tangled together in the dark, and I don’t even know if she realizes it, but she hasn’t stopped running her fingers up and down my torso since I came back to bed. It’s like she can’t stop touching me, and I fucking love it. “What’s your secret?”

“I’m writing a novel.”

I grin even though I know she can’t see it. “Of course you are. You’re Shay.” For as long as I remember, she’s always been reading or talking about a book. She was always coming back from the bookstore or camped out at the library. Books and Shay don’t just go together—I can’t think of one without the other.

“Are you laughing at me?”

“No. I think it’s awesome. I guess I always assumed you’d end up writing something.”

“You don’t think it’s stupid?”

“Why would I think that?” I smooth her hair back, wishing I could see her face.

“I don’t know. Lots of people write books and nothing ever happens. I’m not sure I’ll ever be good enough to get it published, but I had this story in my head and I wanted to try to get it down.”

“Will you tell me about it?”

I can feel her hesitation in the stiffness of her body, but she releases a breath and it falls away. “Don’t laugh.”

“I wouldn’t.”

“It’s about a nerdy high school girl who falls for her brother’s best friend. He’s a football player.”

I smile so wide that she’d probably laugh if she could see me. “I like it already. A little autobiographical story there, Shay?”

She smacks my stomach. “No.”

I wrap my arms around her and roll her under me. I kiss her neck as I find her hands, clasping them in mine and guiding them over her head. “You told me once that you had a crush on one of your brothers’ friends,” I murmur, settling a knee between her legs. “I wanted to think it was me.”

She arches into me, and I wonder if she knows what a turn-on it is that she responds to me so quickly. So completely. “Of course it was you. It was always you, Easton.”

My throat goes thick with all I want to say. I wish I could just show her the inside of my heart—touch her hand and telegraph what it is she makes me feel. She’s the one who’s good with words. I don’t know how to do that, but I do know how to support her. “Write your book, Shay. And when you’re done, you’d better tell me so I can remind you how awesome you are and how much the world needs to read the stories only you can tell.”