On My Knees (Stark International Trilogy 2)

What I’m feeling is his fingers inside me again. Thrusting hard. Thrusting deep.

And his body above me, his clothes brushing my bare skin, the cotton rubbing my sensitive nipples. He brushes a kiss over my lips and I whimper when it is all too short.

He starts trailing kisses down even as his fingers continue to stroke me, to tease me. Lower and lower, deeper and faster. His mouth on my breasts, on my belly. His tongue teasing my nipple while my hips arch in wild abandon as he finger-fucks me hard and deep.

Then his mouth is there, his tongue dancing over my clit, and oh my god, he’s right, it’s magical, because I swear that I am rising up, carried away on a storm of golden pixie dust as these sensations that had started so warm and tender have turned hard and hot and demanding and oh so very wonderful.

And then the spell shatters, breaking me apart, sending bits of me swirling off as electricity seems to arc through me, making me sizzle and glow and cry out from the wonderful, incredible, overwhelming pleasure of it all.

“Oh god.” I am gasping, trying to catch my breath. “Jackson—oh, dear god, Jackson.”

“Hush,” he says, and I realize that while I’ve been off in another dimension, he has picked me up. He’s holding me close, and my arms are around his neck. I’m completely exhausted, and sleep is pulling me under. He’s carrying me out of this truly exceptional bathroom and down the hall to his bedroom. He slides me into the bed, then gently tucks the covers around me.

Then he takes off his own clothes, and though my eyes are drooping, I can see his erection. I try not to drift too far, because I expect another round. An intimate touch. After all, he is so hard that he must be about to burst. But that touch doesn’t come, and I roll over so that I am facing him and blink sleepily. “But don’t you want—”

He presses his fingertip to my lips. “Right now,” he says as he pulls me closer, “I have everything I want in the world.”

twenty

“This,” Cass says, stepping back from the overstuffed clothing rack and holding up what looks like nothing more than some see-through pink gauze with a shiny, sequined band.

I cock my head. “What is that supposed to be?”

“A harem girl outfit. Duh.” She holds it by the sequined band, which apparently would sit on the unfortunate wearer’s hips. As far as I can tell, though, there is no top. Not even a sparkly festive one a la Barbara Eden in I Dream of Jeannie.

When I mention that to Cass, she just shrugs. “Maybe they’re going for authenticity?”

“Maybe, but I’m not. Veto.”

From a few racks over, Jackson looks up. “Don’t I get a say?”

“Absolutely not.”

We’re spending Saturday morning doing our Halloween shopping. Right now, we’re in Burbank at a consignment store that sells mostly old costumes from various television shows. I don’t know what show that came from, but it wasn’t that classic sixties sitcom.

“It’s Halloween,” Jackson says. “I think a harem girl is a great idea.”

“You just want to see me half-naked.”

“It’s expedient,” he says. “Less to deal with once I get you home.”

“Goodness, Mr. Steele.” Cass fans herself. “How you make a girl blush.”

“Cassidy, I may not have known you for long, but from what I can tell, there’s very little that makes you blush.”

She looks at me. “I’m not sure if I should be insulted or impressed with how astute he is.”

“Impressed,” I assure her. “Definitely impressed.”

A few more moments pass, and then Jackson calls me over. “What do you think?” He is holding up a tiny pink cowboy hat and a matching tiny pink denim jacket.

“I’m petite,” I say, “but that’s toddler size.”

“Thanks for the tip. I was thinking about Ronnie.”

“Oh!” I’m now with the program. I think of the dark-haired little girl I’ve seen only in a photograph. “I think she’d be darling in it, but Halloween’s just a week away. In my experience, parents usually have toddler costumes lined up about eight months before the blessed event.”

“In that case, it can just be for dress up. At any rate, it’ll be fun to give it to her tomorrow. She loves presents.”

“Who doesn’t? But what’s tomorrow?”

“She’s still in town with Megan—they don’t leave until Monday. I invited the two of them to the fund-raiser,” he says, referring to the open house and charity auction for the Stark Children’s Foundation. Jackson decided to serve out his community service there, and his time starts tomorrow. “There’s a petting zoo and Ronnie is crazy for animals. What?” he adds, obviously confused by my growing smile.