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

“No.” I shake my head. “It’s not that. Easton, I want this.” I don’t know what tomorrow brings. I don’t know how long I get you. I don’t know if I’ll ever get a night like this again. They’re words I can’t let myself speak, so I just repeat, “I want this.”

I muster all of my courage and pull off my shirt.

He steps back and has such wonder in his eyes as he looks me over that I have to check if maybe my body isn’t how I remember it. All I see are my breasts practically spilling out of my black satin bra—I really need to buy new lingerie—my soft tummy, and the waistband of my jeans digging into my hips.

Easton reaches out with shaking hands, unbuttons my jeans, and drops to his knees as he pulls them down. I step out of the denim and watch him toss it to the side, but he doesn’t stand. He stays on his knees, curving his hands around from the front of my thighs to my hips. He slides rough palms down and up again, and when he sweeps around to cup my ass, my whole body clenches. There’s heat in his eyes as he looks at me, and there’s reverence in his pose.

“You deserve to be worshipped,” he murmurs as if he can read my thoughts. Then his mouth is on me—starting just above my knee and kissing his way up. Mouth and teeth and tongue trail a wet path toward the apex of my thighs and send a blaze of need rushing through me with every centimeter he inches closer to my cotton panties.

I say a silent prayer of thanks that I’m in cute underwear. It’s not a matching set or something super sexy, like I’d have chosen if I knew where this night was going, but I could’ve chosen worse than a black satin bra and purple panties with a black lace trim.

I’m entranced by the sight of his mouth on my skin. He trails his tongue across the crease of my hip, right along the lace trim, following it down inside my thigh. I tremble so hard that I’d probably fall over if he weren’t holding me up with those big hands, like he’s afraid I might run away. He nuzzles me right between my legs, breathing in deep, like he’s trying to smell me, and the sight is so erotic. I don’t know if I’m breathing.

“You’re so wet.” His eyes flick up to mine. “Were you like this in the car? I wanted to touch you right there. I’ve never forgotten how it felt to make you come on my hand.”

Me neither.

Slowly—so slowly I could cry—he hooks his thumbs into the sides of my panties and pulls them down my legs. When his eyes land on me—on my sex, bare and exposed—he curses. “Look at you, so bare. You’re full of surprises.”

“Steve liked it if—”

He pinches my ass, and I let out a breath at the sweet sting. “I don’t want to hear his name on your lips right now.” He guides one foot and then the other from the purple cotton then blows a cool stream of air right between my legs. “If you’re thinking about him, I’m not doing a very good job.”

He stands and nudges me backward until the backs of my thighs hit the bed. I lie back then prop myself on my elbows and look up at him, a potent mix of awe and lust making my breath come short. He guides his fingertips over my shoulders, my collarbones, down between then over my breasts and down my stomach. He lowers himself to his knees beside the bed and sweeps his hands out to my hipbones then back in, nudging my thighs apart as he continues his teasing path down my legs.

His eyes are so dark, so hungry, that by the time he comes back up to my thighs, I can hardly remember why I was nervous. I don’t care about anything but his hands on me and the way his fingers are inching closer to the ache at the apex of my thighs.

I’m not innocent. There’s not much I haven’t tried, but the majority of my experience was with Steve. And this is Easton. Everything seems new. Everything feels like a first.

As he hooks my legs over each of his shoulders, his grin is the perfect combination of smugness and delight. He lowers his mouth between my legs, and I can’t remember how to breathe.

His tongue is as patient as his fingertips, and the pace of his strokes is nearly torturous. I have to fight to keep my hips on the bed, but then he slides his hands beneath my ass and tugs me closer to the edge of the bed. He holds me there, devouring me, his short beard scraping at my inner thighs. When I rise off the bed again, he tightens his grip and groans in approval as he strokes my clit faster with his tongue.