The Best Man (Jasper Falls 2)

“Right now, all I want is for you to keep kissing me.”

Damn her for trying to break him. “Don’t do this to me if you’re going to go back to him.”

“Pat…”

He saw the plea in her eyes, the silent request that he not complicate things more than they already were, but he had to also protect himself. “I can’t do casual with you, Jules.”

Comprehension flashed in her eyes followed by something that looked like disappointment. He couldn’t be her rebound, and she couldn’t make any big decisions right now.

“I’m… Not in a place where I trust my decision-making. I can’t promise you anything, but I know I don’t want to hurt you, so maybe we should stop.”

It was as honest an answer as anyone could possibly give, but it crushed him. He wanted to give her a reason to want more, a reason to pick him over any other option. He had to do something that proved he was the better man for her.

When would he ever have a chance like this again? Maybe never. It might have been another self-sabotaging act on his behalf, but he was sick of holding back his life for fear of the consequences and even more terrified that things might go back to normal and he’d lose her all over again.

Capturing her mouth with his, he kissed her with purpose, showing her all of his passion and desire, leaving them drunk with wanting. It was senseless. It was slightly desperate. It was definitely stupid, but he was sick of being cautious.

When he pulled away, they were both panting, a look of stunned surprise mirroring in their stares. His clothes itched to come off, and her nipples formed delicate peaks in the candlelight, where they pressed against her dress.

“Should we stop?” he asked, body hard with desire.

“Only if you want to.”

“I don’t want to.”

“Then don’t.”

Acting on instinct, he swept a finger under the strap of her dress and trailed it down her arm. The shawl dropped to the floor and her chest lifted with labored breaths as she glanced down at what he’d done. She looked at the other strap still tight on her shoulder and back to him. He knocked it down, until only the stiffness of the material held the top of her linen dress in place.

The sweetest smile curled over her kiss-swollen lips, and his gaze followed the narrow contour of her throat. Everything about her was so delicate, like a line of perfect poetry he wanted to hold in his mouth forever.

Her palms turned upward in some sort of silent offering, as if she were surrendering to him. His throat went dry. He should walk away. He knew better. She had things to work out, and he had to keep his guard up until she made up her mind. But he lifted his hands and gently pulled down the front of her dress.

Pale, peach nipples peaked in the candlelight, soft and supple, delicate and inviting. “Jesus, you’re beautiful.”

“I don’t think anyone’s ever looked at me the way you’re looking at me now.”

He could stare at her for a hundred eternities. He wanted to taste every inch of her. Possess her soul. Wrap himself in her body. Bathe in her moans and make her body quiver with pleasure.

His finger brushed over her knee peeking from the hemline of her simple dress. Her skin was warm and inviting, so he trailed the touch higher, his hand disappearing under the material. Her hair partially hid her face as her head tipped down and she watched him. Heat beckoned as he passed the supple inside of her thigh, and she opening herself to him.

She looked at him, and he paused. Her head slightly nodded, and he traced the seam of her panties, finding the satin material damp and hot. He tucked a finger under the material and found her slick with arousal.

She released the most delicate moan, and her head fell back, displaying the long column of her neck. At that, the last of his restraint disappeared. His mouth was on her throat, licking and kissing as his fingers sought her heat, softly dipping and spreading her warm honey. Indulgent moans broke the silence as his kisses trailed lower, capturing the stiff tip of her breast and pulling hungrily.

Her fingers raked through his hair, holding him close and driving his need up several painful degrees, until he could take no more. He shoved her dress above her hips and plunged his fingers deep inside her, melting in warm honey of her arousal, drinking in her needy pleas, and wanting to give her more satisfaction than any man who had ever tried before.

Each touch was a privilege, every whimpered plea a directive he must follow. He always wished she was his, but the truth was, she owned him. He belonged to her, would worship and serve her any way she let him. She was his addiction, his deepest secret, and his darkest desire.