Be Mine (Jackson Boys 2)

His hand rises to cup my hip, the long fingers of his hand reaching around to press into the swell of my butt. My body throbs in response to his light touch.

“Shit, baby, you’re so fine.” His other hand reaches up to sweep away the curtain of my hair that has fallen forward.

As my fingers work downward on the buttons, I can see that while his mind might be tired, his body isn’t too fatigued to respond. An erection juts impressively against the dark wool of his slacks.

“Massage, movie, rest,” I order, and pull his shirt out of his pants.

He leans forward, ostensibly to help me remove his shirt, but it also conveniently places his face right between my breasts.

“I’m suddenly feeling worked up about something that has nothing to do with football,” he murmurs into the soft skin. His hand moves from my hair to the back of my neck and with steady pressure, he urges my lips to his.

The kiss is soft and tender, with a firmness that excites me. His tongue sweeps across the seam of my mouth and then invades with gentle force. Heat floods my core. I let go of the shirt to rest my hands against his shoulders, balancing myself against his big body while his hands hold me aloft.

It’d be easy to sink into this embrace, have sex, and send him on his way in the morning, but tonight I want something different. I want to show him that we can be together, at least for this small amount of time, doing something other than fighting or fucking.

As I draw away, he grunts his dissatisfaction. “Where’re you going?”

“Massage first,” I remind him.

He frowns adorably. “But how are you going to give me a massage while I’m sitting up. Oh—oh!” Comprehension dawns.

I wink. “Lie back and let me take care of you. Just for tonight, okay?”

“Just for tonight,” he concedes.

He threads his hands through my hair, pulling the strands tight. Tears prick the corners of my eyes from the pain, but I don’t tell him to ease up. Not tonight. I want this. I want to feel everything. The pain, the ecstasy, the anticipation of both. The heavy weight of him on my tongue, the scent of him filling my lungs, the bite of the carpet into my knees; I store all those sensations inside of me so I can pull them out later in the darkness, in my loneliness.

I make my tongue a bed and glide my lips over the top of his shaft until the blunt head knocks at the back of my throat.

“Jesus, Lainey, this feels so good. Keep doing that. Take me a little deeper,” he coaxes.

I open as far as I can and swallow him down. It’s not easy. He’s a big man. I use my fist at his base to cover what my mouth can’t. His hips move against my mouth, thrusting lightly at first, as if to test my reaction.

Can you take this? His body asks mine.

Yes. I answer back by leaning into him.

“Your mouth is so sweet,” he says. “But it’s your big eyes that are killing me. Your eyes tell me everything, baby. How much you want me. How much you love having my cock in your mouth.” He takes a deep, shuddering breath. “I can’t wait until it’s my turn. I’m going to drive you crazy. You need to feel what it’s like to be me at this moment. Totally and completely in your possession.”

I want this to be our truth forever, but it’s only for tonight. Maybe it won’t be tomorrow, or even next week, but at some point there will be another girl kneeling before him. And she’ll take him into her mouth and her body. She’ll be the one looking up at him with doe eyes wanting nothing more than for him to shoot all of his seed down her throat. She’ll drink it up thinking that now she has him.

Then he’ll kiss her cheek, pat the top of her ass, and tell her that she was wonderful. He won’t make a promise to call because broken promises aren’t his thing.

I grab his hip and urge him forward. I want him to mark me, inside and out. I want to feel the pain in my throat when I swallow tomorrow. It’ll be a reminder of his fierce need for me. That I was here and he was with me.

He drives against me, his hips pistoning faster and harder until I’m filled with him. He explodes in my mouth. His harsh groan echoes in my ears.

When he pulls away, he’s still hard. An aroused Nick Jackson is a thing of beauty. His chest heaves. A damp sheen of sweat coats his musculature, highlighting all the hard planes. His eyes are dark and needy. The veins in his arms stand prominently under his skin.