More Than Physical (The Physical Series Book Book 2)

by Hill, Sierra

  His hands moved across her back, seeking purchase around to the underside of her breasts, as his fingers molded and squeezed the sensitive flesh, toying with her pebbled nipples.

  “That feels so good,” she said, the words barely a whisper. He continued to move at a frenzied pace, pulling out and sinking back in.

  “You feel so good. So wet…” he concurred. “So hot.” He pinched her nipples, tearing a throaty scream from her mouth, her head jerking back in reaction to the extreme pleasure.

  Her orgasm began to build, a turbulent storm rumbling from the depths of her belly, increasing in size and depth. And then, upon hitting the final crescendo, it erupted through her, white lights flashing like stars behind her eyelids.

  Another scream that had been trapped somewhere in the depths of her body escaped, as her body stilled and then shuddered in heated pleasure. Wave after wave of bliss crashed through her, as Jax continued his own quest for release.

  Within moments, his hands gripped harder, thrusting forward and back a few more times before reaching his own pinnacle of pleasure.

  “Oh, fuuuck…” he grunted, leaning over her, the tracks of sweat beads from his chest mixing with hers, his hands reaching clasp hers still holding the headboard. Still fastened together.

  A few quiet moments existed before either of them made another sound, their blissed out states making it near impossible for words to be formed. All her thoughts had been stolen with one of the most powerful orgasms she’d ever had.

  In fact, she couldn’t recall ever having an orgasm without stimulation to her center. Huh. That’s a new one. She laughed softly, wondering what exactly it was about Jax that had her losing her mind. And apparently her body.

  She felt him stiffen slightly from behind her before he gingerly pulled out.

  “I hate to mention this fact, but it’s never a good idea to laugh at a man after he’s just fucked you to orgasm. It might give a lesser man a complex.”

  Sasha collapsed onto the bed, her body now flat on her stomach, face turned to the side on the pillow. She couldn’t keep the stupid smile from forming, as she tried to regain the capacity for speech.

  “I wasn’t laughing at you. There was nothing funny about what you just gave me. You’re my hero.”

  Jax leaned over and released her hands from the ties, gently massaging the spot on her wrists that were now pink from their captivity.

  Bringing them to his lips, he gently placed a kiss on the overly sensitized skin.

  “You okay, baby?” he asked, concern etched in his beautiful ocean-blue eyes.

  The sweet gesture, along with the term of endearment, sent a jolt straight to her heart. Goddamn him for being so fucking nice!

  Unable to say anything, for fear of accidentally professing her undying devotion, she simply nodded, pulling her hands free from his grip and turning her ahead away so she didn’t have to see the look on his face.

  Jackson was some kind of hero. He was too kind. Too good. Too unbelievably perfect for her. Which meant she had to nip this stupid attraction in the bud sooner rather than later. She would not be sucked in to the vortex of intimacy and affection this man seemed to offer her on every level. That was a sure fire way for her to wind up back in the place she vowed she’d never go again.

  Talk about a mood killer. Just the thought of losing her sanity over a man and falling so deeply that she no longer had a grip on reality was enough to turn her moment of bliss into a state of fear and loathing, of both herself and the current situation.

  The last time she felt this strongly for a man, she ended up in a mental ward. She’d felt like Humpty Dumpty at the time – cracked and broken. But luckily, she’d fought her way back with some good therapy and had continued seeing a shrink on a regular basis ever since, just to ensure that something like that never happened. Ever. Again.

  It might be difficult, seeing as she didn’t want to give up the amazing sexual connection she had with him, but the sooner she ripped off the Band-Aide with Jax, the better it would be for everyone.

  Allowing him to get any closer at this point would cause irreparable damage. It would mean catastrophe for her well-being and her mental state. In fact, she had to call Dr. Thompkins as soon as she could to see how quickly she could get in to see her. Sasha needed advice on how best to extricate herself from this situation. How to move on from Jax, even though she didn’t really want to.

  The problem with the current state of affairs was that, unless she faked a serious case of food poisoning, she wasn’t sure how to boot Jax out of her house tonight. It was pretty safe to assume he was going to be in for cuddling the rest of the night. He just seemed like that kind of man. And now she cursed herself for how she stupidly invited him into her home tonight. Dumb, dumb, dumb. Now she was trapped without an escape route.

  Think.

  Collapsing on the bed, Sasha buried her head in the pillow as she covertly watched Jax out of the corner of her eye walk toward the bathroom, shutting the door behind him, the bright glow of the lights streaming underneath the crack in the door.

  Just as she was about to come up with a far-fetched excuse to rid herself of Jax for the night, her phone rang, the caller ID displaying her mother’s name. Ah, perfect timing, mom.

  “Hello, Mother,” she answered brusquely, secretly thanking her lucky stars for the perfectly-timed intrusion.

  Without preamble, her mother responded with the one thing Sasha had never expected to hear.

  “Darling, your father’s in the hospital.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Patience and persistence were traits that came naturally to Jackson. They made him a damn good attorney, in his humble opinion. Once he set an offer in motion, he could wait out the best of them, never once wavering from his intended goal. Never getting sidetracked on potentially trivial matters. And certainly never backing down or stepping away from what he wanted, remaining vigilant and determined in his pursuit of the deal.

  But fuck him if those traits didn’t just completely vanish into thin air when it came to Sasha. Jackson chastised himself for losing his nerve, and his balls, and apparently his man card, because he was at a loss with what to do with her. He’d realized early on that he wanted her. All of her. In and out of the bedroom. As much as he could get her.

  Yet here he sat, nursing a beer in the middle of the day on a Sunday, sitting at a dive bar filled with mostly regulars, a football game playing in the background on the bar TV, and his thoughts crashing in around him. He continued to play the scene on loop, carefully analyzing each action, each word he spoke that could have sent Sasha flying in the opposite direction him, like a bat out of hell.

  Jackson honestly thought their date the previous weekend had been fantastic. The night had been filled with great food, wine, conversation and most importantly, amazing fucking sex. And if it was one thing that their relationship didn’t lack, it was some fucking good fucking.

  You’d have thought it was the Fourth of July with all the explosions that went off between them that night. Shit, just the thought of seeing, feeling and hearing Sasha climax made his balls tighten and his dick grow hard in his jeans.

  Focus, Koda.

  So what the hell happened, between the night of their date and now? Why had she sent him packing so quickly, not to be seen or heard from since?

  When Jackson had returned to the bedroom after washing up that night, Sasha was flying around her bedroom, dressing in a frenzy, muttering something about her mother. He’d never seen her panicked before, but it was written all over the tense desperation in her movements, her shoulders stiff, her touch guarded.

  When he tried to wrap his arms around her from behind, her body turned into an icy statue, the warmth from minutes earlier dissipating faster than the icebergs in Antarctica.

  She’d fed him a generic line about having to go to the hospital, but when he pressed her for a reason why, she just gave him a blank stare and a tight shrug before sending him out the door half-dressed, t
elling him she’d call him soon.

  If this was what a brush-off felt like – he didn’t like it one bit.

  So here he sat, having a drink at noon on Sunday, before heading over to Mitch and Rylie’s house to watch their beloved Patriots hopefully kick some football ass. He already knew not to expect to see Sasha today. Although she was regularly invited to attend their football fan club, she rarely showed, choosing her usual Sunday custom of retail therapy instead. The thought of Sasha walking out of Neiman’s with bags dangling from both arms, a gigantic smile on her face like she’d won the lottery, had Jackson snorting to himself. What was it with women and shopping? He didn’t get it.

  The old man sitting a few barstools to his left cocked his head in Jackson’s direction, his big white bushy eyebrows slanting inward, making him look like that character from that Disney-Pixar movie about a house turning into a hot air balloon. God, why did he even know that? He’d never even seen a freaking Disney movie. The thought had him snorting again and shucking his shoulders in self-deprecating humor.

  “Buy me a beer and whisky and you can tell me all about her, son.” The man’s voice was exactly like Jackson had imagined. Throaty and weathered, like a storm on a rolling sea.

  Jackson glanced at the man over the rim of his mug, wondering if this old geezer earned most of his libations through the departing of his wisdom and sage advice. Ah, what the hell. He didn’t have anyone else to talk to at the moment, so why not?

  Giving a quick nod to capture the bartender’s attention, he pointed to his empty beer and gestured to the man. The bartender, Glenn, rolled his eyes but did as requested.

  “I’ll take another and whatever my friend here wants.”

  The old man pressed his hands against the rounded countertop and swiveled around, giving his gnarled right hand out to introduce himself.

  “Much obliged, son. Name is Guthrie.”

  He wore an old, tattered plaid, wool pea coat that had seen better days, blue jeans - that although being held up with suspenders, appeared to be two-sizes too big - and a ripped, stained white T-shirt. But the man had a firm and hearty handshake and the gleam in his cataracts-laced eyes showed him to be honest and forthright.

  In Jackson’s line of work, he had to learn how to read people. And Guthrie was good people.

  “Jackson Koda. Nice to meet you, Guthrie.”

  The bartender set a shot glass of amber liquid, along with a beer in front of the old man, and another beer glass in front of Jackson. Guthrie bent his head and lifted the shot glass to his lips before throwing it back with the expertise of an experienced whisky drinker. Not a cough or a clearing of his throat.

  Whisky had never been his own drink of choice. Mitch and Rylie were true connoisseurs of the liquor and always tried to get him to convert. But beer was his true love. Light, dark, Imports or domestic. He’d never had a beer he didn’t enjoy.

  “So, Jackson. Based on your slumped shoulders and the tears falling in your beer, I’ll assume you’re having some lady trouble, am I right?”

  Jackson licked the foam off of his lip and smiled. “You’re very astute, Guthrie.”

  “Well, I don’t know about that, but I do know a man burdened by love when I see one.” He took a sip of his beer, shaking his shaggy-haired head in solidarity. “Been there myself once, a long time ago.”

  The surprise must’ve been written all over Jackson’s face because Guthrie wagged his arthritic finger at him. “That’s right. You ain’t gonna lie to me and tell me it ain’t love. ´Cause you, boy, have it bad. My eyes might be old, but I can still see that about you. It’s as plain as the nose on your face.”

  Love? Seriously? Jackson scoffed at the possibility.

  Fascination, maybe. Lust, definitely. A profound interest, most indubitably. But love? That was some serious fucking business to consider.

  He’d only been in love once. Or at least he’d thought it was love at the time. But that emotion was a hard one for him to comprehend. It wasn’t commonplace in his childhood. With two cold and distant parents, it was never spoken of or demonstrated affectionately.

  What Jackson knew about love he’d learned from seeing it in the warm and welcoming Camden family. Mitch Sr. and Margo Camden, Mitch’s parents, had been married close to thirty-five years. And although they’d been through marital ups and downs like many long-term couples, as well as the tragic death of their youngest son, they seemed to have a love that was close to perfect.

  The minute Jackson was brought into their familial fold, he was showered with love and attention. Treated like one of their own. It made him feel both uncontrollably joyous and somewhat resentful of Mitch – knowing what he’d been missing throughout his childhood and Mitch had received it in aces.

  And it was because of that missing component in his own life that Jackson’s capacity to love a woman was limited, if not non-existent.

  “Well, Guthrie, I think you might be a little off the mark on this assessment, my friend. I’d say it’s something a little more than physical, but I wouldn’t quite define it as love at this point in time. And the way things are between us, I don’t think she even wants to consider that as an option.”

  The old man gave a wheezing laugh and slapped the bar top, causing a few curious heads to turn in their direction.

  “Bullshit,” he sputtered. “Now, buy me another whisky and I’ll tell you why you’re a dumbass.”

  ****

  Jackson spent another hour with Guthrie at the bar before calling an Uber to take him over to Mitch’s house.

  As he climbed in the backseat of the young twenty-something’s non-descript four-door Ford, his phone pinged with an incoming text. He glanced down at the black phone in his hand and saw it was from Sasha. The first of any communication from her that entire week.

  Of course he’d thought about her constantly, wanting desperately to know what she was up to and why she wasn’t in his bed every night. Yet something held him back from contacting her. Jackson knew to respect the lines, especially with a woman like Sasha, and he wasn’t the smothering or pestering sort of man. It was obvious to him that an independent woman like Sasha needed her space – even though it nearly killed him to give it to her.

  Maybe Guthrie was right about his feelings toward Sasha. Perhaps it had moved from just the physical to something more. Pondering the possibility of what that more entailed, he swiped his display and brought up the text that immediately grabbed his attention and had him instantly hard.

  Sasha: I need you inside me tonight.

  Well fuck him sideways. That girl didn’t mince words.

  Jackson stared at the brief, but very explicit details of her text, and contemplated their meaning. Dissecting the choice of words she used to get his attention. She could have just said, “I want to fuck you.” Or “Hey Rowdy, you up for a booty-call?” But instead, she chose the words “need you”, which indicated something entirely different. He wasn’t a psychologist, but did take Human Sexuality in college, and this spoke volumes about what he possibly meant to her. And “inside me” was a pretty intimate statement, wasn’t it?

  Ah, shit. He was losing it. He was turning into a chick, trying to decipher what his lover meant. This woman was torturing him with her yo-yo behavior. One minute jumping his bones in a fit of passion, and the very next instant pushing him away like he had the plague. And yet still he wanted to give her everything she wanted. Jackson felt a sudden thrill knowing that she could have anyone, and yet she wanted him to be the one inside her.

  And who the hell was he to pass up the chance like that, even if she kept him at a distance when they weren’t together.

  Holding out on her for the mere fact of pride and playing games with Sasha was not an option. Sure he could easily respond to say he already had plans tonight – which was technically true. Or he could play uninterested and not respond at all, leaving her hanging in limbo, questioning the feelings he had for her.

  But what would be the point? His lack of
response and playing hard-to-get would only serve one purpose. And that was to leave him empty handed, alone, and without the woman he wanted to be with.

  So Jackson did the only thing he could do in this situation. He let her know exactly what he needed, too.

  Jax: I would drop everything tonight to be with you.

  A momentary pause left him wondering if he had been too honest, putting too much on the line. But it was true, dammit. Yes, he wanted to be with her, but in more than the physical sense.

  The reality was, he would move heaven and earth to be there for her whenever she needed him and in whatever capacity. Even if it meant just sex to her. Even if she still saw him as just a booty-call. He’d fucking take it just to hold her.

  The bubbles popped up on his phone screen, indicating she was typing a reply.

  Sasha: Even if you were planning to be with a hot chick?

  He smiled at the touch of insecurity and vulnerability that read in her statement.

  Jax: The only hot chick I plan or want to be with is you, Sash.

  Sasha: 10 p.m. My place. You naked in my bed by 10:05 p.m.

  The driver gave him a surprised look through the rearview mirror when he laughed out loud.

  Quickly typing out one last reply, Jackson hit Send and placed the phone back in his front pocket. He’d head over to Mitch’s for the first half of the football game and then make his way over to Sasha’s for what he hoped would be an all-night thing.

  And this time, he planned to keep her in his arms until morning light.

  Chapter Nineteen

  The week had been shit, spent on pins-and-needles, waiting and hoping for her father’s full recovery.

  Sasha had spent nearly every waking minute at the hospital, from the moment she arrived at the Emergency Room the previous Friday night, to today. With the exception of a few surgeries she was called on to perform for her own patients, Sasha had taken time off and rescheduled her clients in order to be at her father’s bedside.