More Than Physical (The Physical Series Book Book 2)

by Hill, Sierra

  Jackson wiggled his eyebrows salaciously as Sasha threw her head back with a lusty laugh.

  “You got that right, baby. Now take this horny woman upstairs and have your way with her.”

  And he did.

  Epilogue

  “Oh yeah…right there, baby…just like that. Ooh, a little more to the left. A little higher. Yes. Yes. That’s it. Perfect!”

  The sweat was dripping down Jackson’s back, puddling at the bottom edge of his T-shirt, his arms tired from all the excursion. He’d been up on the ladder all morning, hanging pictures and posters on the walls of the newly renovated Lee & Associates clinic.

  You see, well before Mitch had started dating Rylie, he’d promised Sasha a cash investment for the expansion of Sasha’s physical therapy clinic if she’d help Mitch in getting his girl. So with Sasha’s clever match-making and patient scheduling tactics, Rylie ended up becoming Mitch’s personal therapist. By his own accounts, even though it cost him a good chunk of money, everyone came out a winner in that little business arrangement.

  Everyone except Jackson, who on an early Sunday morning in November, was stuck doing handyman work for his girlfriend’s therapy office, when he could be on the couch in the home they now shared, watching football and drinking beer.

  So instead of lounging around comfortably today, he was instead sweaty and tired, while his bossy girlfriend had been directing him where to hammer and hang the new wall decorations all morning. Truth be told, although he was a little miffed for having to get out of bed so early, he would do anything to help the woman he loved. Even if it meant hanging, and inevitably rehanging, all the pictures when she changed her mind. And she had done that a lot.

  Jackson rubbed his aching neck, setting the hammer down on the top of the ladder, and arching his back.

  “Hey Rowdy…you look in need of a little rub down. Think I could entice you to get your ass over here so I can work those sore muscles of yours?”

  He turned around to face her, the “hell yes” on the tip of his tongue, when he nearly swallowed said tongue. His mouth dropped open at the sight in front of him.

  Sasha was laying back on one of her sports therapy tables, propped up on her elbows, a wide grin across her face. Naked as the day she was born. Her legs spread eagle over the sides of the table.

  And fuck, his dick was hard just like that.

  They’d had sex hundreds of times since their original hook-up, and in more ways than he could count. Whether it was fast and dirty, or slow and sensual, they were insatiable. It was never enough. It would never be enough.

  His hunger for her was never sated. His longing never fulfilled. Even when he was balls deep, driving into her like a madman, Jackson could never seem to get close enough. He always wanted more.

  Stalking across the room toward her, Jackson watched as her eyes drank him in from head to toe. He gave her a coy smile as he lifted his T-shirt over his head, dropping it to the floor as she licked her lips in encouragement.

  He stepped in between her thighs, his hands caressing up her calves and up to her inner thighs, where he pressed his thumbs into her satiny flesh.

  She cooed and whimpered as he leaned down, flicking the dripping wet flesh between legs, inhaling the perfect scent that had his dick hardening against his zipper, ready to bust out.

  “Mmm. You smell so fucking good.” He blew across her sex as her hips bolted from the table.

  “Oh my God, Jax…I need you so bad right now.”

  Smiling at the desperation in her voice, he made quick work of his pants zipper, shoving his jeans and briefs down to his ankles.

  Slipping his hands under her ass, he jerked her down to the edge of the table, grabbing his cock in one hand and lining himself up before pushing in with a deep and fast thrust.

  Oh, fuck. The feel of her hot, wet grip would never get old.

  They’d stopped using condoms soon after they both committed to being each other’s one and only. So now, any time the mood struck, they went at it with the same raw intensity as they’d always had – but now with no barriers or restrictions.

  “Ahh, baby. Do you know how good you feel? I could live inside you forever.” Jackson was about twenty seconds from blowing his nut, his thrusts continuing to slam home into the only place he ever wanted to be for the rest of his life.

  “Jax…I want more…pleeeeaaaassse.”

  Jackson stopped his thrusts and looked down into the face of the woman he had finally convinced to love him. This stubborn, wild, and obnoxiously divine woman. Sasha’s eyes opened wide in a panic.

  “W-why are you stopping? What’s wrong?” Her hands came to grip his ass, urging him to start his ministrations again.

  Shaking his head, Jackson held her immobile, lifting one hand from the table and softly stroking her cheek with his thumb.

  “Nothing’s wrong, Sash,” he said, voice raw with emotion. “Well, except one thing.”

  She gave him a look of alarm, her hands moving to his biceps and digging in hard.

  “What?”

  Jackson smiled, pulling out to the tip before slowly….oh-so-slowly, before pushing back in. Their collective sighs mingled in the air, conjoining in the sounds of their mixed pleasure.

  “I want you to say yes.”

  He continued to slowly drive in and out, angling his pelvis so he could grind against the spot he knew would bring her to the edge.

  “Yes to what?”

  “When I ask you to marry me. Will you say yes?”

  Leaning over her, he took a nipple into his mouth, suckling and nipping, biting down roughly with his teeth as he felt her tighten around him.

  “Yes…yes, Jax. Ommmmiiiigoddd, yes!”

  And that was a good enough answer for now. At least until he asked the question again the right way.

  The End

  Acknowledgements

  I read a magazine article about a year ago about the effects of breakups on the human psyche. Psychologists and scientists have studied the impact that love, and the loss of that love after a breakup, can have in altering moods, personality, and brain function. It made me take a step back in time and recall how I reacted after my first devastating heartbreak in my late teens. Looking back, I really did go a little crazy after being dumped. My usually happy demeanor turned sullen, obsessive, angry and manic.

  Luckily, as with most painful experiences, time healed all wounds and I slowly pulled myself back together. However, this article got me interested in how breakups shape a person’s character and behavior, as well as the elements of depression that can weigh heavily on an individual’s life.

  Depression is a dark and sneaky bastard. It runs in my family and in the lives of millions of others. It’s not always sparked by a specific event – like a death, or a breakup, or a job loss. It’s a medical illness and it is treatable.

  If you, or someone you love, suffer from depression, please seek help. Talk to a professional. Look for treatment options. Don’t go it alone!

  Xoxo

  ~Sierra

  Thank you to J. Nathan for providing me invaluable feedback on the first few chapters, as well as providing some great tips on socializing my book out in the “indie author” world.

  Bryan T., I forgot to acknowledge the help you gave me in my novella, The Reunion. Thank you for giving me some good “guy” advice, and always being a supportive cheerleader for me, even though romance fiction isn’t your thing.

  To Mary Jane, Burg and Monica – thanks for making me feel special when you stopped by at my first local book signing. I appreciate your continued encouragement in this crazy endeavor I’ve taken on.

  About the Author

  Sierra Hill wrote her first full-length romance after a corporate acquisition led her to a stint of unemployment, offering her some quality writing time. She has always been an aspiring writer and feels incredibly blessed to be living her dream.

  Sierra frequently indulges on what some might consider an unhealthy dose of reading,
dark chocolate goodies, and too much coffee.

  Sierra resides in the Seattle area with her husband of twenty-years and her long-haired, German shepherd. She is currently working on her next book.

  Did you like More Than Physical? If so, your recommendation is the highest compliment I could receive. Please feel free to share your feedback by posting a review on Amazon or Goodreads. And don’t forget to look for me on one of these social media sites:

  http://www.sierrahillbooks.com

  www.twitter.com/sierrahillbooks

  www.facebook.com/sierrahillbooks

  Coming Soon:

  Book Three in The Physical Series – Physical Distraction

  Excerpt

  “You look like you could use a shot,” he said authoritatively. “Have one with me.”

  Her hands clutched the bottle tight, trying to come up with some lame excuse why she shouldn’t. He was right, though. She could definitely use a shot after the hideous turn her life had taken over the last few weeks. In her opinion, there was no one else more in need or more deserving of a good, stiff drink than Sloane Fitzgerald.

  And if a strong shot of whisky could squelch the insanely hot attraction she was feeling for the man standing just a few feet from her, then dammit, she was going to have one.

  “Fuck yeah.” Dylan let out a roar of approval as she filled the third shot with the deep amber liquid. Holding it in her hand in front of him, they toasted in celebration.

  “Slainte!” she exclaimed cheerfully, using the traditional Irish toast for “good health”.

  He echoed it back, clinking her glass in cheers. “Slainte.”

  The warm liquid slowly burned a path down her throat, warming her body from the inside out. She could feel the flush already overtake her face, the numbing affect spreading down her neck and chest.

  “No chaser?” he asked incredulously.

  Sloane shook her head and smiled brightly. “Nope. I may look all cute and feminine, but I can drink like a man. No girly drinks for me.” She placed her hands on her hips for emphasis.

  Dylan cocked his eyebrows and gave her a long, appreciative look, letting his eyes graze slowly up and down her body, until they landed on her chest. She wasn’t sure if it was the heat of his stare or the effects of the alcohol, but she felt hot. Tingly hot. Her nipples hardened and the space between her thighs grew tight and achy.

  “I have to admit, I like your cute and feminine. You wear it well.” Dylan picked up his beer and took a swig, his expressive eyes never leaving hers.

  Flustered and caught off guard by the blatantly sexual tone of his compliment, Sloane hurriedly cleaned up the glassware and busied herself with wiping down the counter.

  It had been a long time since she’d flirted with a man. Blaine was her first love and they’d been together for years. The rush of feelings that were fluttering through her wasn’t anything like she remembered. Dylan was just so…raw. He had this magnetism about him that pulled her in. Like a fish caught on a line. Every word he spoke, every aspect of his mannerisms, was reeling her in.

  She knew she had to be careful. She’d just gone through a devastating break-up and loss. She had baggage. She had responsibilities. She had no idea how she would survive the likes of Dylan Hemmons, even if it only happened to be for one, hot, sex-filled night.

  Raucous shouts and cheers could be heard over the loud, thumping music that was playing in the background. Dylan and Sloane both looked up when they heard his name being yelled from the game area.

  “DYLAN! Get your ass back over here. I need my beer!”

  Dylan hung his head in mock embarrassment. Just as she did the other day, Sloane had to fight her urge to slide her hands through his short dark hair and capture his mouth to hers. If there was one thing to say about Dylan Hemmons, it was that he was dangerous with a capital D.

  He hefted the beers and the full shot glass in both hands, gesturing his thanks to Sloane. But before leaving, he leaned over the bar in a speaking in a hushed tone, just loud enough for her to hear.

  “I’ll try to keep him in line and out of trouble tonight, but I can’t guarantee anything,” he winked, the sly grin taking over his face. “Later.”

  Sloane watched Dylan walk off toward the back of the bar, yelling something back in protest to his friend, his perfectly sculpted ass on display in the faded jeans he wore. The man had a perfect ass. Designed to be squeezed.

  Get your mind out of the gutter, Fitzgerald.

  Thoughts like that would get her nowhere. Sloane had too much on her plate right now to consider how Dylan Hemmons’ butt would feel under her palms.

  But a girl could dream.