by J. Daniels
I’d kiss him back. I’d grip him harder. I’d match his desperation with my own and give in to the feelings overwhelming me.
I’d let myself like him.
The second Jamie touched me, my brain would shut off and stop giving me the biggest freak-out of my life.
But until that happened, I’d continue doing what I was doing, which included standing in the bathroom wearing nothing but a white fluffy towel cinched under my arms, staring at my reflection in the mirror and the signs of my anxiety, all while running through positions, topics of conversation to use during moments of silence, if we had any, and the hundred reasons why having sex with Jamie McCade was a terrible idea.
Position-wise, I really had no idea what to expect.
He was fit, appeared to be limber, and had years of experience, I was certain.
Jamie didn’t look like sweet, simple missionary sex. Not even when he smiled. Those dimples were a ploy he used as bait. He was mischief. He was late-night sneaking around when you had a curfew and a father with a shotgun.
He didn’t care. Jamie took what he wanted. He didn’t say please, he said now. And worse, he knew whatever he was asking for, you wanted just as bad as he did.
No. Jamie wasn’t staring into your eyes while he took you soft and lovingly.
He was down and dirty doggy-style or up against a wall in a public bathroom. Hand-muffled screams and toys in his closet.
He was dark desires. He was what you thought of late at night while you lie in bed next to someone else.
So, position-wise, I was completely unprepared.
Awesome.
That wasn’t really helping with my nerves.
In terms of conversation, I was primed to hit him with a range of topics. Anything from the weather to the ingredients I used in my chili recipe.
Silent moments with Jamie led to my mind going into hyper-overdrive. I was prepared to shut that shit down, even if I sounded crazy rattling off lists of my favorite things or naming objects in the room.
Lamp.
Chaise recliner.
Pierced dick under the blanket.
My stomach clenched.
I blinked at my wide-eyed reflection as reason number one hundred and one why this was a terrible idea hit me like a ton of bricks.
I had zero experience with dick piercings.
I didn’t know how they felt. If they hurt or enhanced pleasure for women, and if that was the case, just how much pleasure they were capable of delivering. Would it be too good, ruining me for normal, undecorated cock for the rest of my life and turning me into some Craigslist creepster who trolled for boys with naughty jewelry, or would I hate it and call this entire thing off the second he pushed in? I had no idea.
And considering how unprepared I was for the type of sex Jamie was into, was there a risk of injury? Or if the mood hit me, was there a chance I might chip a tooth on this thing?
Shit. How hard was that metal?
I snatched my phone off the bathroom counter and clicked on my Safari app. Then I typed in “prince albert piercings” with the intentions of doing some thorough research.
Unfortunately, instead of scrolling down the page, I accidentally clicked on Images.
“Oh, God!” I gasped, hand flying to my mouth as the page loaded and my eyes were assaulted. I went to look away but found myself narrowing in on the third image instead, bringing the device closer to my face as I quietly remarked, “Oh, no, you didn’t. Why? Why would you bring attention to that? You can’t even really.” I tilted my head. “Oh, there it is.”
The bathroom door swung open.
Gasping again, this time somehow even more dramatic because I was about to get caught staring at a screen full of dicks, I smashed the phone against my chest and pivoted around.
Jamie stood in the doorway, brow furrowed and eyes searching the small room. “What the fuck?” he asked, looking into my face. “What happened? Why’d you scream?”
“Uh.” I slid my thumb along the front of the phone, found the Home button, and clicked it. “Nothing. I…I thought I saw a spider, or something. It scurried down the drain. It was gross. And hairy.”
His brows lifted.
I swallowed, feeling nerves constrict my throat. Then, even though I was seriously trying hard to stay quiet, those nerves got the best of me and my mouth just kept right on going at an even faster rate.
“You know, like, so much hair you can’t even see what all they got. They don’t groom themselves or anything. Not even to attract the opposite sex.” I shook my head through a laugh. “Like, take the time, you know? Put a little effort in. It won’t kill ya.”
Jamie stared at me. His brows were still lifted.
I was totally talking about the penis I just saw. Terrific.
“Anyway.” I cleared my throat and slid my phone back onto the counter, then I grabbed on to the top of my towel and held it in place while Jamie’s presence in my house tripped my awareness. I stared back at him, eyes narrowing. “You know, just because you can break into my house doesn’t mean you should. It’s rude and, honestly, a little disturbing. There’s a doorbell outside for a reason.”
“You know what time it is?” he asked, reaching up and gripping on to the door frame with both hands, causing the off-white tee he was wearing to rise up and show tanned, hard abs and the trail of hair below his navel.
I glanced at what he was showing me, briefly, then I looked back into his eyes and remembered his question. “No. I’ve been in the shower. But what’s that got to do with you picking locks instead of waiting for me to greet you?”
“Did wait,” he replied. “Got here at ten fifteen, like I said I would, knocked and rang the fuckin’ bell. Gave you two minutes to get your ass to that door and let me in yourself. You didn’t.”
I motioned at the front of me with the hand not clutching my towel. “I was showering. Hello. I would’ve greeted you when I was finished.”
“Meaning I would’ve been standing on your porch for thirty fuckin’ minutes, Legs.”
“Excuse me?”
“It’s quarter of eleven, babe.”
I blinked.
Was it?
“Yeah,” Jamie answered, reading my mind as he tipped forward and flexed his arms. “Waited the two minutes, got pissed at you for not answerin’ the door when you knew damn well I’d be here at that exact time, let myself in with plans on gettin’ on your case about it, and heard you showerin’. Hearin’ that, I knew you were in here gettin’ yourself ready for me so I quit bein’ pissed at you. But straight up, babe, told you before and I’ll say it again, you’re in this house, I’m gettin’ in. If I give you time to answer and you don’t, that’s on you.”
I listened to Jamie’s reasoning, and although I liked parts of it, him using the doorbell and knocking like a civilized person for one, there were parts of it I didn’t like. I focused on one part in particular.
“Are you saying there will be occasions where you don’t give me time to answer?” I asked, moving my hand to my hip and keeping the other on the towel.
“Yep.”
“Like when?”
Jamie smiled.
“Like. When,” I repeated, doing so with more sass when he didn’t answer me.
“Middle of the night and I’m horny as fuck.” He shrugged, keeping the smile. “Probably won’t bother knocking then, seeing as you’ll be asleep and won’t hear it.”
My nostrils flared. I tipped forward, the hand around my towel gripping tighter into a fist as I questioned, “Are you implying that I’m some sort of booty call to you? That you’re gonna come here whenever you want a piece of ass and use me for it?”
Jamie lost his smile. Instantly. His face wiped clean of amusement. He didn’t look angry, but he looked…something. Disturbed or disappointed. Maybe a little saddened. I couldn’t tell.
And why did I suddenly feel sorry for calling him out on his suggestion?
Really?
He was the one suggesting
it!
“Didn’t mean it like that,” Jamie said, voice steady and assuring.
I straightened up, stared at him for a beat, and read his honesty. Then getting that, I informed him without sass this time, “Fine, but that’s how it sounded.”
“Yeah. I’m gettin’ that.” He dropped his arms and exhaled heavily, still holding that look I couldn’t read. Then he took a step back out into the hallway and turned sideways, facing my room. “We doin’ this?” he asked.
This would’ve been the moment to change my mind. To let my hundred and one reasons rule my decision. To stay not-knowing and stay away from never-forgetting.
This was it.
But instead of opening my mouth or shaking my head, I kept hold of my towel and moved forward. I stepped out into the hallway. I wasn’t going to look at Jamie. I was going to turn and walk to my bedroom and wait.
But a hand on my stomach stopped me, and because I wasn’t expecting that hand, I turned my head, tipped it back, and looked at him.
Jamie didn’t need to say a word. And thinking back, I almost wished he hadn’t.
Staring into his eyes, I heard his promise to me before he even shared it.
“Wouldn’t be like that with you,” he said, and I felt his hand press deeper with the breath I pulled in. “Had that with women before. Made it known that was all it was and made it known up front. If there’s an expectation there, I squash it or I move on. Messed up not to and shit just causes drama I don’t fuckin’ need.”
He stared down at me after he was done speaking, keeping that look.
“Okay,” I replied, not really understanding why he was sharing past women with me, and feeling the need to question his motives. “Why are you telling me this?”
Jamie bent down. His fingers tensed on my stomach.
“’Cause I’m tellin’ you to have an expectation, babe,” he shared, voice like a hot touch moving over me and breaking my body out in chills.
I blinked. Air caught in my throat. Lord…
I had no idea how to respond to that, and before I opened my mouth and said something stupid, like “okay” or “are you sure” or “I’m expecting you not to hurt me,” I turned my head and my body and moved toward my bedroom. I did not look back.
God. My heartbeat was nothing before.
I stepped inside the room and looked around. The light was already on and the corner of the comforter was wrinkled.
Jamie had been in here. This was where he’d been waiting.
I moved to the side of the bed and spun around when he entered in behind me. Both hands clutched at the fold in my towel.
“Get on the bed,” Jamie ordered. His tone was severe.
My toes curled against the carpet. I didn’t move.
I watched Jamie reach over his shoulder and grip his shirt. He pulled it off and tossed it on the chaise recliner next to the window, met my eyes when he turned his head, and again ordered, “Get on the bed.”
I trapped my lip between my teeth, staring at his broad chest and hard muscles. I didn’t move.
Jamie unbuttoned and unzipped his gray, loose-fit cargo shorts. He pushed them to the floor, standing in black boxer briefs that clung. He was already hard.
“Tori.”
My eyes snapped up at the sound of my name.
“You never call me Tori,” I said, feeling the need to remind him of that.
He bent down, picked up his shorts, and pulled a sleeve of condoms out of his pocket. “About to get off on you. You’re gonna be hearin’ your name a lot,” he pledged, keeping hold of the condoms and tossing his shorts on the recliner to join his shirt.
I huffed out a breath, draining the air from my lungs.
Wow. That was honest.
Then, because I knew he was going to order me to do it again and also because I wasn’t sure my legs could hold me up much longer, I let my towel fall to the floor and quickly climbed onto the center of the bed.
Head on the pillow. Body stretched long. Thighs pinching tight. I looked down at my nakedness, at my breasts rising and falling rapidly, the tops of my knees and my hot-pink toes, then I lifted my eyes and saw Jamie was looking, too.
“Jesus,” he mumbled, bringing a knee to the bed and putting weight on it as he stared, eyes trailing up and down and lingering in certain areas. He blindly tossed the condoms next to my hip, then he gripped my ankle, pushed back, and opened me up.
I gasped and pulled the soft duvet between my fingers.
“You’ve got the hottest fuckin’ pussy I’ve ever seen,” he said, climbing onto the mattress between my legs and staring there now, too.
My stomach clenched.
I wanted to roll away or cover up. I wanted to die.
And in the same breath, I didn’t. I wanted this more.
Jamie lifted his eyes to me. “You wax?”
I nodded.
“Always keep it bare?”
I swallowed thickly, then nodded again.
“Like that, babe,” he said, eyes darkening as he shifted closer, hands sliding up my shins, over my knees to my thighs.
I started shaking.
“Jamie,” I whispered.
He leaned over me, bracing his hands beside my shoulders and lowering, letting me feel the weight of his body. The pressure of him moved in waves, starting at my hips, stomach, chest, the tops of my shoulders, until he covered me completely.
It was comfortable and it wasn’t.
I wasn’t a small woman. I was average height, five foot six, and the rest of me was average, too. I wasn’t super skinny. I had meat on my bones and extra meat in certain areas. My butt filled out my jeans and I had to buy large tops on occasion because of my breasts, even though I was built for mediums.
I wasn’t pint-sized and petite. I wasn’t skinny by any means, but beneath Jamie, I felt tiny. Delicate.
He was huge and I was under him, wondering how long it would take him to break me.
When he dropped his head and kissed my shoulder, I stopped wondering and worrying and clutched at him instead, holding on to skin that felt like sunlight and smelled familiar. I gripped at the muscles in his back. I trailed my fingers up the line of his spine and curled them around his narrow hips.
Jamie rocked forward and pressed into me, leaning away and then bending to take my mouth and the moan I was giving him.
“You ready?” he asked, hot against my lips.
I nodded and whispered, “Yes.” Then I braced myself. Because if Jamie asked whether or not I was ready, I knew that meant he was done being slow and accommodating.
He was ready to take. He was ready to push my face into the mattress and make my skin flush under his hand.
He was ready to fuck.
So when Jamie leaned back and ducked his head beside me, kissing my other shoulder and moving down my arm with his mouth, my body stiffened. I was confused.
He wasn’t rushing to grab a condom and flip me over. He wasn’t making me cry out while he made me forget.
He kissed my biceps and the bend in my elbow. The back of my forearm and the inside of my wrist. He opened my hand and pressed a kissed to my palm, and when he moved over each of my fingers, sliding his own between them, I had to ask.
“What are you doing?”
Head turned, I watched Jamie draw my thumb into his mouth and suck. I clenched my thighs around him.
“He touch you here?” he asked, kissing the back of my hand and moving higher, lips tickling every inch of my skin. Sometimes just his breath.
I couldn’t answer Jamie because I knew what he was doing. And I couldn’t believe he was doing it.
Every part of me that touched Wes or had been touched by him, Jamie was touching. He kissed and he felt and he let his tongue taste. My other arm. Behind my ears. Over the curve in my ribs and the dip in my stomach.
“Here?”
My hipbones, he dragged his teeth as if he knew that was where Wes held me tight. Down my legs. The tops of my ankles. My feet.
; “Here?”
On my stomach, I felt his hot tongue lick up my spine. He kissed the backs of my knees. He squeezed my ass and pressed his mouth there.
Jamie was erasing fingerprints and memories. He was replacing them with his own.
My breath hitched when he flipped me over again, palmed my breasts, and then bit them. I cried out.
My soft voice begged. Do it and again and again, Jamie, please.
He sucked on my nipples. He twisted them between his fingers and buried his face in my cleavage, cursing, “Fuck, baby,” as his hands shook.
I reached for him and whimpered when he sat back. I wanted more. His fingers in my hair and his teeth on my neck. “Please,” I whispered, arm outstretched and fingertips seeking.
Jamie held my gaze and moved his hand between my legs.
My eyes rolled closed.
“That motherfucker lick you here?”
My eyes flew open and I looked at Jamie after he spoke. I squirmed when he slid a finger inside me.
“Yes,” I whispered, in answer and in response to what he was doing.
He sank down.
I bent my knees up.
Every muscle in my body tensed.
Putting your mouth on a woman there, in my opinion, was a much more intimate act than sex. There was something profoundly personal about it. Hell, not all men even did it.
And Jamie was looking to get intimate with me.
On his stomach and hanging partially off the bed, Jamie dropped his head between my legs and swiped his hot tongue through my pussy.
“Oh, shit,” I moaned, back arching and hands reaching down to grab handfuls of ocean-kissed hair.
Jamie had his hands wrapped around my thighs and was yanking me closer to his mouth. He started to work me.
Lips parted to moan and pant and beg if he asked, I looked between my legs, watching in wonder and studying, learning the way he ate out a woman.
There was technique. There was skill and practiced moves.
He didn’t start slow. He wasn’t savoring.
Jamie was ravenous. Greedy. He spoke against my flesh, saying hottest pussy and so wet and so fuckin’ good and this was never his. He wasn’t just erasing and replacing memories. Jamie wasn’t simply licking and tasting to see if he liked it. He was eating and consuming, knowing he wanted it all. Hard, hungry lips and a tongue that felt like fire. He was rough.
