by S. E. Harmon
“That’s a lot of code to decipher,” I said, handing the poor bastard a marshmallow. “But I think I’ve got the gist. She’s pissed about you spending time with your ex and you guys argued about it. Your parents, who’ve made it crystal clear that they want us to get back together and don’t know that you cheated on me, did their best to make things uncomfortable for her. That about right?”
“Just about.”
I felt his gaze on my face as I stared into the fire.
“I never told you that she and I were…” He trailed off and cleared his throat. “When did you find out?”
“Just a really good guess.”
I was glad to have confirmation. At the same time, knowing that he’d actually cheated on me made my gut a little queasy. I’d known there was something up the day I’d dropped by the school early, to pick him up for lunch. Usually, I waited in the car, but that day had been a real scorcher. Faced with another half hour of sweating in the car or waiting in the back of his class, I chose the latter.
I usually loved to watch Adam lecture, but this day had been a little different. I’d watched him interacting with Nicole in front of the class like old friends. I hadn’t even known he’d had a TA that semester—he certainly hadn’t mentioned it. He also hadn’t mentioned that she was blonde, sunny, and bubbly. She’d looked at him with a clear case of hero worship, and he’d cast indulgent looks in her direction. I’d sat in the back of that dark, cool auditorium, feeling unease snake through my belly.
I didn’t mention it, maybe because I was afraid to be right. If I was right, we were over, and I was going to have to find another reason to use a rec room for two hundred people that we’d put a deposit on. But as the months progressed, I became more and more sure. There was nothing overt to make me doubt him, but when you know, you just…know.
I knew it then just like I knew Adam wanted me now. But that certainly wasn’t happening. Not ever again. He had shattered something sacred—my already precarious trust. It was worse than knowing I could never trust him again. I wasn’t sure if I could trust anyone else, either.
“Aren’t you going to yell at me? Hit me? Something?” Adam let out a frustrated breath. “Do you want to talk about it?”
I bit my lip. I knew if I asked about all the sordid details, he’d tell me. Frankly, I didn’t want to know. “I think when Nicole gets on the flight tomorrow, you should be on it.”
It really didn’t matter anymore. There was no need to get melancholy about it. He’d moved on, and so had I. I was trying to move on even more, and as soon as Jackson picked up on my signals and stopped chatting up a Taylor Swift clone, maybe he could help.
As if I’d said his name aloud, Jackson glanced over in our direction. His forehead creased. I gave him a small wave, but he didn’t return it. I tried to eat a marshmallow sexily for his benefit, but his eyes only narrowed. I huffed out an annoyed breath. When I looked back, Adam was watching me with an uplifted eyebrow. I smiled weakly and stuck another marshmallow on my skewer. Seducing a cheating ex? Check. Fucking cupid and his wonky arrows.
I stuck the marshmallow in the flame and watched it color. Someone shrieked in the distance as the tide rushed in, and the sound was followed by wild laughter. It was a good night to be outside, the cool wind blowing, the salty smell of the sea sharp in the air, and the crackling of the fire loud in my ears. After Adam pushed out of his chair and headed back up to his parents’ house, the atmosphere was even better.
“Are there any left for me?”
I looked up to find Jackson standing in front of me, an unreadable expression on his face. It didn’t matter—he and Taylor Clone were done and I was ridiculously glad to see him. One corner of my mouth lifted. “I might be able to spare a few.”
He sat beside me on the log and accepted the skewer when I handed it to him. He lifted the marshmallow toward his mouth, but I stilled his hand quickly, shaking my head. “Don’t. It’s hot.”
“That’s pretty much the point, isn’t it?”
I grinned. “If you want to lose all feeling in your tongue, that’s up to you.”
He chuckled. “No, I’ll pass. I’m pretty sure I’m going to need it later.”
When I got his meaning, I went red as fire. If I was lucky, he would. That was provided I could manage to move our flirting past first base. Hell, we weren’t even kissing. What base was that? Was I even in the dugout? I thought I was somewhere in the concession stand, trying to get popcorn. Finally frustrated with trying to figure out how to be suave, I sighed. For Christ’s sake, I wasn’t a shy, blushing virgin.
I leaned over and kissed him, his lips soft and pliant under mine. He stared at me bemused, the fire giving those wide, hazel eyes a golden sheen. When he spoke, his voice was rough and low. “I guess that means we’re on the same page.”
It was a moment before I realized I’d been holding my breath. I let it all out in a whoosh of air. “Yep. Same paragraph. Same line.” Same slutty book.
“You taste like marshmallows.”
“Oh.” I looked down at the bag in my hands. “Sorry.”
His hand sifted through my hair and pulled my face back to his. “I didn’t say that was a bad thing.”
His lips were on mine again, his tongue sweeping through my mouth. I couldn’t do anything but open myself up to the kiss, a low moan escaping from my throat. There was kissing, and then there was this, this meshing of mouths and tongues that created this firestorm of sparks in my body. When we finally had to separate or learn to breathe aerobically, we pulled back.
I blinked. Without conscious thought, I slid my tongue across my lips, just to taste him again.
His eyes darkened. “You shouldn’t do that.”
“Oh.” It was all I could think of to say.
“That’s all you have to say?” he demanded. “Oh?”
“You want a sonnet?”
“Yeah, pretty much.”
“Then maybe you should ask your volleyball chick to write you one.”
The wind swept his hair across his face and he pushed it back, enough for me to see his eyes creased in amusement. “You jealous?”
“No. It’s not my business if you let blonde, cheerleader types put their numbers in your phone.”
“I already erased it. I didn’t want to be rude.” He sent me a crooked smile. “Besides, I’m not really into peppy chicks right now. I’m kind of into this princess of darkness whose lifeblood seems to be sarcasm. Now where’s my sonnet, Winters?”
I pretended to think. “But, soft! What light through yonder window breaks? It is the east, and Jackson is the sun.”
His lips twitched. “I want something original.”
“Damn.” I sighed heavily. “All right, I’m gonna need a minute.”
“Wait.” Suddenly his hand was in my hair again and I didn’t mind at all. “I’m going to give you more material to work with.”
This time, the kiss was leisurely and exploratory, and when it ended, I wanted more. Needed more. I sighed in disappointment when his hand dropped from my hair.
“That’s barely enough to write a damned haiku, Sparks.”
Just as he leaned in to give me a refresher course in why exactly, he was the master of kissing, and why I should bow to the altar of his well-shaped lips, I heard a throat clearing. Loudly.
I glared up at Art, who obviously graduated valedictorian from the school of bad timing. He smiled at me sanguinely, propping his board up in the sand. Water dripped from his dark, water-laden hair and he swiped a hand over his face. With several leather, corded bracelets around his wrist and wildly colored board shorts hanging low on his narrow hips, he looked like an ad for a surf shop. That picture was going to look so good in his upcoming obituary.
He leaned his head to the side slightly, hitting his ear to drain the water clinging there. “You know, most of us are probably going to be out here a while.”
“Yeah? So?” I tried to curb my irritation, but Art grinned anyway.
“So the house is probably empty.” Art widened his eyes and blinked. Twice.
Jackson and I stared at each other for a minute before standing simultaneously. We scrambled up the wet sand, headed toward the house to the sound of Art’s chuckling. “We’re not all getting lucky, you selfish bastards,” he called after us. “Leave the marshmallows!”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
I was well aware that everyone knew exactly why we’d hustled off so quickly. If Art’s knowing smirk hadn’t been enough of a sign, Lane and Rick elbowing one another would have done it. Nosy bastards. But even that wasn’t enough to bring my back to my senses.
We didn’t say much on the way back to my room, and the tense silence was almost enough to make me think he was having second thoughts. Only he made sure to touch me in some fashion the entire way. His hand brushing the back of my neck. Touching my shoulder when he held the door open. His hand on the small of my back as we made our way upstairs. It was almost as if he was afraid if he stopped touching me, I would change my mind.
He didn’t have to worry about that.
I was pretty sure I’d never been so ready for something in my life. My skin felt tight and achy; my breasts sensitive and swollen. The normally gentle lace cups of my bra were abrasive against my suddenly sensitized skin. My mind wasn’t even throwing up any bogus roadblocks in my usual Avery fashion.
I closed my bedroom door behind us softly, mind whirring in a million different directions. I’d been daydreaming about this moment so long, I could hardly believe it was here.
I didn’t know what I wanted to do first…what I wanted to touch first. Maybe I should take off my shirt. Or his. I looked up and down his torso. Yeah, we should definitely start with his.
His voice was barely above a whisper, but it made me jump a little. “You still want to do this?”
“I’m far too much of a lady to say yes.”
He chuckled. “I’m far too much of a gentleman to comment on that.”
I dug my fingers in his ribs then, making him laugh, and the sudden dissipation of sexual tension was a welcome relief. This wasn’t some sleazy hookup in a bar—he was Jackson, and I knew him. I certainly knew him well enough to know all of his sensitive spots anyway. I got him good in the sensitive skin below his underarms, and he yelped like a startled dog. One of the tiny ones that people like to carry in handbags.
“All right, that’s it!” He lifted me clear off the ground.
I laughed and shrieked and begged for mercy without reprieve, until finally he tossed me on the bed. I was airborne for a few breathless seconds before I hit the soft mattress, bouncing twice before landing in a laughing heap.
“Say you’re sorry,” he said, eyes twinkling with amusement.
“You want me to l-lie?”
“Say it!” he demanded, unreasonably in my estimation.
“Fine. Sorry, sorry,” I managed through my laughter, but he wasn’t having any of it.
He pounced, straddling my waist and pinning my wrists with one hand. And then the laughing mood was gone and things were a bit tense again. My eyes were locked with his for a breathless moment as we hoovered there, right there on the precipice of doing something that would change our relationship forever, foreheads pressed together, breathing the same air.
There was something more than desire in his eyes right then, but I couldn’t quite decipher what it was. Maybe because I wanted him too much to think right then. And maybe I was afraid of what I’d find if I did.
I didn’t know who moved first, but suddenly there was a blur of hands and mouths and limbs intertwining. I’d been ogling all that golden, tanned skin for weeks, and now I wanted to get my hands on every inch of it. It seemed like we were definitely of the same mind as his hands tugged at my tank top, pushing it up over my stomach and over my head in one smooth motion. I didn’t know where the garment landed, and I couldn’t have cared less. And finally, thankfully, the man finally got with the program and took off my bra.
I wasn’t shy under his intense perusal of my body. Yeah, I knew I had large breasts and wide hips and Vogue wasn’t going to be calling me to grace a cover anytime soon, but none of that was going to change by me blushing and stuttering like an idiot. Besides, from the way the bulge in his pants grew even bigger, clearly he’d found something he liked.
When his gaze cruised over my breasts for the third time, I made a frustrated noise behind my teeth. “You window shopping or planning to buy?”
His eyes crinkled in amusement, but he ignored my sass. As usual. Instead, his thumb leisurely circled a toffee-colored nipple, like he had all the time in the world. Like my nipples were connected by invisible string, they both tightened in response in a way that was almost painful. My back arched instinctively as I bit my lip. I suddenly realized that at some point I’d stopped breathing, in sheer anticipation, and my breath whooshed out of my body like a popped balloon.
His hands were the perfect blend of gentle and firm as both roughened palms covered my breasts. And when he finally sucked one of my stiffened nipples into his mouth, a sound I wasn’t sure I could ever make again escaped my lips. His eyes shot to mine before they grew heavy-lidded, and he began to suck. First one. Then the other. Then back. Then he tried to fit both of them in his mouth, which didn’t work, but fuck if I didn’t enjoy watching him try. I didn’t know the origin of Jackson’s oral fixation, but I gave silent thanks as sensations ricocheted through my body like bouncing fucking pinballs.
Always a greedy little thing, I wanted more. I could feel his hardness pressing into my stomach, and I wanted him naked. I wanted his skin on mine. I wanted some part of him in me. “More,” I managed, eloquent as ever.
I didn’t have to tell him twice. He made short work of my shorts, leaving me clad in a pair of little pink underwear. When he pushed the tiny excuse for underwear aside, he made a sound that I could only describe as a growl.
“You want to put that in words?” I said, anticipation making my stomach knot.
“You’re fuckin’ sexy, AJ. That’s about as coherent as I can be right now.”
Right about now, that sounded good as anything Shakespeare ever wrote. He slid one thick, clever finger in me and began to thrust, and the sensation was just…incredible. My toes arched so hard that I almost got a cramp, and I forced my feet flat on the mattress, trying to relax a little. I closed my eyes briefly, trying to take deep breaths, and fisted my hand by my thigh, but none of my techniques were working. My hips jerked involuntarily, canting to the rhythm of his fingers.
His eyes were trained on the motion of his finger, working in and out of me; my eyes were trained on him. And that was the exact moment that I knew I was already lying to myself, and this was a little bit more than just sex. Fuck. It was sex with Jackson, and that made all the difference. Before I could really wrap my mind around that disturbing thought, he added another finger and thank God, I had no more time to think random, arousal-killing thoughts. Instead, I was suddenly busy trying to remember to breathe again.
I grabbed his face and brought his mouth down to mine, needing that extra bit of connection. He pulled back from the kiss, fascinated with watching his fingers invading my sex again and again. I was fascinated, too, with finally being able to maul that perfect mouth to my heart’s content. I sank my teeth into his bottom lip delicately, pulling his mouth back to mine, just so I could attack him, plunge my tongue in his mouth and drink him in. The feeling was so crazy beautiful that I wanted it to last forever, only I could feel my orgasm starting, could feel it clear to my arching feet as my undulations grew less controlled and took on a touch of frenzy.
“Please,” I managed for no reason at all, shifting restlessly. He hushed me with a murmur, and sank his tongue back in my mouth…which was not a way, I thought crossly, to calm my arousal down. Just for his future knowledge. I sucked on his tongue as he kept up that fucking amazing rhythm with his fingers.
And there was that illusive finish, right there. A few snaps of my hips a
nd I’d be there. That dive off the precipice was almost frightening this time, but before I could think any further, I was on the edge. It was like I’d feared—so sharp, so high, so dangerous that I wasn’t sure I’d survive the fall. I was pretty sure I didn’t care. And then I went over, breathlessly, falling, unable to even make so much as a sound, letting the frissons take over my body.
I came back to earth slowly, breathing shallow and rapid, finally understanding why the French called it le petit mort. I was pretty sure I’d died for a moment there. I hadn’t had time to catch up with my grandma and my old shih tzu, Billie, but I was pretty sure. Worth it.
I blinked to see Jackson off the bed, wrestling with his zipper. He was so hard that the tip of his cock was poking out of his pants, and if I’d had even a millimeter of energy left, I’d have helped him. Instead, I sat back and enjoyed my own Magic Mike reenactment, far too satisfied to do something as pedestrian as helping. After a lot of cursing of his pants, the Lord, and the Lord’s mother—for shame—he finally wrenched them off and stepped out of his boxers. Then he pulled his shirt over his head and dropped it on the floor, too.
God, he was so fucking gorgeous. He didn’t have a gym six-pack—just natural muscle definition everywhere, all covered by a landscape of well-toned, well-defined skin. His cock drew my attention too, all eight inches of him, and I wanted to tease him there. Taste him. Drive him absolutely crazy, but all that was going to have to wait as he moved between my thighs again. I thought I was spent, but the sight of his dripping cock aimed at my sex had me ready again.
And then he swore and was off the bed again, muttering and rifling through his pants. Sweet Jesus, I was going to kill that man if he did not commence fucking me into the mattress. “What?” I finally asked.
“Yahtzee!” He held up the small disc-shaped packet between two fingers with a grin. “Condom.”
He was lightning quick with suiting up and was back before I could utter a word. He spread my thighs and hooked my knees over his arms, leaving me open and exposed to that intense gaze. And then he began a slow slide inside me, not stopping until he buried himself to the hilt, his eyes on my face the entire time.
