by Penny Reid
But then last Friday for the jam session, I’d put on a white and pink gingham summer dress, and he’d lost his mind. See? No correlation.
Charlotte held my gaze, her expression encouraging. Before I could articulate doubts, I heard the sound of Jackson’s truck pull into the drive, and my stomach went crazy with nerves.
“It’ll be fine. It’ll all work out. You just concentrate on having a good time and let him concentrate on you. Okay?”
I nodded, turning for the door and opening it. I stepped out, looking up to find Jackson jogging toward me, wearing what he usually did for our boating trips: cargo shorts and a long sleeve UV shirt. This one was light blue and fit him verra nice, showcasing the narrowness of his hips and tapered waist. He was so handsome even in the dim light.
“Hi,” he said, eyes on mine, gaze intent and happy.
“Hi.” I swayed toward him, momentarily forgetting that I was supposed to be worried about something.
“Ready to go?” He reached for both of my bags, pulling them from my shoulders and walking next to me as we crossed to the truck. “Where’s Dave? Isn’t it his turn?”
Oh yes. Now I remember. “He’s not coming today. Neither is Miguel.”
“Oh. They sick or something?”
“No.” Darn it. I couldn’t think. What could I say about Dave and Miguel staying behind that didn’t make everything about my outfit seem obvious?
Luckily, Jackson sent me a small smile and said, “I guess it makes sense for them to stop coming. That lake is as secluded as they come, and I imagine it’s pretty boring, sitting in a hot car all day.”
I stood to one side as Jackson opened the door of his truck and placed my bags in the cab. The July morning was already hot. Even so, I fought a shiver. Finished loading my items, he turned and held out his palm to help me up into the truck. This was the point at which he would usually kiss the back of my hand—if he were going to kiss it—so I’d learned to pause and wait a second before stepping up into the truck.
But once I fit my fingers into his waiting hand, his smile waned slowly as he finally seemed to look at me. And what I was wearing. And what I was not wearing.
After a protracted moment, Jackson’s eyes cut to mine, held. My stomach threw a dinner party and only invited anxiety.
“Are we going swimming?” His voice deepened with the question.
“No,” I croaked. I cleared my throat as I stepped up into his truck. “I thought I might work on my tan.” UGH! The words.
They were the wrong words. They were Charlotte’s words, not mine, and they tasted wrong in my mouth. Perhaps Rae from two months ago wouldn’t have minded. She was used to pretending every day, playing a role wherever she went. And Rae from our first night together would definitely not have minded. She was used to faking boldness.
But current Rae, the person I was now, didn’t want to play pretend and didn’t want to fake it. Especially not with Jackson. Yes, I wanted him to notice me and think lusty thoughts about me. I wanted him to do wonderful things to my body and let me do wonderful things to his, but I also wanted to be honest.
I turned to look down at him, to find different words, but my mouth dried up and my tongue felt useless as soon as I caught his hungry stare on my bare legs.
Or, maybe, just this once, I’ll suck it up and play pretend.
Chapter 21
*Jackson*
“A sex symbol becomes a thing. I just hate to be a thing.”
Marilyn Monroe
I don’t have any condoms.
The words were a mantra as I drove to Bitty Johnson’s house on Bandit Lake to launch the big boat; and when I parked my car in Bitty’s driveway; and when I jogged back to the lake and hopped on board. I don’t have any condoms. I don’t have any condoms. I don’t have any condoms.
Technically, I did have one condom. It was in my wallet and had lived there for going on three years. It was probably expired. Therefore, for all intents and purposes, I didn’t have any condoms. And lack of condoms would (. . . should) keep me from doing something stupid, like breaking the rules of our agreement.
Much like the ride over from Jethro and Sienna’s property, Rae and I were silent as we moved around the boat. She knew where I kept everything, and we fell into the routine we’d developed over the last few weeks. Usually, during this time, we’d be laughing and joking and flirting.
I didn’t much want to flirt with her right now. There was only one thing I wanted to do with Rae at present, and I don’t have any condoms.
My mother—yes, good idea, think about your mother—had often said that most humans were visual creatures. She’d follow up this statement by reminding me and my sister that, since humans were visual creatures, they were also ultimately responsible for how they reacted to what they saw.
“Control yourself,” she’d lecture. “Look away if you must, but never act in lust.”
This saying had always made my rebellious sister snort-laugh, and I’d chuckled along. At the time.
But right now? Sitting in the captain’s chair with the awnings all the way down, steering us out to the center of the quiet, secluded lake while mist rose around us and the colors of sunrise streaked across the sky, but I didn’t even notice because RAE!!!
My mother’s words struck a new chord.
“Jackson?”
I pulled in a deep breath, not looking.
Over a month ago, Rae and I had agreed that we wouldn’t touch each other during our Wednesday fishing trips. Each week had been more difficult than the last, but I’d taken measures to reduce the chances of breaking our agreement.
First, I’d filled the cabin in empty boxes and unnecessary supplies. Second, I’d taken myself in hand several times a week to take care of business solo. And third, I’d learned early on to excuse myself and take a breather whenever her company—something she inadvertently did or said that just felt irresistible—became overwhelming.
But seeing Rae this morning, after weeks of getting to know her better, being around her not often enough, and falling deeper every day, dressed like she was, so much of her skin visible to my eyes, I hadn’t been able to draw a full breath since helping her into the truck.
“Jackson?”
“Yes. Sorry.” I shook my head as though to clear it. “I was just thinking about something. Are the awnings okay? I pulled them all the way down, but I can lift them up to get some air.”
“They’re fine. I like the privacy, for now. So what are you thinking about?” In my peripheral vision, I saw her slip into the seat nearest to mine and cross her legs toward me.
“Just—uh—things my mom used to say when Jess and I were teenagers.” We weren’t yet close to the center of the lake.
“Like what?”
Uhhh . . .
“Are you okay?” she asked, an edge of worry in her tone.
“Sorry. I’m hot. Is it hot?” I pulled at the collar of my shirt. I felt hot. And itchy. And uncomfortable. I’d noted the muggy, oppressive quality to the July morning before driving over to get Rae, so I had doused myself in bug repellant. Presently, I felt like I might be crushed by heat, and the sun had just risen. “Maybe we should head back. It’s only going to get hotter.”
Rae breathed a laugh and muttered something under her breath that I didn’t catch.
“Pardon?” I asked.
“I said, ‘I sure do hope so.’”
“You want to head back?” Boone would be gone to work by now, we’d have the house to ourselves. And I can get condoms on the way. You know, just in case.
“No. I meant about it getting hotter. I hope it does get hotter.”
I frowned. “You do?”
“Yes.”
“Why?” Why would anyone want it to be hotter than this? I was so hot, I couldn’t think.
“Because, Jackson, I—would you look at me? Please?”
Attempting to fill my lungs again to no avail, I braced myself as best I could, brought the boat to a stop, and faced her.
Her eyes were wide and, if I wasn’t misreading her expression, she looked anxious, maybe a bit scared.
My ungentlemanly thoughts were eclipsed by concern, and I reached out, grabbing her hand. “What’s wrong?”
“I’m wrong,” she said, standing from her seat and stepping closer. “And I’m sorry.”
“What do you have to be sorry for?”
“Because—and here is a peek into the ridiculousness you’ve signed up for—I am wearing this outfit with hopes of seducing you.”
I’m sure my eyes bugged out of my head as I stood and faced her. “Come again?”
“I wore this outfit”—she swept her hand down the front of her body—“hoping that I’d be able to seduce you. Today. On this boat.”
My attention dropped to the top she had on. The fabric was white and see-through to the smooth skin of her torso and the tiny triangles covering her breasts. It a string bikini. I swallowed thickly as blood rushed south, because I’d thought maybe it was, but I hadn’t looked long enough to confirm one way or the other.
Ladies, here’s a tip. If a man is into you, and you’re in the mood to get laid, wear a string bikini for him. Doesn’t matter where—a beach, a pool, a shower, your bedroom, the family room, even the laundry room—doesn’t matter what’s going on—you’re cleaning the house together, you’re pregnant and cranky, he’s cooking dinner, he’s watching a game on TV—he’ll stop whatever he’s doing and take great pleasure in pulling those strings. Satisfaction guaranteed.
“And I’m sorry,” she concluded, like she’d been speaking, but I’d been too busy thinking about divesting her body of the tiny bathing suit.
That had my stare returning to hers. “I have some thoughts,” I admitted, my voice uneven as some wonderfully dirty visions of us together, imminently together, filled my mind. “But first back up and explain again why you’re sorry.”
“Because I told you I’d let you set the pace, and here I am trying to rush things along. But Jackson—” she shuffled a step closer, and I placed a hand on her waist “—I’m having a difficult time here. It’s been a month, and we only seem to be alone on Wednesdays. And then with what happened on Friday, I can’t stop thinking about you.”
We’d drifted closer, her head tilted back, her lips inches from mine. I played with the tie holding her top in place, working to bring my heart rate back under control before I made a move. Because I would be making a move. The awnings were down, concealing us from all sides except the front, but the reflective glass of the exterior windshield took care of that angle. We weren’t in the center of the lake, but we were far enough away from shore that no one could hear us as long as we weren’t too loud. But I don’t have any condoms.
If I didn’t hurry and settle down first, I’d be totally fucked. And so will she.
“Rae,” I said, her name a scrape. I had to clear my throat before continuing. “If you want to change our agreement, then I am all for it. Just say the word.”
Her forehead wrinkled in confusion. “What agreement?”
“That we don’t touch on Wednesdays, that we use the time only to talk.”
She wrinkled her nose. “Is that what we agreed? I thought the no touching thing was just for the first Wednesday.”
My nod was immediate and forceful. “Okay. Yes. Motion passed. New agreement is now in place. All touching is allowed.”
A grin split her face, something like dawning realization behind her gaze. “Are you telling me that I’ve been suffering for no reason because of a miscommunication?”
“No.” I lowered my head, stealing a too-short kiss. I couldn’t wait to taste her. Everywhere. “I’m telling you we’ve both been suffering for no reason because of a miscommunication.”
As I spoke, my fingers twisted into the tie holding her shirt and I paused, rethinking my strategy. Sliding my hand beneath the thin fabric, I pulled the string holding her bikini in place, a pulsing, insistent ache in my groin momentarily clouding my vision.
Rae laughed at my words, the sound absolutely magical, her arms coming around my neck. “What are you doing? Are you trying to take off my bathing suit?”
I nodded, incapable of speech as the string went lax around her back. Holding her gaze, I devoured the sight as heat and haziness replaced the laughing brightness in her eyes.
“Jackson . . .” she whispered, angling her chin in offering.
Not yet.
I lifted my head just an inch away, wanting to see her face, her expression as I touched her. My only regret after making her come on Friday at the jam session had been the dimness of the backstage area. Forced to fumble around in the dark, I’d wanted to watch her then, starving for the sight of her face as I made her come. I loved watching her.
I was, after all, a visual creature. I wasn’t about to miss a single second now.
Lifting my hand, I pulled the last string around her neck. Her lashes fluttered, but she held still as I fisted the scrap of fabric and pulled it from beneath her shirt. I dropped it somewhere behind me and leaned back, my gaze trailing to her neck, then lower to the shape and outline of her perfect breasts visible beneath the gauzy fabric of her top.
My mouth flooded with saliva, my dick shoving against the interior of my shorts. Licking my lips, I didn’t miss the way her body shivered, and my eyes cut back to hers.
I felt desperate, but obviously so did she. I paused to grin, loving how she looked at me. “Do you miss it?”
“What?” she asked breathlessly, her eyes on my lips.
“My tongue.”
She shivered again, nodding, her nipples pebbling, straining, and ripe for my mouth. I bent, sucking at the center of her breast through the inconsequential barrier, palming her other breast and massaging, loving how she squirmed and panted as I leaned away and admired the evidence of her arousal.
I need a condom. Fuck. I. Need. A. Condom.
I’d never had sex without one. Back in my wayward days, I used to keep dozens in my glove box, replacing any spares every two months. I’d never considered this paranoid behavior but rather responsible behavior, honorable behavior. Using a condom meant I wasn’t a bad guy, I wasn’t what other people said about me. I was responsible, diligent, safe, thoughtful—even when no one else thought so. But I’d emptied that glove box years ago.
There’s only one thing to do.
“Rae.” I slid my hands down her back to her bottom, giving it a rub and squeeze, because I couldn’t help myself. Now that I was allowed, I wanted to touch her everywhere at once. But I was on a mission. Moving my fingers to the button of her shorts, I said, “This is what we’re going to do. First, I’m going to—”
She grabbed my face and kissed me, her tongue searching for mine and moaning deeply when she found it. Her body arched, rubbing along my torso, and all my plans and thoughts flew straight out of my head.
I unbuttoned and unzipped her shorts. I shoved them down her legs. I reached inside her bathing suit, and I separated her with my finger, groaning when I felt how wet she was. How ready. And my mind filled with visions of how great she’d feel once I had her beneath me and I pushed inside her body, how I’d love watching the heat build behind her eyes as I moved and filled her.
But her being ready and willing and me being mindless didn’t change the fact that I still needed a condom I didn’t have.
So as gently as I could manage, despite the pain it caused me, I pushed her away. “Wait. Wait. God—oh fuck, just wait.”
Breathing hard, her hands grasping, she let me set her back. Her eyes pleaded, her expression a little crazed. “What? What is it?”
“I don’t have a condom.”
She shook her head. “It’s okay, I’m on birth control. And I’m clean. Are you clean?” Her fingers gripped my shirt tightly, like she wanted to rip it.
“Yes. But, Rae, I . . .” My throat was so tight, and the urge to just do it, to just give in and fucking finally take her, crushed me. Almost. “Rae. It might not make sen
se, but I need a condom if we’re going to do this.”
She gaped at me for a long moment, but then she nodded and closed her mouth, like she didn’t trust herself to speak. Her eyes told me she didn’t understand, but that she accepted my words.
“I have to go get some.” I grabbed her arms and guided her back to the seat she’d occupied earlier, not trusting myself to put my hands elsewhere. “But before I go, I want—I need—to do something.”
She continued nodding, looking like she was ready to burst from frustration. The sight was both arousing and amusing. Apparently, she couldn’t read my mind. Yet.
Careful not to touch her hip, I pulled the string there, and she looked down, confusion on her features. “What—?”
Before she finished her thought, I knelt in front of her, grabbed the backs of her thighs to hold her in place, spread her legs, and licked.
Her whole body convulsed, a shock of curse words flying out of her mouth, and her hands grabbed fistfuls of my hair. “Jackson!”
Fuck. Yes. I’d wanted this. I’d missed this. I needed this. The feel of this soft, delicate part of her on my tongue, the taste of her, the velvet texture of her legs. Lifting her knees over my shoulders, I pressed harder, tonguing her tight entrance, but not expecting her to come yet. Which is exactly what she did.
If I’d been in a different, less tortured state of mind, I might’ve been amused by the expediency of her orgasm. Less than thirty seconds had to be a personal record for me. Acting quickly—relatively speaking—I slid my fingers inside her already clenching channel. She covered her mouth with both hands, holding the scream inside.
I looked up, wanting to see her loss of control, and our eyes collided. Her whole body shook, her powerful legs squeezing but then easing, like she worried I couldn’t breathe; her hands gripping the seat behind her as she struggled not to make a sound, like she didn’t trust herself not to fall. And she closed her eyes; like she found the sight of me still licking and sucking and kissing that sweet spot between her legs overwhelming.
