Page 123 of Jesse's Girl
Okay, that was unexpectedly sweet.
“Sorry about yesterday,” I say.
“It’s okay. I know it felt like I was pushing you. I shouldn’t have?—”
“Yeah but you were trying to do something nice and I bit your head off.”
He dips his chin in acknowledgment.
“Thank you, by the way,” I add, “for the paintbrushes. They’re beautiful. Almost too nice to use.”
He stays silent. So silent I’m not sure what to say next.
“What, you’re not gonna say anything?”
He gives his head a quick shake as if he’s snapping out of a dream. “Sorry, I was just thinking about your ass again.”
“Hey!” I prod him in the chest.
He laughs, running his hands over my upper arms. “No, seriously. I told you I’d drop it. The art stuff. I meant what I said.”
I look down at my feet. Then, both his hands lift my face, angling my head as he dips down. His kiss is soft but charged, his tongue twining in delicious spirals around my own.
I tuck my fingers into the front pockets of his jeans, hungry for his warmth, and an ache throbs between my legs. I shift my hips, already feeling the slip of wetness against my panties.
Oh, fuck.
When I remember where we are, I pull back, breathing hard.
Jesse’s blue eyes are almost black in the dark. “Sorry,” he says. “You wanted space. I?—”
“No, that’s not it. It’s just…” I whisper. “We can’t…” I shift my gaze again to the wall of glass and the deserted street outside, then grab his hand. “Come on.”
The darkness swallows us as we weave between the tables, heading for the staircase at the back of the restaurant.
“Where are you taking me?” he asks as I lead him up the stairs. “Shit. It’s you who’s gonna harvest my organs, isn’t it?”
“Gotta pay the bills,” I deadpan.
I push open the door to the private dining room at the top of the stairs—a sort of mezzanine space overlooking the main floor of the restaurant and bar. Skirting the vast table and chairs that take up most of the room, I let go of Jesse’s hand and walk to the railing, peering down at the empty expanse below.
“It’s so cool up here,” I say, almost to myself. I don’t have reason to come up here often.
“Don’t fucking move.” Jesse’s voice is rough at my ear as his hands skim up the backs of my thighs. My breath catches when he lifts my miniskirt with a jerk and palms my ass, his fingers kneading into my flesh. “Fuuuuuck.” He draws out the word, then nips at the ridge of my ear. “This ass.”
My core clenches in tiny, delicious pulses. Reaching behind me, I grasp for his cock through his jeans, but he catches my hands.
“I told you. Don’t fucking move.” His lips are on my neck as he guides my hands back to the cool metal in front of me. “Keep them on the railing.”
My fingers curl around it and I exhale as Jesse drags his palms up both my arms.
“Any security cameras?” he asks, his nose grazing the shell of my ear.
“Not up here.” I smile at the low rumble of approval from over my shoulder.
Shoving my skirt higher, he hooks his thumbs into the black lace of my thong and slides it down to the floor. “Fuck, this has to go too,” he says, almost to himself, as he rips my skirt down and off.
I step out as he drops to his knees behind me.