Page 157 of Jesse's Girl

Jesse’s hands move forward with me. “Are you always this mysterious?” he murmurs, bending low to press his lips to the side of my head. The coarse brush of his beard pulls a few strands loose from my half ponytail, and the warmth of the contact rapidly renders me boneless in the chair.

“Yup. Always,” I say, my voice breathier than I want it to be. I manage to force my focus back to the drawing and put pencil to paper once more, sketching the curve of the woman’s calf. “You’ll have to hire a PI or something to figure me out.” I smile at the soft chuckle from behind me, then gasp when he grips my ponytail in his fist and tugs my head back—gentle, but firm.

“Oh? I dunno,” he teases, his voice low. “I think I have a pretty good idea about what makes you tick.”

“Fuck you,” I whisper without a hint of menace, my eyes closing as his lips feather over the slope of my neck.

“Soon,” he rasps, kissing his way from my neck to my shoulder and biting gently. Still gripping my ponytail, he angles my head to bare my neck and licks his way back up, his free hand gently gripping my throat.

Oh, yes, please.

Waves of heat travel through my body, and sizzling pulses of sensation radiate down my arm and into my fingertips. I feel the warm wetness already pooling between my legs and squirm in my seat.

With teasing flicks of his tongue, he moves up the side of my neck to my earlobe, then draws the soft flesh into his mouth, tugging gently.

The pencil drops from between my fingers and slowly rolls away, falling to the floor with a clatter, and I press my forearms into the table’s edge.

I’m putty. I’m goo. I’m a liquid, former human.

Releasing my earlobe, Jesse kisses along my jawline and over my already-flushed cheeks. He sweeps his fingers along the front of my neck, over my collarbone, and across my chest, keeping them just above the fabric of my tank top.

He lets go of my ponytail and pushes his fingers firmly into the hair at the nape of my neck. My head drops forward as the air leaves my lungs in a rush. I’m completely at his mercy as he moves me where he wants me, nipping and licking my shoulder, my ear, my neck…

Can you die from being turned on? Because I’m definitely dying. And what a fucking way to go.

His free hand sweeps up to cradle my face as he scrapes his teeth over the back of my neck, kissing his way up and forward until he reaches my cheek.

I turn toward him, desperate to taste him, and he hovers his mouth over mine for a few aching, endless moments before he angles my head away and dips down to my neck again—denying me the kiss.

“Oh, God,” I almost whimper, making a mental note to murder him later, sexually, for that cruel move. But his warm tongue on my skin distracts me from forming coherent sex-murder plans.

Damn him.

Sweeping soft kisses back toward my shoulder, he pulls down the straps of my tank top and bra. He’s licking and biting and… oh, God, it’s only my shoulder; what is happening?

I drop my head into the gentle cradle of his hand, each touch of his lips and tongue teasing every nerve ending under my skin.

He reaches his free hand to my chin and, gripping it firmly, turns me toward him.

For a moment, the only sound is my shallow breathing, and I realize how quiet he’s been. He’s normally so vocal, but this… this has been all about me. All for me.

So, when his lips crash into mine, I moan and don’t hold back, giving myself over to this moment—to the way his tongue plunges into my mouth in a claiming kiss that has my core muscles twitching and pulsing.

Oh, sweet baby Jesus.

He breaks the kiss and meets my heavy-lidded gaze with a crooked smile.

I want to devour him whole.

“Well,” he says suddenly, standing up, leaving an aching vacuum between us that I almost fall into.

I catch myself by grabbing the table, my eyes widening.

“I was gonna… head to the grocery store.” He slowly slides the straps of my bra and tank top back into place and winks at me, his expression playful like he didn’t just melt my panties with his tongue—without coming anywhere near them.

“What?” I exhale hard when he turns to go. Baffled, I raise my hand slowly to my lips, then my cheek. It’s burning.

Yep. I’m dying. I have sex fever.