Page 31 of The Sacrifice
I’m the farthest thing from exciting you can find. He’s used to women that can suck a football through a garden hose, and sex for me is…. Depressing. I’d prefer to use a vibrator and at least get off.
Besides, he plays a game for a living. I’m looking for someone stable and… Boring. I wrinkle my nose. Well, that doesn’t sound like much fun, does it?
I step back, loosening my hold on him, and gnaw on my bottom lip. “Thank you. I guess I needed that.”
His eyes are hooded as he shields his emotions from me. “You’re welcome. You know you don’t have to be perfect just because you think you have to be, right? You can be perfect with flaws.” He tilts his head and smiles. “It makes you more appealing.”
My knees turn to Jell-O. Jackson David Rhodes turned into the biggest hunk with a gooey marshmallow center, and he’s messing with my head. And if I’m not careful, my heart.
I arch my eyebrows as my heart thumps in my chest. “Do you?”
Am I doing this? Am I flirting with him? I don’t flirt. I don’t even know how to flirt. But it’s like a genie has been summoned and broken free from its lamp. I can’t stop it. But are three wishes enough?
“Do I, what?”
“Do you find me appealing?”
“Mia,” he growls, dropping his arms to his sides. “Don’t start something you have no intention of following through with.”
The space he vacated grows cold. I miss his heat. The warmth of his chest. The security of his arms around me. But it’s for the best. I’m not the kind of woman that could keep a pro baller happy. I’m plain and boring. I’m content to sit at home watching other people’s kids and vegging on the sofa. He’s into partying and sneaking off for a quicky.
There’s nothing about me that would keep him coming back for more. And for once, I wish I was that kind of woman. The one that knew how to flirt. To seduce. To please a man. But I couldn’t even keep Warren happy. He took the first opportunity to escape and disappeared.
“Well….” I glance at the wall behind him. “I should…” The weight of the last couple of months falls onto my shoulders. I’m a mess.
“Damn it.” Jackson lurches forward and grabs my upper arms. “Don’t look sad. I can’t stand it. And God forbid, don’t cry.” He shudders. “You were the queen of the school. You had the world by the balls.” His stance softens, and he cups my cheek. “You were the wet dream that got every freshman boy up in the morning and on the way to school just to catch a glimpse of you in the hallway.”
“What?” My mouth drops open. There’s no way he’s serious. Damn him. He’s joking, and this is not the time to joke. I narrow my eyes and glare at him. “I call bullshit.”
“Mia.” He shakes his head and runs his thumb over my bottom lip. I swear the enormity of the moment makes me question my sanity. Did I drink an entire bottle of wine and pass out on my bed? That makes more sense than this.
When his head lowers and his breath feathers against my skin, a shiver rolls along my spine. Lord, he takes up a lot of space. His size is something I’m not used to. Warren was small in stature, and I was with only one other guy in college. He was still a scrawny kid. Jackson is none of those things.
His lips brush along my jawline until he reaches my ear. “I’m not bullshitting you.” The rumble of his voice makes my skin itch with desire. Everything from my fingertips to my toes tingles with awareness. “I might not have wanted to be, but I was president of your fan club.”
He pulls back, and the way he studies me is more intense than anything I’ve ever experienced, and all the reasons I had to say no, are non-resistant.
I stand on my tiptoes and place my arms around his neck. “What is this?”
“This is inevitable.” His hand cups my head, and I drag his mouth down to mine.
The instant we touch, all thoughts of decorum and what I should and shouldn’t do can suck it. His tongue brushes along the seam of my lips, and I moan in approval.
With the opening of my mouth, he dives inside and lazily strokes my tongue, causing my clit to twitch. More. I want more. His hands slide down my back until he’s gripping my backside. This is so hot. No wonder women follow him around everywhere. I’ve been missing out.
His erection presses into my belly, reminding me again of his size. The intensity of his kiss switches from slow and seductive to desperate and demanding and back again until it feels like my panties will spontaneously combust. It feels like he’s making love to my tongue. How is that even possible?
I skim my hands down his chest. When I reach his waistband, I rip his T-shirt out of the way, sneaking inside to touch his abs. Lord, he’s so hot and tight. Wanton hussy wasn’t under my photo in the school yearbook. Hell, I’ve never had sex that curled my toes. He makes me yearn for things that set the world on fire. I want to knock everything off the table and drag him down with me.
His mouth leaves mine, and I whimper as if someone is stealing my cookie. He chuckles and trails his lips along my jawline, kissing his way to the hollow below my ear. It’s not enough. I wrap my leg around his thigh and grind against his solid form. Rocking back and forth, easing the tension and ratcheting up simultaneously.
“Come to my room,” he growls against my skin.
“And then what?”
He grips me tighter. “I’ll strip your clothes off with my teeth and devour you until you’re chanting my name.”
I am still against him. How many times has he said that same line to a woman? Clearly, a lot, because he’s so good at it. But how many more women will he say it to? This is the result of forced proximity and nothing else. He’s professed to be celibate for a year. I was recently dumped. We’re exhausted, full of good food and a half bottle of wine. It was bound to get out to hand.