Page 37 of A Dark Fall
I give him a shocked face. “A man asking for directions? How novel.”
“So, you’re hot, smart, and funny? Fucking hell, a triple threat.”
I grin. “Feeling inadequate, are you?”
“Always with you, Alex. Always,” he says before giving me an impatient look.
I can only stare at him a moment, distracted, before nodding toward my bedroom. He nudges open the door with his foot and carries me inside, his mouth finding mine again until we reach the bed, where he sets me back down on my feet.
He takes in my bedroom with a strange look on his face. The English country cottage style probably isn’t to his taste. He probably prefers dark and sexy over cozy and calm. Except, with Jake in it, in all his forbidden sexual glory, it doesn’t feel cozy or calm.
“So, this is where you dream about me then?” he says, a smirk playing over his mouth.
I bite back a smile, heat rising to my cheeks. “So bloody sure of yourself, aren’t you, Jake Lawrence?”
“Yeah, almost always,” he mumbles, his eyes intense as he stares at me.
I realize then that in a few seconds, he’s going to be naked. The thought sends a blast of something hot through me, and the tops of my thighs tighten again, my tummy swirling with need and anticipation. I do not know when I became so shallow, or when lusting over a man became normal behavior for me, but I’m almost certain this is strictly a side effect of Jake. He makes me do strange, out-of-character things.
My eyes dip down his body to see the lusting is most definitely reciprocated, the unmistakable sign of arousal visible through his jeans. Involuntarily, I lick my tongue across my lips.
He moves quickly then, stepping forward so he’s on me again, kissing me hard. The right amount of tongue coupled with the right amount of sucking and enough bite to drive me insane. It’s addictive. Hypnotizing. When his hands go to the front of my jeans again, I let him unzip them all the way before he slips a hand inside to clasp between my legs, over my underwear.
I hear his sharp intake of breath.
“Fuck, baby, look how wet you are,” he whispers against my mouth. “That all for me?”
My cheeks feel so hot, partly from embarrassment, but mainly from the lust sparking through my body. As he strokes me in tender circular motions, I drop backward and onto the bed, moving immediately to push my jeans down over my hips. He slips his hand out and helps me, sliding them down the rest of the way while I pull my top over my head. When I’m laid out on the bed in nothing but my underwear, he pauses, taking a moment to drink me in.
Internally, I congratulate my foresight in choosing one of my most expensive lace underwear sets. Jake, a hand over his mouth, looks hungry. When he moves toward me, I bring my foot up, pressing it gently against the hard front area of his jeans to keep him at bay. He glances down at my foot then up to my eyes with a bewildered expression.
“Your turn,” I say with a small smirk of my own. My transformation to wanton, shallow nympho is complete. “I’m almost naked, and you’re not.” It’s embarrassing, the way I pout.
But then his mouth curls up into that sexually arrogant smile, and I think I might orgasm on the spot. “You want me naked, Alex? That what you’re saying?”
I nod, and Jake licks his lips, not moving a muscle for what seems like hours. Finally, his hands come up to the button of his shirt, and he unbuttons it before moving straight on to the next one.
“Mmm, slower, please,” I tell him, and he huffs out a quiet laugh.
“Your house. You’re in charge,” he says with a serious look. It makes me wonder exactly what it would entail if we were in his house, where he would be in charge. The idea sends jolts of pure pleasure up my thighs and into the place where they meet.
Slower, Jake continues to strip out of his shirt, his hands steady and controlled, whereas mine are having trouble holding me up. Only one thought comes to mind as his shirt hits the floor, and it’s not complex. It’s three simple words:
Oh my god.
I didn’t think men had bodies like his in real life. Not really. His is the kind of body you see on billboards or in men’s health magazines. I was sure he looked after himself, worked out, and ate well, because I saw and felt the hard lines of his body over his clothes, but he is ... something. All ridged muscles and hard lines. His tattoos are stunning to look at too. They cover every corner of his perfect body and arms, black, swirling shapes and words, which are all intricately and skillfully done.
I’ve never been into tattoos, never really understood why people want to mark their skin permanently with designs that will lose their allure and importance over time. I’m not thinking that now though, nor that this permanence of ink spoils his perfect body. I’m thinking the opposite: the result is breathtaking. As I bring my eyes back to his, I find again that he’s watching me intently, looking pleased by whatever he sees on my face.
He moves his hands to his belt and unbuckles it slowly. Why on earth did I tell him to go slowly? What was I thinking? He unbuttons the top button of his jeans and then stops, leaving them hanging there, open, so I can see the dark hair leading down into tight white boxers.
Christ, I honestly think I might orgasm just by thinking about what’s in there.He’s sex personified, his body practically made for it, and the look on his face promises it.
“Why did you stop?” I ask.
He bites his lip sexily. “Because I like seeing that look on your face.”
“What look?”