Page 11 of Jig's Last Dance
“You taste good, too,” he growls, palming my ass through the thin shirt.
His hands are huge and warm and, oh fuck, caressing. Against my will, I buck into him, seeking out the rigid erection in his jeans. At the contact, his eyes light with fire, and his hands tighten on my ass. Tightening my legs around his torso, I whimper when his nostrils flare like a bull, and he grinds into me.
I can’t turn away from the intensity of his bright eyes as I thrust against him, chasing the pleasure building in my core. His eyes drop to my heaving chest before he groans and peppers kisses along my neck. I melt at the soft caress, only to shiver when he chuckles against my skin and sucks my pulse into his mouth.
Fire erupts along my nerve endings, and I tilt my head to the side so he has more room. He takes the invitation greedily and bites into my skin, the sting creating a cascade of need that barrels through me so fast I’m dizzy. With a moan, I thrust against him in a frenzy, my legs trembling under the wicked assault.
He hums against my skin before gently laving me with his tongue. I suck in a breath, slamming my eyes closed, and he bites into me once more. This time, the sting is an inferno, and it pushes me over—the perfect combination of pain and pleasure.
Blindly I open my eyes as my legs go rigid, my spine cracks, and I grab onto his arms like a lifeline. The pleasure washes over me like a delicious wave, and I pulse wildly, panting beneath my breath.
“So hot,” Jig moans, his hands clenching my ass cheeks as he pumps into my core.
I’m pulsing heavily, dazed, when he groans and drops his head into my neck once more. Absently I realize he just came in his pants before reality hits me on the head.
Holy shit, I just orgasmed on Jig Blackstone.
“Well, I haven’t jizzed in my pants since I was thirteen,” he says dryly, “but fuck if that wasn’t hot.”
I go rigid, rolling my eyes to the ceiling. What the fuck?
He glances up, but I avoid his gaze, staring at the wall over his shoulder. From the corner of my eyes, I see his brows furrow, the infectious grin fading before he drops me to my feet and steps back.
Immediately, I push the shirt down my thighs, hiding my trembling limbs by collapsing against the wall. I think, if he had gone for it, I would have let him fuck me, and that’s really bad news. Where is my good sense?
“Sunshine?” he asks. My gaze flies to him.
“Why do you keep calling me that?”
“Because you’re so happy,” he says with a wry grin, and I chuckle.
I can’t help it. He’s adorable when he’s playful like this.
His eyes light up once more before he turns away and says, “C’mon, let’s eat.”
My stomach growls at the reminder, and I wait for him by the door when he grabs a spare pair of shorts with a wink and changesright in front of me.
My eyes drop to his dick before I turn away, my cheeks burning for the fiftieth time today. His answering chuckle makes me grind my jaw.
After an excruciating series of rustling noises that I refuse to investigate, he walks past me, and I follow him out the door in a daze, watching his butt flex in the basketball shorts. Focus. Right.But not on his delectable ass, moron.
Pulling my gaze away, I bemoan the shirt I have as my only barrier and take in the scenery.
His home is like a museum. Every room is filled with fancy furniture, drapes, and hardwood floors. And I pause, my jaw at my knees, when I think I spy a Rembrandt on one such wall.
“Is that—?”
“Yep, c’mon. I’m starving.”
With a last glance, I trail after him, pondering just how rich his parents have to be to hang priceless art like that in their home. Eyeing Jig in his shorts, with his hair standing on end, I shake my head. Man, you really can’t choose your family.
The kitchen is huge, with a substantial island and granite countertops, complete with a vase of flowers on the counter.
Blindly, I glance around before focusing on Jig. I would have never guessed he lived like this, and frankly, I’m a little ashamed to admit, I assumed he grew up poor.
“Now, toast or cereal?” He turns to me with a silly grin, and I smile wretchedly, hating that my pulse jumped in my throat with that fucking smile.
I can’t stay here for long. I have a feeling I’ll regret it.