Maybe it was an invitation.
He saunters over and drops back onto the bed, wearing only the towel.
This is not good. Well, it is good, great in fact … but not good for so many reasons.
He rolls onto his side facing me. “Do you remember when we used to sleep together like this when we were kids?”
“I do.” I smile at the memory.
In the early days – the bad days when Jake’s dad was still around, he started staying over at my house regularly to get away from him, and even after his dad was gone, Jake still carried on staying over; by that point it had just became our thing.
“My dad put a stop to that when we were about eleven though, if I remember rightly,” I add.
“He always was a smart guy. I wouldn’t have left me alone in bed with you if you were my daughter either.”
“Even when you were eleven?” I laugh.
“Even when I was eleven.” His voice is suddenly thick with inclination.
I feel a shiver deep inside my stomach, which quickly heads downwards, settling in-between my legs.
I turn onto my side so we’re facing each other. “How old were you when you lost your virginity?”
I know that’s a really intrusive question, but I’m little drunk and I don’t care, because I want to know if he ever slept with anyone back home before he left for America. I always thought I knew everything about Jake back then, but after he left and he cut me off, I started to think maybe not, because the Jake I thought I knew would never have left me like that.
He stares at me for a long moment. I wish I knew what was going through his mind.
“Sixteen,” he finally answers.
Even though I got the answer I wanted, I still feel a sharp stab of jealously.
“Who was she?”
“No one … someone who should have been you.”
Whoa!
He reaches his hand up and runs his fingertips along my jaw. My skin hums under his touch.
“I had such a crush on you when we were kids,” he murmurs.
He did? Holy fuck.
“You’re a bit late telling me now,” I smile weakly.
I’m nervous. So very nervous.
“Am I?”
I knew this moment would happen when I danced with him at the club. The moment he climbed into my bed.
Maybe even subconsciously, I knew it would happen the very first moment I saw him standing there in that hotel suite for the interview.
I’m trying to remain calm but my insides are going nuts. My heart is pounding in my chest.
“No,” I whisper. “You’re not too late.”
He traces his thumb over my lower lip. I gasp at the feeling.
“I’m calling in one of my birthday presents, Tru,” he says softly. His eyes look opaque, heavy with desire.
“What do you want?” My voice is quiet, trembling.
Propping himself up on his elbow, I tilt my head back as he looks down at me.
He pulls my hair free from its knot, running his fingers through it.
“You.” He moves his face close to mine, staying a breath away, waiting for his invitation.
“Happy birthday,” I whisper.
He pulls in a breath, then very slowly, not taking his eyes from mine, leans in and kisses me.
My body and mind explode with sensation and feeling. I’ve never felt anything like it before.
I’m lost to him.
All these years of wanting him and wondering, and he is so much more than I could ever have imagined.
My fingers snake into his damp hair, holding him to me.
“Oh God, Tru,” he groans in my mouth. “I’ve wanted you for so long.” There’s such a ragged need in his voice, it makes me tremble all the way down to my sex.
“Me too,” I breathe.
With a moan, he continues his gentle assault of my mouth with his tongue.
He tastes and feels even better than I ever dreamed he would. It’s like waiting years and years for the present you have always wanted, longed for, then unwrapping it and finding it’s so much more than you ever imagined it could be.
Will is far, far from my mind, and I couldn’t stop this even if I wanted too. And I don’t want to.
We’re tangled up in each other, kissing, deep and passionate, and for this moment, in this darkness, there is only me and him in the whole entire world.
Jake pushes the duvet off me, rolls me onto my back, laying on top of me, resting up on one arm so not to crush me.
I run my hands up his tattooed arms and over onto his bare chest, tracing his skin with my fingers.
He breaks from our kiss and stares down at me for a long moment. Then he places his hand on my chest, over my heart, and very slowly, moves it down, his fingers tracing over my breasts.
My heart is thumping.
His fingertips skim my stomach, moving around the hem of my vest.
Nervous, but wanting him so badly, I reach down and lift my vest up, inclining slightly, I pull it off over my head, tossing it to the floor, I lay back down. I’m not wearing a bra, and I’m obviously feeling really brave thanks to the alcohol in my system.
Jake’s eyes roam me, devouring me.
“You are so beautiful,” he says in a low voice.
Beautiful? He thinks I’m beautiful.
He leans down and kisses me again, hard and deep, almost like his life depends on it. He puts his hand on my breast, gently tracing his thumb around my nipple. It instantly hardens under his expert touch.
He definitely knows how to touch a woman. But then he’s had a lot of practice.
I shove the thought aside
Jake gently pushes my leg to the side, I part them further allowing him closer.
I can feel his erection digging in my thigh. I’m so turned on my whole body is trembling.
I’m nervous. I’ve never been this nervous with a guy before, not that I’ve been with many, well three to be exact.
But Jake’s different. He’s always been different.
And he’s slept with so many women, what if I don’t measure up? What if I’m a disappointment for him?
I’m also trying not to think about the fact that even though I promised myself earlier I wouldn’t become another number in Jake’s very long list, I’m well on my way to letting that happen, with no care, or inclination to stop.
His hand moves from my breast, down my body. Lifting up, he kneels between my legs, and it’s at that point I see he’s lost his towel.
Holy fuck, he is huge. And I mean huge.
I gulp down, worrying how the hell he’s going to actually fit inside me.
Jake sees my staring and grins.
I bite my lip to stop from passing comment, knowing I’ll probably come out with some lame shit and kill the moment.
His fingers hook into the top of my pyjama shorts and he starts to pull them down. I lift my bum, allowing them free, then put my leg to the side, so he can remove them fully.
I can’t take my eyes off him. I’m entranced, and I’m his completely.
As I’m moving my leg back around him, he grabs hold of it and kisses my leg, ever so lightly running his tongue over my skin, upwards, he travels higher and higher, teasing my skin with his tongue and light kisses until he reaches the apex of my thigh.
I feel heady with desire. All I want is him, now.
Lifting his head, he stares up at me. My mouth goes dry from that one look alone. I moisten my lips with my tongue.
His eyes flicker and flame. Without taking his eyes from mine, he slides his fingers between my panties and skin, then very gently he pushes his finger inside me. I almost come on the spot.
Rubbing his thumb over my sex, he starts to kiss a path up my stomach, to my neck, my jaw, my mouth, all the while, his fingers working their magic on me.
“Ahh,” I moan, closing my eyes.
“Is that good?” he asks rough.
“So good,” I breathe.
Needing to feel him, I reach my hand down and wrap my fingers around his hardness. Taking a firm hold, I start to move my hand, up and down.
He makes a low guttural sound in his throat, then pulls his finger out of me so quickly that I gasp.
Then he’s ripping my panties off. And when I say ripping, I mean he actually tears them off, shredding them. No one has ever done that to me before, and it’s insanely hot.
Leaving me wanting, he reaches down to the floor, picking his jeans up. I hear rustling and, then he’s returning with a condom in his hand and a question in his eyes.
He’s asking for my permission. He wants me to say yes.
I want to say yes. More than I’ve ever wanted anything before.
With trembling fingers, I take the condom from his hand and tear the foil open with my teeth.
His eyes are wide and flaming. His breath’s heavy.
He kneels before me.
I reach over, and with shaky fingers, put the condom on him. I can feel his body trembling under my hands.
It does extraordinary things to me. I’m literally panting with desire.
He moves between my legs, resting up on his arms, hovering over me, he starts to kiss me hard on the mouth again.
I grab hold of his backside pulling him closer to me. I just want him inside me. I want him so much. I’m aching to feel him. Years and years of wanting him, coursing through me.
He pauses, breathing heavily and lifts himself up on his arms, away from me, parting our bodies. “You’ve been drinking, Tru. Maybe we shouldn’t do this now, maybe we should wait.”
What? Is he joking?
I look up at him. No, he isn’t.
He waits until we’re this close to pause. To think.
I don’t want to wait. I don’t want to think. And I’m the one who really should be thinking right now out of the two of us.
My body is screaming for him. I need him to relive the ache I have for him. The one that has been trapped in me for well over a decade.
I lift my hips, meeting back with him, pressing against him. “I’ve waited long enough,” I breathe.
Whatever control he was trying to maintain instantly vanishes.
Then he’s back on me, pressing me into the bed, fisting my hair, kissing me deeply, holding me in place.
I kiss him back equally as passionate, my hands on his back, gripping him to me.
I want him so badly, but now I’m also feeling a little nervous about his size.
Jake must sense this, because he whispers, “Don’t worry, I’ll take it slow.”
He slides his hand under my lower back, lifting me up, he very gently, and very slowly eases himself into me.
I gasp, all but convulsing on the spot. He is filling me and more.
“Are you okay?” he asks, voice soft, lifting his head to look at me.
“I’m better than okay.” I reach up and pull his mouth back down to mine.
He moves his hand out from under me, but I leave my hips lifted, meeting him, as he slowly pulls out and then rocks back into me, going in a little further, a little deeper.
I moan in line with the feeling.
“Jesus, Tru,” he groans, gently biting down on my lip. “You feel amazing.”
I try not to think of how many women he’s said the very same thing too.
Then as if reading my mind, he stops moving inside me.
Holding my face with his hand, fingers buried deep in my hair, he stares down at me in the darkness.
“It’s always been you, Tru. Always.”
And suddenly it doesn’t just feel like we’re having sex anymore. It feels intense, meaningful.