The Has-Been and the Hot Mess - Isabel Jordan Page 0,45

thrust up into her harder, faster, deeper. More. Again and again.

That’s when she came, and—ah, God—she was beautiful. Eyes closed tight, plump, red lips parted on a moan, her wet heat clenching him in hard contractions he could feel…he was going to remember this moment forever.

But if he didn’t come soon, his heart was going to explode. Of that, he was certain.

So, he tightened his hold on her hips and worked her up and down on his cock (the view of her bouncing on him was fucking amazing, too) until he came with a feral growl and her body milked him of every drop he had to give.

When the last of the spasms stopped and his breathing slowly started to return to something resembling normal, he pulled her down so that she was splayed across his chest, her head resting against his heart.

He wasn’t sure how long they laid there, breathing in sync, his hands roaming up and down her back, her fingernails tracing a lazy path over his arm. But they wouldn’t be able to avoid reality forever. They needed to talk about what all this meant.

“So,” he began tentatively, “we have a few things to discuss, wouldn’t you say?”

Her warm breath blew across his throat as she sighed. And apparently, that was all it took to make him hard again. Shit, he hadn’t had that short a recovery time since he was sixteen.

She lifted her head and glanced down at his erection, then back up at him with a wicked smirk and a raised brow.

“Maybe we can talk later?” he asked hopefully.

“Oh, definitely,” she said, sliding down his body. “Much later.”

Chapter 27

“To Sam Quinn. May his newly cleaned-out arteries last another sixty-five years.”

Annabeth, Lilian, and Jackson all raised their glasses and clinked them with Kendall’s in support of her toast. Grandpa Frank didn’t participate, but he at least kept his mouth shut, so Jackson was taking that as a win.

The restaurant—one of the finest in the city, according to Trip Advisor—was wonderful. The food was phenomenal (Jackson couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a filet this good, and he was from cattle country, for God’s sake), and the atmosphere was high end, but not at all stuffy. Kendall, Annabeth, and Lilian said the wine was great, too. He was glad they were enjoying it. They deserved a little pampering after the week they’d had.

Frank had snorted when he’d been offered a glass of wine, indicating he would not be drinking any “prissy Frenchie crap,” opting for a beer instead.

Jackson was sticking with water. Even if he wasn’t clean and sober, by the looks of this group, they’d be needing a designated driver before the night was over.

They’d spent the day at the hospital with Sam, who was in pretty good spirits, considering everything he’d been through. He certainly wasn’t thrilled with what the doctors had to say about his diet—which was most definitely going to have to change—but he accepted the news with minimal grousing.

He’d also been feeling strong enough to give Jackson a super-firm handshake when he met him, and a bit of a narrow-eyed, I-know-you’ve-seen-my-daughter-naked-and-I-don’t-like-it-but-I’ll-let-you-live-as-long-as-you’re-good-to-her glare.

Jackson liked the guy immediately. Lilian was awesome, but Kendall clearly took after her sharp, tough-but-fair father.

Grandpa Frank still hadn’t addressed him directly, choosing instead to refer to him as “the deadbeat musician loser”, but Jackson considered that a work in progress. Maybe someday he’d be able to win the old guy over.

And there damn sure would be a someday, because he wasn’t going anywhere. He wasn’t about to let Kendall go. He was in this for the long haul.

He could only hope she felt the same way.

Kendall was guarded with her feelings. Jackson completely understood why. According to Ray, that dumbass ex of hers (and probably several other dumbass exes before him) had put her through the wringer. But Jackson fully intended to stick like glue and convince her that he was worth opening up to.

He could be fairly persuasive when he wanted to be. When he wasn’t being a grumpy asshole, that is.

At least that’s what Ray always told him.

Kendall and Annabeth, giggly and a little unsteady on their feet, excused themselves to the restroom. Jackson stood up, ready to walk them there so that neither of them face-planted, but Lilian held him back with a surprisingly strong hand on his forearm.

“My girls can handle themselves, hon,” she said. “Don’t you worry. They’re both tougher than they look.”

He laughed and sat back down. “Oh, I know that, ma’am.