Her head tilted and she pressed her parted lips against his.
That was all he made her do. Jack gladly took it from there.
He knew his end game before she put her mouth to his.
He had no intention of f**king her on the couch as much as he wanted to do so.
He had every intention of making her desire spin out-of-control.
He was going to make her want him so badly she couldn’t hide it from him or, more importantly, herself. She couldn’t deny it and she definitely couldn’t walk away from it.
He was not, however, going to leave her wanting.
Using his hands and mouth, his vivid memories of the delicious places where she was most vulnerable and the innate understanding that she’d been abstinent the last four months, relentlessly Jack took her to the edge in very little time.
They were facing each other on the couch, side by side, his mouth was on hers, their tongues dancing, her hand was up his shirt at the back, fingers digging into his flesh. He’d pulled her skirt up around her hips, his hand was in her panties, fingers pressing into a place that forced those sweet, husky, unbelievably sexy noises from her throat.
This was when Jack, somewhat vaguely, recognised the flaw in his plan.
For he might have no intention of f**king her on the couch, he had the forceful desire to do just that.
He controlled his craving with an iron will and, when she pressed her h*ps into his hand, he ended their kiss and murmured against her lips, “Tell me what you want, poppet.”
He thought this would take some effort.
He was, with masochistic indulgence, looking forward to it.
Therefore he found it surprising, and infinitely satisfying, when it took no effort at all.
She pressed her torso to his and her free hand slid into his hair as her h*ps ground down on his hand.
Then she lifted beautiful, dazed eyes to his and whispered, “You.”
At her easy but delightful capitulation, he slid his finger inside her and watched her lips part and her neck arch as his hand moved.
Jack loved the sleek, wet feel of her and the sound of the noises she made. He’d only had them for a night, four months ago but having them again made him realise the raw intensity with which he missed them.
As her reward for giving them to him again so freely, he pressed his thumb to the heat of her and circled.
The noises she made quickened. He knew she was close and his mouth came down on hers and absorbed the soft, sweet mew of her cl**ax.
He broke his mouth from hers and tucked her face in his neck as he coaxed the final tremors from her body, her breath coming fast against the skin at his throat.
When she was finished, gently, he pulled his hand away from her. When he felt the swift intake of breath between her lips, he decided that instead of righting her skirt as he intended, he’d slide his hand over her bottom and press her soft h*ps to his hard ones.
And this was what he did.
She remained pleasantly docile in his arms and only when he felt the stiffness of embarrassment creeping in did he speak.
“Don’t,” he ordered gently.
“I can’t believe –” she whispered against his throat.
“Don’t, Belle,” he repeated on a squeeze of his arms.
She grew silent.
Then, hesitantly and very softly, she said, “You didn’t –”