“It’ll be fine,” Jack assured Belle but his words were also meant for her grandmother.
As he closed the door, he saw Lila pull herself up and nod.
Then Jack waited for Belle to say her goodnights to her grandmother before he guided her and their dogs to their bedroom.
And, approximately fifteen minutes later, dogs settled, Belle’s weight heavy in his arms, Jack looked at the clock and saw that it was twelve oh three.
Finally, he thought, this f**king Sunday is over.
Chapter Eighteen
Happy
Belle
Belle woke up, hearing her own low, deep-throated moan.
This, she realised immediately, was because Jack’s hand was cupped on her breast, his thumb doing lazy circles around her nipple which did delicious things to her state of being and his tongue was gliding along the skin behind her ear which made those delicious things delectable.
“Jack?” she whispered, her brain not yet connected to her body and her body not under her control.
This point was further proved when, the instant Jack heard his name, he shifted her to her back and covered her with his long, hard frame, his lips taking hers in a deep, open-mouthed, tongues tangling, mind-boggling, upon-waking kiss.
It had only been weeks since he’d kissed her like this but Belle had forgotten how good it felt. She’d forgotten how much she loved Jack’s kisses. She’d forgotten how lost she could get, forgetting to be meek and mild, becoming the Belle she wanted to be.
Therefore, she kissed him back.
He growled in her mouth.
His growl shot straight between her legs and those legs became restless.
Jack rolled to the side, his mouth never disengaging, his kisses long and sweet, his hand drifted down her belly, over her hip then, against her mouth he demanded in a deep, hoarse voice that sent shivers through her, “Open your legs for me, poppet.”
Belle didn’t hesitate. Her legs parted for him and as his tongue danced with hers, his fingers trailed down the insides of her thighs then up, along the edges of her panties then down again, feather-soft on her sensitive skin.
She wrapped her arms around him, mindlessly sliding her fingers along the muscled skin of his back, his sides, his waist, anywhere she could reach.
Somewhere from far away, she heard Jack murmur, “Further, Belle.”
“What?” she breathed, confused, her mind disengaged, her entire being centred on her thighs, his fingers and all the beauty she was feeling.
“Spread your legs further, love,” Jack whispered and she felt another rush of heat and wetness between those legs and, because of that, she did as he demanded and felt her reward, his smile against her lips. “That’s it, poppet, open for me.” At his encouragement, she spread her legs even wider.
His mouth took hers in another hot, demanding kiss as his fingers continued their beautiful torture, whisper-light touches, so close but not close enough. She’d tense, preparing for his touch, needing his invasion, certain it was coming but then they’d glide away.
When she thought she could take no more, suddenly they were there, lightly dancing across her panties in a sensuous tease.
She moaned deep in her throat and felt his groan against her tongue.
He pulled away, muttered, “So f**king wet,” and then he was gone.
“Jack?” she breathed in sudden confusion but she needn’t have worried. She felt his hands strong on her hips, pushing up her nightgown then pulling down her panties then his mouth was right there.
She arched her back right before she lifted her hips, seeking maximum contact with his mouth, his tongue and all the glorious things they were doing to her.
“Oh God,” she moaned, rocking her h*ps against his mouth.
She’d forgotten how good he was at this.