How could she forget?
She was close, so close, her hands in his hair, demanding more.
Then suddenly, she lifted her torso up, scooted away and Jack’s mouth disengaged.
Desperate for something else, she pulled at his shoulders and he came over her, rolling to his back, taking her with him, muttering, “Belle –”
She lifted, sitting astride him, pulling his upper body to hers and her mouth went to his.
“Teach me,” she begged against his mouth, rubbing herself against his groin.
“Belle, love, I don’t under –”
“I’ve never done it. Teach me how to do it at the same time,” she pleaded and she saw his eyes flash hot before his hand fisted in her hair, crushing her mouth to his as his other hand came between their bodies.
She felt him guide himself inside.
Her crazy, spinning-out-of-control world, all of a sudden righted the minute he slid inside.
Instantly she started moving up and down, riding him, frantic as he kissed her and his thumb pressed between her legs, its strong, determined circling sending shudders down her thighs.
“I felt so empty,” she muttered against his mouth. “Jack, so empty.” Her voice was husky, her words not coming from her brain but somewhere else. “It’s so good to be full of you again.”
“Belle,” he murmured, her name coming at her as deep and throaty as her words had been and his mouth captured hers again. He sat up, her head tipping down to keep contact with his mouth, her movements became frenzied, his thumb more determined and he tore his lips from hers and ordered, “Finish, my love.” She shook her head, holding back, wanting to wait, wanting to feel more of this, more of him, wanting to be full of him forever.
His hand in her hair tilted her face to his and he demanded, “Finish, love, right now.”
And she did as she was told, still rearing uncontrollably against his hardness, seeking, demanding, impaling him deep inside her even as her cl**ax scored straight through to her soul.
It was so intense, so thorough, Belle was, many heady moments later, disappointed to see that she missed his.
Before she could form a thought, Jack fell to his back, taking her with him, pulling the covers over their bodies without losing their intimate connection.
She tucked her face in his neck, her thoughts scattered. She tried to catch even one and found the only thing she could focus on was his warmth, his body hard and strong under hers, their connection making her feel complete.
One of his hands travelled up and down her back as the other slid through her hair and after awhile, he murmured, “I missed you, poppet.”
She felt the tears well and without her faculties engaging, she couldn’t stop them from sliding from her eyes.
“Belle?”
“You don’t think I’m wanton?” she blurted, her embarrassed mind swiftly filled with recent memories of her begging, her desperation, her frantic movements.
She felt his body shake under hers and her head lifted so she could look at him.
He was laughing.
“What’s funny now?” she wailed and both his hands came to her face, his fingers gliding into her hair but his thumbs moved along the tears on her cheeks.
He didn’t answer her. Instead, still chuckling, he asked, “Why on earth are you crying?”
Her eyes moved to his ear which, she found, now with lots of practice, was the safest place to look, especially if he was naked.
She considered his question.
Then she answered his ear with, “I don’t…” her voice hitched and she finished on a stammer, “don’t know.”
His hands on her face tensed and he ordered gently, “Look at me.”