Jada
He’s on his back now, watching me with a heated gaze that makes me ache for him. His whisker stubble glints in the light, the curve of his cheekbone outlined dramatically in shadow.
I brush my hand over the damp, course hair on his belly. He’s built like an athlete. His penis jerks as my hand heads southward.
“You have such a beautiful penis.”
His nostrils flare. He’s all coiled, sexy energy.
I tear the foil package open. “Be happy I’m not tracing my name on your chest.” I roll it onto his cock, nice and slow, getting it exactly even.
“Oh, god,” he groans. “Such a perfectionist!” Suddenly he’s taking charge. He has it on and I’m on my back.
I grin. “Do me,” I whisper.
He moves between my legs and presses himself into me, filling my ache, invading me completely and deliciously.
“Mmmm…” I say, loving the feel of him inside me, completing me.
He thrusts into me, rumbling in his sexy tenor. I arch up to him—just enough to feel his chest hair rub on my breasts. I want to feel him in every way possible, on every surface of my body.
We get into a rhythm, mindless and ancient.
He slows, then he stops moving. His gaze invades mine.
My breath catches. I can’t look away. It’s like time has stopped, like the whole city has stopped to create this space of pure primal truth between us.
“Jada.”
“Hey,” I say.
“Hey.” He grinds slowly now, circling against me, watching me. I feel like he’s looking right into my soul and I’m glad. I’m trembling with pleasure, and I want him to see everything. I want him to see me.
I push my hips up to meet his, to somehow take in more of him, to get my clit into the rubbing action. It feels great, so I put my finger on my clit between our bodies.
He shudders out a breath. “Jesus, you gotta warn me before you touch yourself. I nearly lost it.”
“Touching alert,” I whisper, stroking myself, my finger sandwiched between our bodies, loving how intense we are together.
He grinds my finger into my clit, shoulders rippling with muscles. “Jada, Jada, Jada.”
“I’m about to come,” I gasp, nearly there. I stop with the finger and grip his hard arms.
A rumble curls from his throat as he shudders into me.
“More,” I gasp. He’s fucking me with savage force, now, and I just want more.
My skin feels electric.
The air is dark and heavy.
Pleasure blooms up my body and explodes in my brain.
He presses into me one final time; I can feel his cock pulsing inside me. He sucks in a breath, hot and sharp, lost like me.
He cries out and then collapses against me.
We’re both panting.
“We can order something,” he says. “There’s nothing to eat here.”
It’s midnight and we’re hanging out in the kitchen. I’m wearing one of his shirts and a pair of his thick socks. His clothes smell like him, a faint spice that is so Jack.
He’s watching me across the kitchen island, and there’s heat in his sexy eyes, but I’m invested in a late-night meal.
“I’m telling you, I got this. Because I have a superpower—I can make the best meal ever out of just a few ingredients. As long as there’s a fat and a starch. The things I can whip up—prepare to be amazed, Jack.”
“I’m ready.” He pours me some gingerale. Did he get gingerale especially for me? I love how he acts like the world’s hugest jerk, but he’s so not.
I peruse the produce that’s been set out in colorful bowls. “I see tomatoes. Garlic.” I check the refrigerator and the cupboards. “Oh, no,” I say. “No, no, no.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Fresh parm, pesto, sundried tomatoes. You even have fresh pine nuts. Whatever!” I throw the bag of pine nuts at him. “How can I demonstrate my superpower in such a ridiculously well-stocked kitchen?”
“Sorry?” He tosses the pine nuts back at me.
“It’s too easy! You’ve got the most well-stocked kitchen this side of the Hudson.” I set them aside and put out some parsely. “Start chopping this. We’ll do a quick orzo.” I open the cupboard and groan again.
“Hey! I believe you,” he says. “I believe in your superpower.”
“I don’t feel that you can unless you see it.” I start some water boiling.
I’m acting put out, but I feel…wonderful. Dangerously euphoric. I love being with Jack. I’ve never had a man act so irrationally obsessed over me. He makes me feel special and wildly beautiful.
I assemble a few things and go over to where he seems to be struggling with cutting the parsley. I soon see the problem: he’s sawing at it with a steak knife.
“Jack!” I’m laughing. “You need to chop it!”
“I am chopping it.”
“Poor Jack,” I tease, circling my arms around him from the back. “So bewildered by the ways of the world. What is this shiny thing? What is this chopping you speak of?”
He puts down the knife and turns around and growls into my hair.
