“Or maybe I just really like kissing you, J.”
My skin sizzles. “Same here.”
I shift him around so we’re side by side on the couch. Slinging one leg over his hip, I haul him closer, and our lips are magnets, seeking their opposite.
I can’t stop kissing him, and soon my hands are in his hair. My thumb slides over his stubbled jaw, then roams down to his chest, and I don’t want to stop.
I don’t want anything to stop.
I want to drown in his kisses.
In the way he makes my heart beat faster.
My skin heats up. My pulse surges.
His kisses bring me back to a place I haven’t visited in a long time. A place I miss terribly. Maybe a place I want to be again with someone.
With this guy.
His kisses remind me of all the good things in the world. But those are things I can’t possibly have with him.
With my boss.
In this moment, though, I can have him.
We can have each other.
And so, we do. My hand travels into his pants, and I push them down then reach for the lube on the table and pour some in my palm. I stroke his hard-on as I nip and bite and kiss his lips, until he’s coming in my hand and sighing in my mouth.
Shuddering against me.
He gives me the same treatment, kissing me with a morning-after abandon, stroking me with a hungry need, and sending me over the edge with his hand and his lips and this closeness.
It’s the best part of the morning.
When we’re done and we’ve cleaned up, and I almost feel like Jackson the bodyguard again, a knock at the door jars me.
Is it Terrence?
But the answer is no. A woman calls out, “Room service.”
I jerk my gaze to Stone, surprised.
He beams. “I ordered for you. Have breakfast with me.”
I say yes, because this is the true best part of the morning—that it’s not ending.
25
Jackson
I only have eyes for eggs, potatoes, salsa, and coffee.
But the efficient woman who delivers them is empirically attractive. Blonde hair. Blue eyes. A pretty smile.
She gestures to the room service tray. “There you go, Stone. Everything you ordered, including the quinoa and papaya. Chai and coffee too.”
“Thank you so much, Becca. As always, you are a goddess of all things good in the morning.”
With a professional smile, she says, “My pleasure. Always happy to do it.”
She spins on her heel, gives me a wave, and then leaves the room.
My stomach rumbles as I stare hungrily at the spread. “How did you know”—I point to the food—“that these are all my favorites?”
He holds his arms out wide. “Do you not get it? I pay attention to you.”
That thing my stomach did earlier? Pretty sure it’s a backflip this time. “I’m just not used to it.” But that’s not what you say when someone orders you your favorite breakfast. I meet his gaze and speak from the heart. “Thank you. This is great, and I needed it, and I appreciate it.”
“I had a feeling I’d be working you out in the morning.” Stone gestures to the table, and we sit. He takes a long pull of his tea, then sighs happily. “Also, you don’t have to worry about Becca seeing you in the room and gabbing. I know her. She’s my reg. She works directly for Sage and is all about discretion.”
I tap my temple. “I read the reports. I know the agenda. I know that Sage assigns her top VIP concierges to handle you.”
He leans across the table, grabs my cheeks, and smushes them. “Nothing gets past you.”
“True, but thank you for the reassurance,” I say when he lets go. “I appreciate that too.”
We dig into our food, and I take a drink of my coffee but keep thinking of Becca. Might as well broach the topic. “Can I ask you something?”
“Hit me up.”
I tip my head to the door. “Were you attracted to her? She’s a good-looking woman.”
Stone gives a light shrug, like it’s no big deal. “She’s pretty.”
“But were you attracted to her?”
“No. I’m not attracted to everyone.”
“I get that. But I’m trying to get a sense if she’s your type when it comes to women. I’m curious if you have a type for women, and for men.”
“Does it bother you? That I’m bi?”
I snort-laugh. “No. Why would it?”
“Some women don’t like it because they think it means I’m not that into women. Some guys don’t like it because they think I’m not committed to being gay. And some guys get jealous. You know, because they don’t have pussies.”
I blink. “Wow. No. None of those are an issue, especially the first, for obvious reasons. And the second is not a thing, because I don’t need a commitment to being gay. That’s not the commitment that matters to me. And I am definitely not jealous whatsoever about not having a vagina. I’m pretty happy with the equipment God gave me and what I can do with it,” I say, and Stone mouths, Me too. “But to answer your question, if I had an issue with your orientation, I wouldn’t have done anything with you in the first place.”
His brow creases. “You weren’t asking because you’re jealous I might be attracted to a woman? Like Becca?”
“No. I’m not jealous over women versus men. I’m jealous by nature. The gender doesn’t factor into it.”
His lips curve into a naughty grin. “You’re possessive.”
“Yes,” I say, completely serious.
“Do you feel possessive of me?”
I set my fork down, giving him a stare. “Is that a real question?”
“Yes.”
“Isn’t it obvious?”
“Is it?” There’s a thoroughly Stone-esque delight in his voice. This guy loves compliments, but he deserves them too.
“Yes. I feel possessive of you. Yes, I feel jealous when I think you might be attracted to someone else. But whether the attraction is for a man or woman doesn’t matter. Is that clear?”
“Crystal.” Stone slices the papaya and pops it into his mouth, grinning.
I take another bite of eggs, savoring the taste. “So, type. Got one?”
He shakes his head. “I don’t have a type when it comes to men. Or women. I’m attracted to different people. Black, white, Asian, Latino or Latina. Sometimes I like curves on a woman, sometimes toned arms. Sometimes long legs. On a guy, sometimes I like them bigger than me, sometimes leaner.” He draws a deep breath, studying my face with a newfound intensity. “But I suppose if I have a thing, it’s for eyes.”
“You’re attracted to eyes?”
“Yeah. Eyes just do me in,” he says, his tone swoony. “That’s my thing. Great eyes. Soulful eyes. Eyes you want to get to know. Eyes that have seen things. Eyes that know things.” His hook into mine, and my stupid heart pounds so loud I bet he can hear it. “Like yours.”
Backflips, cartwheels, triple jumps—you name it. It’s happening inside me.
Settle down, heart. Settle the hell down.
Stone picks up his cup and takes a swallow of tea. “What about you? Got a type?”