If I didn’t hurry and settle down first, I’d be totally fucked. And so will she.
“Rae,” I said, her name a scrape. I had to clear my throat before continuing. “If you want to change our agreement, then I am all for it. Just say the word.”
Her forehead wrinkled in confusion. “What agreement?”
“That we don’t touch on Wednesdays, that we use the time only to talk.”
She wrinkled her nose. “Is that what we agreed? I thought the no touching thing was just for the first Wednesday.”
My nod was immediate and forceful. “Okay. Yes. Motion passed. New agreement is now in place. All touching is allowed.”
A grin split her face, something like dawning realization behind her gaze. “Are you telling me that I’ve been suffering for no reason because of a miscommunication?”
“No.” I lowered my head, stealing a too-short kiss. I couldn’t wait to taste her. Everywhere. “I’m telling you we’ve both been suffering for no reason because of a miscommunication.”
As I spoke, my fingers twisted into the tie holding her shirt and I paused, rethinking my strategy. Sliding my hand beneath the thin fabric, I pulled the string holding her bikini in place, a pulsing, insistent ache in my groin momentarily clouding my vision.
Rae laughed at my words, the sound absolutely magical, her arms coming around my neck. “What are you doing? Are you trying to take off my bathing suit?”
I nodded, incapable of speech as the string went lax around her back. Holding her gaze, I devoured the sight as heat and haziness replaced the laughing brightness in her eyes.
“Jackson . . .” she whispered, angling her chin in offering.
Not yet.
I lifted my head just an inch away, wanting to see her face, her expression as I touched her. My only regret after making her come on Friday at the jam session had been the dimness of the backstage area. Forced to fumble around in the dark, I’d wanted to watch her then, starving for the sight of her face as I made her come. I loved watching her.
I was, after all, a visual creature. I wasn’t about to miss a single second now.
Lifting my hand, I pulled the last string around her neck. Her lashes fluttered, but she held still as I fisted the scrap of fabric and pulled it from beneath her shirt. I dropped it somewhere behind me and leaned back, my gaze trailing to her neck, then lower to the shape and outline of her perfect breasts visible beneath the gauzy fabric of her top.
My mouth flooded with saliva, my dick shoving against the interior of my shorts. Licking my lips, I didn’t miss the way her body shivered, and my eyes cut back to hers.
I felt desperate, but obviously so did she. I paused to grin, loving how she looked at me. “Do you miss it?”
“What?” she asked breathlessly, her eyes on my lips.
“My tongue.”
She shivered again, nodding, her nipples pebbling, straining, and ripe for my mouth. I bent, sucking at the center of her breast through the inconsequential barrier, palming her other breast and massaging, loving how she squirmed and panted as I leaned away and admired the evidence of her arousal.
I need a condom. Fuck. I. Need. A. Condom.
I’d never had sex without one. Back in my wayward days, I used to keep dozens in my glove box, replacing any spares every two months. I’d never considered this paranoid behavior but rather responsible behavior, honorable behavior. Using a condom meant I wasn’t a bad guy, I wasn’t what other people said about me. I was responsible, diligent, safe, thoughtful—even when no one else thought so. But I’d emptied that glove box years ago.
There’s only one thing to do.
“Rae.” I slid my hands down her back to her bottom, giving it a rub and squeeze, because I couldn’t help myself. Now that I was allowed, I wanted to touch her everywhere at once. But I was on a mission. Moving my fingers to the button of her shorts, I said, “This is what we’re going to do. First, I’m going to—”
She grabbed my face and kissed me, her tongue searching for mine and moaning deeply when she found it. Her body arched, rubbing along my torso, and all my plans and thoughts flew straight out of my head.
I unbuttoned and unzipped her shorts. I shoved them down her legs. I reached inside her bathing suit, and I separated her with my finger, groaning when I felt how wet she was. How ready. And my mind filled with visions of how great she’d feel once I had her beneath me and I pushed inside her body, how I’d love watching the heat build behind her eyes as I moved and filled her.
But her being ready and willing and me being mindless didn’t change the fact that I still needed a condom I didn’t have.
So as gently as I could manage, despite the pain it caused me, I pushed her away. “Wait. Wait. God—oh fuck, just wait.”
Breathing hard, her hands grasping, she let me set her back. Her eyes pleaded, her expression a little crazed. “What? What is it?”
“I don’t have a condom.”
She shook her head. “It’s okay, I’m on birth control. And I’m clean. Are you clean?” Her fingers gripped my shirt tightly, like she wanted to rip it.
“Yes. But, Rae, I . . .” My throat was so tight, and the urge to just do it, to just give in and fucking finally take her, crushed me. Almost. “Rae. It might not make sense, but I need a condom if we’re going to do this.”
She gaped at me for a long moment, but then she nodded and closed her mouth, like she didn’t trust herself to speak. Her eyes told me she didn’t understand, but that she accepted my words.
“I have to go get some.” I grabbed her arms and guided her back to the seat she’d occupied earlier, not trusting myself to put my hands elsewhere. “But before I go, I want—I need—to do something.”
She continued nodding, looking like she was ready to burst from frustration. The sight was both arousing and amusing. Apparently, she couldn’t read my mind. Yet.
Careful not to touch her hip, I pulled the string there, and she looked down, confusion on her features. “What—?”
Before she finished her thought, I knelt in front of her, grabbed the backs of her thighs to hold her in place, spread her legs, and licked.
Her whole body convulsed, a shock of curse words flying out of her mouth, and her hands grabbed fistfuls of my hair. “Jackson!”
Fuck. Yes. I’d wanted this. I’d missed this. I needed this. The feel of this soft, delicate part of her on my tongue, the taste of her, the velvet texture of her legs. Lifting her knees over my shoulders, I pressed harder, tonguing her tight entrance, but not expecting her to come yet. Which is exactly what she did.
If I’d been in a different, less tortured state of mind, I might’ve been amused by the expediency of her orgasm. Less than thirty seconds had to be a personal record for me. Acting quickly—relatively speaking—I slid my fingers inside her already clenching channel. She covered her mouth with both hands, holding the scream inside.
I looked up, wanting to see her loss of control, and our eyes collided. Her whole body shook, her powerful legs squeezing but then easing, like she worried I couldn’t breathe; her hands gripping the seat behind her as she struggled not to make a sound, like she didn’t trust herself not to fall. And she closed her eyes; like she found the sight of me still licking and sucking and kissing that sweet spot between her legs overwhelming.