“I love how presumptuous you always are. I may want to shower on my own.”
“Sweetheart, you should expect to never shower on your own again. Not if I’m anywhere nearby.”
She places her hands to my chest and pushes up off me. “I feel like you’ve forgotten who wears the pants in this relationship.”
I stand and lift her over my shoulder before she sees it coming. Carrying her into the kitchen, I say, “I’ve decided I’m going to try out this pant-wearing business.”
“Oh good fucking God,” she mutters. “It’s not too late for me to change my mind, you know.”
I smack her ass. “The window on that decision closed hours ago.” I deposit her on the floor in the kitchen. “Now, what are your preferences for lunch?”
“A dark grey shirt and the tightest pair of shorts you own. Other than that, I don’t care.”
Fuck me.
I’m buying an entire wardrobe of those shirts.
I open the fridge as I run my eyes down her body, taking in all the skin on display. Jessica’s wearing the shortest red shorts known to mankind today, along with the tiniest white tank top. “You go and put some sunscreen on while I get lunch ready.”
“You are aware that I’m almost thirty, aren’t you? I managed to get myself to this age, slip, slop, slapping and all.”
“Ah, I do recall a time in Greece where you burned for half a day while I was on set.”
“Is there anything you ever forget?”
“Plenty, baby,” So many things, but only because I was drunk. “But nothing from our time together. Every second spent with you is burned into my memory.” That’s the God’s honest truth, and I am more than grateful we weren’t together during my heaviest drinking times because I never want to forget a moment with her.
She gives me a look that’s half eye roll, half ‘I don’t know what to do with you’ before leaving me to go put on sunscreen. I pack a picnic lunch made up of cold meat, salad, sourdough, and fruit. I add some of Mavis’s cookies (she baked a fresh batch for us yesterday) and then go change into the shorts and shirt Jessica requested. There’s no way I’m not changing when she asked for this.
She meets me back in the kitchen with an approving look, and a minute later we’re on our way down to the river.
“So you really only come here a couple of times a year?” she says as we walk.
“I’m disappointed you haven’t stalked me, sweetheart.”
“I didn’t need to. I had Ashton, but he didn’t always tell me when you were in Australia.”
I’m carrying the picnic basket in one hand and reach for her hand with my other. “Yeah. I only made it here once last year. It was more than that when I first got the place. I was overseeing the renovations back then.”
“Were you involved with them like you are with the bathroom now?”
“No, I didn’t have a clue about renovating back then.”
She glances at me. “When did you get so good with your hands?”
I grin. “I’ve always been good with my hands. You know that.”
This earns me an eye roll. “You’re lucky you have a big dick. This cockiness is enough to drive a woman away.”
I keep grinning as I pull her close and steal a kiss. “I got good at it about four months ago. I needed something to fill my time when I gave up the booze, so I took up running, weights, and building shit.”
“Where? Did you join one of those men sheds or something?”
“No, one of my neighbours is this retired guy whose wife passed away about a year ago. He’s been working on his place for six months now. Darren and I got talking one day when I was out on a run. One thing led to another, and I found myself helping him out.” I stare out over the river thinking about all the time I’ve spent with Darren before looking back at Jessica. “If I’m honest, getting good with my hands has helped save me.”
She smiles. “I love this. I also love that I have a built-in handyman.”
“Do you know what I love?”
“What?”
I stop walking and halt her progress by turning her to face me. Keeping hold of her hand, I say, “I love the ‘we’ I just heard in that statement.”
She leans into me, and I can’t help but notice how the sun slants itself over her, accentuating her beauty in breathtaking ways. Jessica fucking glows with that beauty. It sometimes strips rational thought from my mind. Between it and her heart, I’m a goner. I’d fucking go to my death for her.
“Well, I do sometimes need a handyman.” She bites her lip as her mouth spreads out into a smile. “And you do have a way of making me want that ‘we’ too.”
I don’t know how our life is going to look after we leave here, but I want my days to absolutely include being Jessica’s handyman. Right alongside being her protector from spiders and any other dragons she can’t slay herself.
27
Jessica
“You promised you wouldn’t get your dick out.”
Jack looks down at me through eyes that are filled with so much heat I could actually go up in flames. He’s got me underneath him on the picnic blanket with his elbows resting either side of me. And he’s grinding that dick of his against me. “I meant it when I said it.”
“I don’t think you did. I think you got me here under false pretences.”
His eyes burn with that heat. “Are you complaining? Should I stop?”
My hands go to his chest. The chest I can’t get enough of. The chest that currently has too much material covering it. “My vagina is complaining.”
“Bullshit. Your vagina wants this as much as I do.”
“You don’t know my vagina as well as you used to.”
He nods. “You’re right. We need to fix that.” He then proceeds to move down my body, putting his hands all over me and messing with all my thoughts.
One should not issue challenges to Jack Kingsley. He never shies away from a challenge. Especially if it involves sex.
I thread my fingers through his hair as he flicks the button on my shorts, lowers the zip, and removes them. “I’d forgotten how much you love a good challenge.”
His eyes meet mine as his fingers meet my skin under my panties. “Always. You should put some thought into my next one.” He pushes two fingers inside me. “Make it something truly filthy.”
I want to tell him to get all my clothes off me, but a cough works its way into my throat.
Jack frowns as I cough a second time. On my third cough, he stops what he’s doing and says, “Are you having an asthma attack?”
I sit up as the first squeezing tightness of an attack flares in my chest. “Fuck, I think so.” It’s been so long since I’ve had an attack that this has caught me off guard.
“Where’s your inhaler?”
I cough again. “In my room.”
“I’ll be back.” He’s up and running to the house before I can blink. Jack’s been with me during two of my worst attacks; he knows the seriousness of this.
I cough one last time before the wheezing starts.