The Redhead Plays Her Hand (Redhead #3)(39)
Author: Alice Clayton

His arms were tight around me, hands roaming, then settling on my bottom, pushing me where he wanted me most. I chuckled in spite of myself and didn’t let go of him when he placed me on the bed, my legs bringing him down to me.

“Something funny?” he asked, his fingers hurrying to unbutton my shirt. I answered with my mouth to his, kissing him deeply and letting my body tell him how much I needed him, wanted him, loved him.

“You’re the beautiful one, Jack.” I sighed, this time in a very different way than before. He stretched above me, all long limbs and bronzed skin. His eyes flashed green, even through the darkness. His fingers blazed a trail toward where my panties would be, if I were wearing any . . .

Finding me bare beneath brought forth a deep groan from him, and he ripped the last of my buttons through the buttonholes as he grew impatient.

“Dammit, you tore my shirt.”

“I’ll buy you another.” He grinned as my feet alone managed to push his boxers down and entirely off his legs. “Impressive.”

“You got that right,” I managed as he nudged against me with the part of him that never failed to intoxicate. Seconds later, he was inside.

“Christ, that feels good,” he breathed into my ear, then leaned back to rise up on his knees, digging his hands deep into my hips. I arched my back, throwing my head into the pillow, arms opened wide. He slowed his thrusts, tilting my hips up higher as he circled his own. Now he let one hand creep higher on my body, fingers teasing at my ni**les, then pressing into my mouth as I kissed his hand.

“So beautiful,” he whispered as his hand now drifted lower, sweeping across my abdomen, dipping into my belly button, fluttering below. Kissing his own fingers, he returned them to me, where we were joined, where he now pushed into me agonizingly slowly. My entire body was taut, my hands tangled in my hair as he pressed into me. His fingers sought me, where I needed him, circling and twirling, rubbing slick and hot. I panted, bowing off the bed as he touched me, bringing me closer to the edge.

“Love to watch you come. Love to watch you come apart for me, for me,” he whispered as I writhed before him. He seated himself fully inside again, now speeding up his thrusts. “God, you should see yourself.” He groaned as I brought one of my hands down to tangle with his, guiding him as he rode me harder.

Tiny specks of light began to dance at the corners of my vision, and my body contracted, pulling him deeper, so deep into me as he held me open wide. I chanted his name over and over again as my orgasm raced through me.

“Mmm . . . that’s my girl.” He moaned, his eyes closing as I burst around him. He fell forward onto me, sweat slippery between us as he shook in my arms. “Love you, love you so much, Grace. I’m so sorry.” He murmured into my neck, his arms now tight as a band around me as he exploded. I scratched at his scalp and soothed him, hugging my legs around his back and keeping him inside as long as I could.

“I know, Jack. I know,” I whispered, kissing everywhere I could reach. Slipping out of me with a loss I desperately felt, he turned me onto my side so he could wrap his arms around me, tucking me into him, back to front, with his hands full of me.

I realized as he slipped toward sleep that we had avoided once again discussing what had happened tonight, and that at some point we were going to take this to the woodshed. But it wasn’t tonight.

fifteen

When I opened my eyes the next morning, I was staring into green. Jack was awake, turned sideways on his pillow and watching me. I grinned back at him, snuggling deeper into the covers and into him, breathing in the scent of his warm skin all over me. Kissing the exact center of his chest, I rested my head over his heart, the tiny hairs tickling my nose.

“How long have you been up?” I asked, my voice thick with sleep.

“Awhile.”

“You should have woken me up.”

“I wanted to let you sleep. I know it’s been a busy week.”

“It’s been a busy everything.” I groaned and stretched a bit, which resulted in the sheets pulling down just enough that the boobies made their first appearance of the day.

Just as Jack waggled his eyebrows enough to communicate his intent and make the girls go on point, his phone buzzed on his nightstand. Huffing, he rolled away to get it as I pulled myself together a bit. I sat up to lean against the headboard and could see over his shoulder just enough to note the call was from Adam, although Jack at least had the good sense to not answer it. Rolling back over with a mischievous gleam in his eye, he looked right where he’d left the girls, grumbling audibly when he saw they had been put away.

“But, wait, where did they—”

“Shut it, George. We’re talking.”

“We’re already talking, Grace.”

“If the boobies are out, no talking will happen.”

He snorted and tried to sneak a peek. “Just because you’re incapable of paying attention doesn’t mean I can’t.”

“No way. Uh-uh. No boobies till we talk.” I tucked the sheets under each armpit and clenched my hands at my sides.

“How about one booby? One booby while we talk, and if I can contain myself, then I get them both before breakfast,” he offered, throwing his hands up in the air in supplication.

“How old are you?” I asked, raising one eyebrow.

“You know ruddy well how old I am. Recovery time, remember? Now drop the sheet on the left one and talk, woman.” He poked me in the left shoulder.

Sighing, I adjusted the sheet so that the . . . good lord . . . so that the “left one” was out.

“Okay, what are we talking about?” he asked it.

“Eyes up here, George. It’s out, but you still have to make eye contact.” I grabbed his chin and twisted him to look straight ahead.

He blinked, shook his head, and then looked me in the eye finally.

“Okay, let’s talk about last night, just for a minute. I don’t want to rehash everything, I promise.”

He sighed heavily, then nodded for me to go on.

“I mainly just want to talk about Adam, but in a calm, rational way. I want you to understand more about why I don’t like him. I probably shouldn’t even say I don’t like him. I barely know the guy and—”

“Grace?”

“Yeah?”

“You don’t like him. It’s okay. You can say it.”

“Okay, yeah. I don’t like him. But more than that, I don’t trust him. But hear me out. Haven’t you noticed that whenever we’re out, whenever you’re out—if he’s there, the cameras are there? I mean, yeah, they’re there sometimes even when he isn’t around, but have you ever been somewhere with him when they aren’t there?” I nudged his chin once again. His eyes had started to drift south.