The Unidentified Redhead (Redhead #1)(50)
Author: Alice Clayton

“Oh, God, Jack, oh my God … please?” My voice shook. I couldn’t wait any longer. I needed, I physically needed him to be on the inside, in my inside, right now.

He was perfectly still, and then I felt him push into me, just a whisper more than he had been, still only barely inside me, but just the promise of him.

We both moaned at the same time, and then he did the most unbelievable thing.

He pulled away.

I cried out at the loss.

“No! No, please Jack. Come in, please come in.” I struggled to push myself down on him and looked in his eyes for an explanation. I could see a battle raging across his face. He was thrilled and horrified all at the same time.

“No, Grace, not like this,” he said shakily, his voice dark and thick.

What?

His face was changing rapidly, from lust to fear to anger and then to pure carnal frustration. Mixed with determination. Dammit.

“Not in a car, not outside, not like this. Not now,” he said again, his voice cracking as he pulled away further, away from my warmth that was aching to envelop him. He sighed heavily and lifted me off his lap carefully, setting me back into my seat. I was still in shock from what had just happened, I truly thought we were about to, well, in the words of a thirteen-year-old boy … do it.

As my heart and my body began to readjust, my brain caught up. He did want me. Obviously he wanted me. But he wanted it to be special.

We were both fools. Crazy fools.

I blushed suddenly at my nakedness. I was sitting in my car naked, parked on the side of a mountain, with a still very hard Brit next to me, and we were both trying to get back in control of ourselves.

I caught his eye, and we both smirked.

“That was, wow. I can’t believe how hard it was to stop myself,” he said.

“No kidding. I’m impressed. And apparently a bit of a slut,” I laughed, primly covering my exposed br**sts with pieces of my dress. It was shredded.

Panties? Shredded.

Pride? Slightly shredded, but intact.

“Are you kidding? Slut becomes you. You’re my favorite slut. And just because I’m not going to be inside you tonight, doesn’t mean I won’t be very, very soon,” he answered, his voice rolling in sex as he twirled my panties on his finger, or at least what was left of them.

He shrugged out of his shirt, handing it to me, and he put his jacket back on. I buttoned up and leaned over to kiss his neck.

“How quick can you get us home?”

“Buckle up, Nuts Girl,” he quipped, hand on my thigh as we tore off into the night.

When we got back to Holly’s we walked in giggling like teenagers, only to be stopped by Mama Holly with a carton of Chunky Monkey. She took one look at us. I was dressed in his shirt, buttoned all c**k eyed. One shoe. He was wearing his jacket, no shirt underneath … very Miami Vice. We both had bite marks on our necks. She shook her head as we ran through the kitchen, shaking her spoon at us.

“You had better hope there were no photographers wherever you were, dammit!” she shouted up to us. I ran up the stairs ahead of him, still naked underneath his shirt, and I swear to Holy Chex Mix … he bit me on my butt.

We had a crazy night, reminiscent of our first night together. It was as if we knew that by this time tomorrow night, we would be moving beyond our own little sexual frontier, and it was like a countdown of our greatest hits. He made me crazy in the bed, up against the door, in the shower, and once again … on the floor of the closet. His hair was a mess, my hands refusing to let go whenever he got that maniacal tongue near my lady bits.

I would like to thank whoever wrote the manual that all twenty-something men now read, because they sure love to take a taste. Not that it didn’t happen when I was in my early twenties. It did. But Jesus, I will be damned if the quality had not improved. I don’t know if I needed to thank Bill Clinton, or internet  p**n , or Sex and the City, but damn.

And how the hell did a twenty-four-year-old guy know how to find a J-Spot?

My first boyfriend couldn’t have found it with a TomTom. Truth be told, it took me a while, too. But my George?

By George, I think he’d got it.

Double Damn.

And he got as good as he gave. By the time I was finished with him, he was actually begging me to let him rest, a first for him.

We were lying in bed, legs and arms tangled pleasantly and both positively glowing in our post-orgasmic silence except for “Jack’s Happy Sound.” I did love to hear that little hum, especially when we were close like this.

I stretched, letting out a big yawn and then settled further into the covers.

Our little cocoon was so warm, and even though I knew logically it wasn’t possible, I swear that my sheets were softer when he was under them. How could that be?

He had snuggled down so far under the covers that all that was visible was a shock of messy hair, curls askew. He was wrapped around me like a snake, with his head placed upon my chest. I could feel his breath. It tickled my skin.

I giggled and poked him in the ribs. The hair jumped slightly.

“Hey, are we really going to Santa Barbara tomorrow?”

“You better believe it,” he said, through a yawn.

“What time are we leaving? And how long will we be there?” I asked, noting how, when he answered, the hair bobbed.

“We can leave as soon as we wake up. I know you’ll have tons to do here to get ready for New York, so we’ll only be there through Sunday. Two nights.” Then I only had two nights after that before I had to leave. I quickly pushed that thought aside.

“What’s in Santa Barbara anyway? You mentioned that you had to go,” I asked, sneaking my hand beneath the covers and finding his face. I caressed his skin, and he moved his lips to capture my fingers in a quick kiss.

“I have a photo shoot with some of the other cast members. You can meet them if you like,” he said, almost shyly.

“Do you want me to?” I asked, not knowing what to say. We had just been told by Holly to keep things quiet, and while Jack said he didn’t care who knew we were … well … whatever we were … I knew it wasn’t a smart idea. The less people that knew, the better.

“Well, yeah. I mean, I already told my friend Rebecca about you, and Lane—he plays Isaac in the film—heard me on the phone with you the other day. So, yes. You should meet them.” He was quiet for a moment and then finished, “if you want to.”

I thought for a moment.

“Yes, I want to,” I answered, and felt him relax against me further.