Burn for You

“I love this belly,” he said faintly. He dragged his hands up to my breasts. “And these. So pretty. So perfect. Look how perfectly they fit in my hands.”

He cupped them to prove his point. It was incredibly erotic, looking down at myself, his wet, soapy hands full of me. The way he touched me made me feel proud of my body, intensely feminine and powerful, though he could overpower me in a heartbeat if he wanted to.

His hands slid lower. Past my waist to the triangle between my legs. “And this,” he breathed into my ear, slipping his soapy fingers into my folds as I gasped. “I love this. I want this in my mouth or my hands or on my cock every day for the rest of my life.”

What was he saying? I was so dizzy I hardly knew. My head lolled to one side. He took my mouth in a kiss so intense it would have made me lose my footing if he hadn’t held me up.

It was slow, hot, and deep. His fingers swirled in small, lazy circles between my legs. I trembled and shook, making desperate sounds in my throat.

“I love your sweet little noises, too,” said Jackson, a hitch in his voice. “Bianca. You’re so sweet.”

I didn’t feel sweet. I felt ravenous, a ferocious little animal who wanted to tear him to shreds with my sharp, tiny teeth. I was so hungry for him my stomach ached.

He turned us to the wall. I flattened my hands over the wet tiles. He spread his hands around my waist, measuring the span. Then he surprised me by kneeling behind me and biting my ass.

“God.” He groaned, stroking my bottom, nipping it, grabbing big handfuls of it like he couldn’t get enough. He put his hand between my legs and cupped me, slowly rubbing me as I ground myself against his palm and moaned. My eyes slid shut with pleasure. I leaned my forearms against the wall and dropped my head, canting my behind out because I loved what he was doing so much.

“You’re the sexiest fucking woman I’ve ever seen in my life.”

His voice had a harder edge now. A desperate edge, like he was unraveling. Then he stood and tilted my head back with his fingers clenched in my hair and kissed me.

I reached behind me and grasped his erection. He moaned into my mouth.

“Like this,” I said, panting, stroking his length. I went up on my toes, guiding him where I wanted him, to that aching place between my legs. “Hurry.”

When he slid inside, he dropped his head and bit me on the long muscle between my shoulder and my neck. He shuddered. His low groan went all the way through me.

We stayed like that, unmoving, breathing raggedly, until I couldn’t stand it anymore. I flexed my hips. He jerked, driving deep into me, and I yelped in surprise.

“Sorry,” he rasped.

My laugh echoed off the walls. “You’re forgiven. Do it again.”

Gripping my hips, he started a slow rhythm. I clung to the wall. He slid his hand along the back of my thigh and lifted my leg, setting my foot on the tile seat to my right. It changed the angle of everything, deepening it, forcing a low moan from my chest.

He reached around and slid his fingers between my legs. I moaned again, louder.

“She likes that,” he said, softly laughing, reaching up with his other hand to caress my breasts.

No, I didn’t like it. I loved it. I was obsessed by it. I never knew dirty, wet shower sex would turn out to be something I adored more than chocolate croissants fresh out of the oven, dripping in butter.

“I don’t want this to stop,” I gasped, headed toward that bright white peak too fast. “Jax. Don’t ever stop.”

“It won’t stop,” he said roughly into my ear. “I promise. Now quit holding back.”

How did he know? I was beginning to think the man could read my mind. I leaned against him, reached around his neck with one hand, and pulled his head down. We kissed. He tested my lower lip with his teeth, explored my mouth with his tongue, took his time enjoying me. Time spun out and slowed until all the clocks stopped ticking and it was just the two of us, the water, our soft, shared moans and ragged breaths.

When I opened my eyes, he was staring down at me, a drop of water clinging to the tip of his nose, a look of adoration on his face.

Something in the center of my chest unlocked and broke free.

My orgasm slammed into me like a comet into earth. I stiffened and cried out, safe in the circle of his arms, gazing into his eyes as it happened. The bathroom echoed with the sounds of my undoing.

“You’ve ruined me for anyone else,” he whispered hoarsely, beginning to lose himself. “Bianca. I’m ruined.”

I convulsed around him, too overcome with emotion to speak.

He braced his arm against the wall to hold us up. He trembled, spasmed, made a sound like he was deeply in pain. “Fuck,” he groaned, and withdrew from my body. Then he kissed me like his life depended on it as he spilled himself onto my skin.

By the time we came back to our senses, the water had started to turn cold.

Jax reached out and turned off the spray. He wrapped his arms around me and hid his face in my neck, hugging me hard, his chest heaving.

He said my name, but I shushed him. “Not yet. Let’s not talk about it yet,” I whispered.

I was afraid what might come out of my mouth if he asked me how I was feeling.

We dried off and dressed in silence, avoiding each other’s eyes. We knew words would be too much, yet not enough. Something had changed between us in the shower. Something profound had taken root.

“You need food,” Jackson said, looking pointedly at my abdomen after another alarmingly loud rumble. My stomach sounded like it was occupied by a large, carnivorous beast, roaming around and kicking over furniture.

“Food! Yes!” I said with the volume of a person shouting across a highway to her friend stranded on the other side.

Jackson looked at me askance.

He stood in the bathroom doorway, watching me wind my damp hair into a big, messy bun. I’d pulled on a white cashmere sweater he’d bought for me and a pair of lovely charcoal-gray slacks he must’ve had custom made because they fit perfectly in both the waist and hips, a statistical impossibility.

“And maybe a stiff drink,” he added drily, examining my expression.

Stiff. Lord, don’t talk to me about stiff! I met his gaze in the mirror and forced myself to sound like a sane person. “So did you talk to your parents?”

One side of his mouth quirked. “I did.”

He let it hang there, torturing me. “And?”

A smile bloomed over his face. It was like watching the sun rise over mountains. “And they love you,” he murmured, holding my gaze.

Love.

Green beans, there was that word again.

It had been popping up in my head and on his lips for the past hour like weeds through cracks in the sidewalk. I had to remind myself that this was a business deal. He was here for his inheritance, I was here for my mama. It wouldn’t do to get ahead of myself and start attaching deeper meaning to things on account of hot shower sex.

Hot, emotional, vulnerable, soul-searing, life-changing shower sex.

“Uh-oh,” said Jackson. “I smell smoke. You’re thinking again.”

“Ha ha. Can we please go get some food before I eat that bar of soap?”

He pushed away from the doorway and wrapped his arms around me, resting his chin on top of my head. “Yep. But you have to promise if this little breakdown you’re having gets any worse, you’ll talk to me, so I won’t have to hold you down and tickle it out of you.”