The Unidentified Redhead (Redhead #1)(44)
Author: Alice Clayton

“Fuck, Grace. That feels amazing,” he groaned, his eyes becoming even wilder, his face almost animalistic.

I pushed him in the way that I knew only I could push him. I lowered my body onto his, pressing myself against him. I looked him in the eye and said,

“What would feel amazing is that tongue of yours. All. Over. Me.” I punctuated each word with a hard thrust, slamming my hips into his Rock. Hard. Mr.

Hamilton.

His eyes narrowed, and he unleashed a low growl from deep in his throat.

He lifted me off his lap with one swift movement, and I found myself with my knees on either side of his face. He grabbed at my hips, pulling me firmly down to his mouth. His tongue snaked out, and he licked me. Hard. I sucked a breath in sharply, my hips bucking frantically as he fought to hold me still.

“No,” he warned, his eyes hard as he stared up at me, green blazing.

He licked me again. Harder.

I rocked my hips, desperate for the friction, and he growled again. He pulled me down once more, roughly, and began lapping at me, quickly, violently. His mouth closed around me, sucking greedily at me.

I was all kinds of wet.

I came fast and hard, in his mouth, on his tongue. Before I could even recover, his teeth—oh, my God, his teeth—teased at me. He took me into his mouth again, and with his lips pressed firmly around me, his teeth nipping and his tongue darting over me, the sensations were unlike anything I had ever felt before.

Then he moaned.

He moaned and he groaned and the vibrations rang through me. I screamed his name repeatedly as I rocked my hips back and forth. His hands dug into my hips, bruising my skin, keeping me in place, not letting me go. My screams became wordless as the series of orgasms ravaged through me, making me shake violently. He was groaning under me, his tone guttural and his face furious as he watched me come down.

He was not done with me.

He flipped me over, nudging my knees apart almost carelessly. His eyes burned into me as he dragged his fingertips from my mouth, down the center of my body, between my br**sts and below. He teased at me for a moment, watching my face as I became more and more frustrated with his swirling fingers.

Just before I began to pull my own hair out, he plunged two fingers deep inside of me. My back arched off the bed, hips wild at his touch. This is what I needed. I needed him from the inside. Once again, he found that spot, his J-Spot, and he stroked me intently, while his other hand pressed down. He brought his face to mine and kissed me, sucking my lower lip into his mouth.

The push and the pull, the soft and the hard, the sweet and the salt of it all was too much, and I exploded again, screaming his name once more and making him smile.

I opened my eyes and saw him kneeling over me. I scrambled up, sitting up on my knees and yanked his boxers down quickly. My head was still spinning from the intense orgasms this man had just given me, but I couldn’t focus on anything other than the sight of him. Huge, hard, swollen and perfect.

Placing one hand on him and the other on me, I watched his face as I addressed us both. I wanted to come with him.

His eyes traveled down to my hand on his length and then to my other hand that was feverishly working my own sex. I switched hands, my wetness coating him, making him moan as I worked him. I could feel myself getting closer again and I slowed, wanting to wait for him.

“Come with me, Jack,” I panted, almost crying with the torture of watching his perfect face as he raced toward his own orgasm. Both of his hands shot out to the back of my neck, lacing his fingers behind me. I cocked my head to one side, leaning on his arm, kissing his skin wherever my lips could reach him.

He closed his eyes, sighed my name, and came … with me.

Beautiful.

Minutes later, we were wrapped as closely as we could be, arms and legs entwined, skin on skin. I was running my nails through his hair while he slipped toward sleep. I kissed him softly on each eyelid, the tip of his nose, and finally his mouth.

I loved him.

Simply.

In the morning when I woke, he was gone. On his pillow where his gorgeous head usually lay, was a single piece of paper.

Grace,

I have looping today. I should be home by 3.

Out to dinner?

Last night was … I have no words.

Jack

There was a little arrow at the bottom, indicating I should turn it over.

There was one more line:

I’m leaving you with just a little schmaltz: schmaltz I laughed through my tears.

Chapter 18

That morning I spent putzing around. Jack was going to be looping, and I took the opportunity to get caught up on some of the stuff that I had let fall behind while we were in the cocoon.

I got caught up on the freelance project I was finishing. I could work on some smaller projects from New York, but with the salary I would be making, I could essentially stop freelancing.

I was going to be able to support myself as a working actor for the first time in my life, and I almost had to pinch myself to believe it.

I also started packing, deciding what I would send ahead to New York and what I would bring to my new house. Shit. There was still so much I had left to do and hardly any time to do it. I could feel myself beginning to panic a little.

I needed to drop the voiceover class I had just signed up for. I needed to switch my Martha Stewart subscription to New York. Crap, I didn’t even know where I was living yet.

I needed to go shopping. I was out of deodorant, and I needed some string cheese. And I had promised the Brit I would pick up some mother-flippin Chex Mix.

I needed … I needed …

Settle, Grace …

I needed to do laundry. I grabbed the hamper and sat on the floor, making piles around me while I took some deep, cleansing breaths. As I was sorting, I noticed that Jack had snuck some t-shirts into the hamper. Now I was doing his laundry? I smiled to myself, thinking of him silently throwing these shirts into my hamper, probably smirking as he did it, knowing that I would call him out on it later. He was so cute when he was smirking. I pressed each of the shirts to my face in turn, inhaling his sweet scent.

I looked around my room, where we had spent so much time over the last few days.

His guitar. An errant Melba toast. His jeans, thrown across the back of my chair. A Felicity DVD—he really was sweet to indulge my Ben Covington fetish. His stupid ball cap which, to his credit, he had not worn in my presence.

I picked up the ball cap. I stared at it, thinking of how cute he was when I took it off his head and messed up his big curls, smiling the entire time.

Why was the ball cap wet?

I was crying. Big, giant, elephant tears were pouring down my face foolishly, relentlessly. I was over-the-moon happy to be moving to New York, but I was so sad to leave him that it was messing with my head … bad. How was it possible that I was in so deep already?