Page 23

Claire
2012
I’ve never been kissed before Jaxon. Unless you count Billy Jenkins sticking his tongue in my mouth in the seventh grade on a playground dare.
Which I don’t.
Not anymore.
Not with the way Jaxon is kissing me now. This is not some awkward and mildly embarrassing schoolyard fumble. This is something else.
Before tonight, I’ve had zero experience aside from the Billy incident, Bri’s war stories and my own curious, late-night explorations under the covers. This blows all of those things out of the water. This is something else entirely.
Something hot. Desperate.
The urgent press of his mouth against mine. The way his tongue skims the seam of my lips. The way one of his huge hands wraps around my ponytail, tugging on it, angling my mouth under his so he can deepen the kiss. I let him inside, opening my mouth, a small desperate sound rippling up my throat when I do.
He growls at me—or rather against me, his mouth fused to mine so tight I can feel the vibrations of it in my chest, right before he advances. Gripping my hip, he pushes me against the wall, wedging his thick, hard thigh between my legs, pushing them wide.
Squeezed into the narrow space at the foot of the stairs, his enormous frame towering over me, I should feel crowded. Overpowered. He’s easily twice my size. Big bones. Hard muscles. He’s huge. All of him. I can feel the thick, rigid length of him pressed against my belly. I want what he was giving me before. I want to feel the hard press of him moving against me.
Inside me.
The hand on my hip moves, pushing under the hem of my shirt, searching for bare skin. “Claire...” he whispers my name against my mouth, his fingertips skimming the waistband of my pants giving me time to protest before he pushes past it, lower. Cupping my pussy in his hand, the heel of it pressing against the top of my mound, grinding my clit while his long, blunt-tipped fingers trace its seam through my panties. He leans into me, bringing his mouth to my ear. “You’re soaked.”
On the other side of the door, the light in the butler’s pantry clicks on. It seeps through the cracks, illuminating his features. He’s watching me, his dark eyes heavy and hooded, fused to mine, still stroking me through the thin fabric between my thighs.
I can hear people just behind the door. The fridge beside it open. Bottles clinking. People giggling. Whispering.
It looks expensive.
Should we drink it?
Fuck yeah, we’re drinking it.
He’s right. I am soaked. Have been since I left his house. Just thinking about it makes my pussy start to throb. I let out an answering whimper, my bottom lip caught between my teeth.
“Shhh…” Then his fingers push my panties to the side, their tips gliding effortlessly, pushing past my damp slit. Searching for more.
I grit my teeth as I cling to him, my hands gripping his shoulders. I make a weird noise in the back of my throat, a strange mewling sound I’ve never made before. I’m suddenly hot. So hot I feel my skin go taut, squeezing tight around my bones even as my insides start to tremble, liquefying from the heat.
“God, you feel so good...” he breathes in my ear, skimming his thumb over my clit, soft, feathery strokes, again and again, while a single, long finger strokes my entrance, before slipping inside, pushing deeper and deeper.
And then he stops.
Goes stiff.
The hand between my legs falls still, his finger still inside me, pressed against the barrier of my virginity.
I can feel him watching me, staring down at me. His jaw tight. Chest heaving like he’s having a hard time catching his breath. “You’re a virgin.”
It’s not a question, but I nod anyway, shame burning my cheeks.
In the butler’s pantry, I hear the pop of a champagne cork, followed by a muffled, drunken cheer.