Page 15

GEORDIE

They talk about chemistry between people, but I think of it in terms of physics. It started with a tiny spark, charged glances between two almost strangers at the rugby field. Since then, with every look, every word, every brief careless touch, we’ve chipped away at the barriers of time, space, and history dividing us. Electricity follows the path of least resistance. What was a trickle of current between Jenna and me has built into bold, jagged forks of lightning arcing between us—thrilling yet dangerous, and about to light up the room.

Jenna closes the door and turns, but I’m there. I rest one arm against the frame, trapping her. Her eyes meet mine, liquid brown like melting chocolate. She should have a high voltage warning slapped across her, but I’d ignore it, anyway.

“I’m going to kiss you, Jenna. Is that OK?” My words are hushed, careful, as if I’ve unexpectedly cornered some exquisite wild creature, and with one too-loud word, one too-sudden move, it will escape .

She nods, a swallow rippling down that pale throat, her eyes fixated on my mouth. Mine twitches in anticipation, my lips pleading to unleash the restraint I’ve shown. I lick them, my tongue sweeping across, encouraging thoughts of the sweet places it seeks. God, I can’t wait to taste her.

Much as I’m desperate for a hit of Jenna, like a new drug holding promise of some mind-blowing high unlike any I’ve experienced before, I’m not going to rush this. A need to savour the moment overpowers my aching physical desire, an urge to etch it into my brain, as if knowing the memory will be important not only today, but maybe for the rest of my life.

I memorise the upturned face, a faint sunrise flush colouring her cheeks. The bowed lips, slightly parted, offer a glimpse of her pink tongue resting between them, asking to dance with mine.

The little creases that usually twinkle at the corners of her eyes, and the playful dimples bracketing her mouth, are absent. In between nervous blinks, serious brown eyes rove my face, as if she too, paused in one long breath, is recording every detail of this moment, in the colours of light and shadow surrounding us.

I cup her chin in my hand, the skin there so smooth and delicate. Following the silky curve, my fingers find their way behind her head, the sleek ribbons of her hair soft beneath them as I coax her forward, until warm lips meet mine. My other hand, resting on her waist, encourages her body to follow. It needs little encouragement as Jenna collapses into me; compliant, needy even.

Our mouths comply too, driven to explore. She tastes of smoke, as if the whisky hints of the fire igniting between us. A soft sound escapes her throat, a mewl, and I respond with a moan as she leans into me. I imagined this first kiss to be tender; hesitant, as we took one last look at the line between us, smudging at the edges cautiously, before completely erasing it.

It’s a line not only of others’ making—her father, my sister, those who would judge the age gap between us—but also one of our own. I sense Jenna found safety in that boundary, protection against possible hurt. God knows she’s entitled to be wary after the damage done to her by her shitty ex. Maybe I felt safe on the other side too, without all my shortcomings under scrutiny; a barrier against my fear of rejection.

Now we knowingly step across the line and, free of its confines, everything changes. I tilt her head back, wanting to plunge deeper, wanting more. Our kisses become hard and desperate, and possessive; lips and teeth and tongues clashing, breaths coming in frantic gasps. There’s no finesse—only raw, desperate need.

She grabs at one hand and tugs it down, encouraging me to explore under the hem of her rugby jersey. There’s nothing beneath but perfect heated skin, and I splay my fingers over her soft, smooth stomach, working across a surprising ripple of light muscle and up over ribs, finally cupping one heavy hand-filling breast.

She sighs into my mouth as I squeeze, trailing my thumb across the large erect nipple that’s pushing against the lace of her bra, and I grunt out a sigh in return as it blossoms under my touch. I want to see it, taste it. I draw my hand down, bringing the other to Jenna’s waist and attend to the task of removing her jersey.

I grasp at it, roughly tugging it upwards, desperate to unwrap this unexpected gift. Jenna helps me, raising her arms so I can pull the jersey up over her head. As I fling it to the floor, she steps back, head dipped a little, looking up at me from beneath shyly fluttering lashes as if unsure whether I’ll approve .

How could I not? Jenna’s body is so much more than my lustful brain could have ever imagined. She’s slim-waisted, and broad-hipped, with skin that glows a sun-kissed honey. The shadowy valley of her cleavage only hinted at what lies beneath. Now ripe, luscious tits are revealed. They strain against their white lace cage, spilling over the edges. Generous but firmly rounded, they beg for my touch. The nipples, barely held in place, are bold, a dusky coffee colour with a halo of deep brown.

I lean in, burying my nose between her breasts, inhaling the scent of her skin. The fragrance of frangipani and exotic orchids, with an underlying hint of coconut, explodes in my nostrils. I drift on waves that transport me back to familiar memories of heated tropical nights.

And yet beneath it there’s another smell, the unique warmth of Jenna, and I’m fully aware that tonight I’m in a special paradise, a place I’ve never been before, somewhere where I might want to stay for a very long time.

Her arms wrap around my neck, hands clasped, their weight urging me down. My hands knead at her tits greedily as she hums her approval against my shoulder. I swivel my head across, taking one nipple in my mouth, at first circling my tongue in lazy strokes, then sucking hard, my mouth soaking the fabric, my teeth nipping. Not wanting to neglect the other of this beautiful pair, I turn my greedy attention to it, and Jenna throws her head back, neck arching with a breathy moan as I thrust the breast up to meet my hungry lips.

My hand snakes around her back, and despite fear my haste will make me clumsy, my fingers deftly unhook the clasp of her bra. I release her nipple from my mouth just long enough for the bra to tumble to the floor between us, freeing the two beauties who I’m far from finished with.

Little sighs of pleasure merge with squeaks of pain as I tantalise and punish in equal measure, delighting in the way she returns the attention. One moment her mouth is hard, sucking at the sensitive skin of my neck, bruising it with her demands, the next sharp neat teeth bite into my shoulder. My skin flames beneath her mouth. I imagine the tiny bruises forming—she’s marking me as hers.

Jenna pauses for a moment, and I can almost hear her thoughts. I know I’m in trouble, when her hands rove downwards, tracing the line of my hip bones before busily fumbling at my belt. Frantic fingers work at the buttons of my jeans. My cock swells at every flickering touch, even though there’s a layer of heavy denim and cotton boxer briefs between us. I feel her mouth morph into a smile against my collarbone as the fabric parts and her hand works its way under the waistband of my briefs to grip my length with a possessive pressure. She giggles.

“Think I’ve found what I need right here.”

I break away from my work, lifting my head to face her.

“And what exactly do you need?” I quirk a brow, my mouth falling into a lopsided smirk.

“This,” she says, squeezing my cock for emphasis. “I think it might like to come out and play.” She grins at me, her mouth pink and swollen from my bruising kisses.

This sexy siren woman, beckoning me in, is another side of Jenna I’ve never seen before, and it’s fucking blowing my mind. I want her so bad; but fuck, I need to know she wants it, too. Really wants it.

Much as I hate risking what promises to be the best sex of my life, I’d rather that than tainting Jenna with regret come morning. I’m playing the long game here. If I wanted a one-night stand with her, then fine, we’d just carry on; but I want a lot more than that. If patience is what’s required—even though I can’t imagine this hard-on disappearing for hours unless I get the chance to relieve it—then patient is what I’ll be.

“Are you sure?” It comes out a growl. My voice is not my own. “Say it Jenna.”

I need to hear it. I’m not taking another step towards this danger unless I’m sure she’s fully prepared to go there with me.

“I’m sure.”

Her eyes flicker up to mine, and in them I see that earlier unexpected shyness return, as if asking for what she wants isn’t familiar to her. It damn well is in her work life, but maybe here in the bedroom, she’s not used to calling the shots.

“Sure of what, Jenna?” Her lashes tremble shut, eyes closing against the question. “What do you want, Jenna? What do you want me to do? Tell me.”

I’m insistent. This is a woman who is always in control. She can demand anything of me and god knows I’ll give it, but there are some huge lines we’re crossing here and she has to tell me how far she’s planning to go. I’m hoping her plans match the pulsing in my pants. The small panting breaths and the tiny jewels of sweat on her lips suggest they do, but I need more than a suggestion.

I can’t help it, and relent, leaning in to kiss her again, sucking in the taste of her. She gives a small moan and pulls back.

“Fuck me, Geordie.”

Her commanding tone is no surprise. I’ve learned Jenna is a woman who gets what she wants. There’s no doubt that right now, what she wants is me .

For the last hour in the bar, the flutter of those dark lashes and the sensuous curve of her mouth signalled where this evening could go if I chose. If I look back over this whole day—perhaps this entire week—the signs were there, coded invitations to seek her out, delve into who she is as a person. Now she’s offering me the total freedom to explore her body; I won’t refuse, even though part of my rational mind screams a warning as to all the ways this could go wrong.

Hearing the unexpected coarse words from her normally proper mouth is an absolute turn on. I stiffen more at the thought of fulfilling that request. At the same time, my brain lurches in understanding. Not ‘make love to me’ but ‘fuck me’, the words a sign she’s cast off the cool professional Jenna the outside world sees. She’s offering me a glimpse of the unbridled woman beneath that controlled exterior. I won’t refuse her command, but still I seek further confirmation. I need to see it in her eyes.

“Look at me when you say it, Jenna.”

I cup her chin in my hand, tilting her head upwards. I crave hearing those words again while she sees the promise of what I’m about to do to her in my eyes.

She does as I ask, brown eyes blazing with need.

“You can fuck me Geordie,” she breathes. “Any way you want.”

With those four extra words, I know what’s happening here, and it only encourages my cock to stand at full attention, pressing so damn tight against my boxer briefs it’s painful.

Jenna’s not in charge here. I am. She’s abandoning control, offering it to me. It’s dizzying and thrilling.

All my imaginings of succumbing to her—allowing her to use me, accepting whatever direction she chose to satisfy her need—tumble away. Jenna wants me to take her and I’m going to take great pleasure in doing so.

With careful hands, I unzip her jeans and shimmy them down roughly, trying not to pounce on the tiny triangle of lace held up by only a thin string across those sumptuous hips. She steps out of the jeans, kicking them aside, while I remove my own, only pausing to retrieve my wallet.

I leaf through it, finding a couple of condoms tucked in there, and toss them onto a bedside table. Three. Hopefully, it will be enough, but I’m not sure. We’ve got hours ahead of us, and I doubt once will be enough to satisfy this burning need consuming us.

I tug her towards me, reaching a finger to the wispy lace panties, eager to finish unwrapping the beautiful gift I’ve been given, as she presses her warm wet mouth to mine. With my hand, I boldly seek the other wetness I can scent drifting from between those golden thighs, her desire for me tangible in the air.

Greedily I reach towards it, my hand frantic now, desperate to meet her arousal with the pleasure she deserves and I so willingly offer. I rip the white lace aside, a small annoying obstacle removed, leaving her exposed and beautifully naked before me.

She’s a fucking goddess of honeyed curves and soft molten skin. I could be hallucinating; the heat, the heavy air, the smells of musk and heady flowers. Maybe I’m back in some tropical hellhole and this is just a vision sent to me in my delirium. But, no, my dream woman speaks—and there’s a very real look of shock on her face, jolting me into the present.