Page 61 of Finding His Redemption

She hummed low in her throat. “What else are you thinking?”

His exhale was shaky. “You sure you want to know?”

“Yes.” The word felt dangerous on her tongue.

“I’m thinking about your hair. How it would feel spread across my pillow. How it would smell if I buried my face in it.”

The air left her lungs in a rush. “Jax...”

“Too much?”

“No,” she whispered. “Not enough.”

Another pause, longer this time.

When he spoke again, his voice had gone deeper, rougher. “I’m thinking about your skin. If it’s as soft as it looks. Where you might be sensitive. The sound you’d make if I touched you...”

Heat pooled low in her belly. She closed her eyes, imagining his hands on her body, strong and careful. “Where would you touch me first?”

He made a sound, half groan, half exhale. “Your face. I’d trace your cheekbones with my thumbs. Then your jaw. Yourlips. Your throat. I’d take my time, Nessie. Make you feel how much I want you before I ever got to the good parts.”

Her breath quickened. “You want me?”

“Yes.” His answer was more growl than word. “More than I’ve wanted anything in a long time.”

Her body responded to his confession like a match to gasoline, heat spreading through her veins until she felt feverish. She pressed her thighs together, trying to relieve the sudden ache between them.

“I want you, too,” she whispered into the darkness. “I’ve been thinking about it for weeks.”

He sucked in a sharp breath. “What have you been thinking about?”

The question hung between them, loaded with invitation. She could back down now, return to safer ground. But the wine had loosened her tongue, and the darkness made her brave.

“Your hands,” she said. “How they’d feel on my skin. Whether you’d be gentle or...” She trailed off, heat flooding her cheeks.

“Or what?”

“Rough.” The word came out breathless. “I think about both. How you’d kiss me. Whether you’d pin my hands above my head or let me touch you.”

His groan was low and pained. “Fuck, Nessie.”

She shifted under the covers, suddenly aware of every inch of fabric against her skin. Her cotton nightgown felt too thick, too restrictive. “Tell me more. What would you do after you touched my face?”

“I’d kiss you,” he murmured. “Slow at first. Learn the shape of your mouth. Then deeper, until you were making those little sounds you do when you’re trying not to laugh.”

She smiled in the darkness. “What sounds?”

“These soft hums, like you’re holding back. I hear them when Oliver says something funny. Makes me wonder what other sounds you’d make if I kissed your neck. If I found a sweet spot that makes you gasp. If I used my tongue...”

A whimper escaped her before she could stop it. She pressed her free hand to her chest, feeling her heart hammering against her ribs.

“There,” he said, satisfaction coloring his voice. “That sound. I want to hear it again.”

“Jax...”

“What are you wearing, Nessie?”

The question sent another wave of heat through her. She looked down at herself, suddenly self-conscious. “Just... a nightgown. Nothing special.”