Page 71

Marlow

I want to have sex.

I send the text before I have a chance to delete it, and then gulp down the rest of my red wine. In the past four days, I’ve discovered it’s not about living without sex. It’s about living without having sex with Jackson. And him in general.

Of course, he’d probably get a good chuckle that I’m already missing him only twenty-four hours later . . . what can I say? I find him entertaining in many ways.

I’m not even horny.

Well . . . I am, but I can live with those cravings.

I can even satisfy them battery-style. Jackson St. James is a great lover, and those skills should never be discounted.

My insides flutter from the memory of his hands on me, the feel of him inside me, and the look on his face—something caught between devouring and savoring.

I appreciate both on him.

He takes his time and puts his attention into pleasing me, sexually speaking that is. He’s into it, so into me when we’re together like that as if no one else exists, time doesn’t matter, and tomorrow is a world away.

Every inch of me is covered with kisses, and my body’s drained of each wave of new sensation when released. I also like the way he kisses behind my ear, so that’s a bonus.

What can I say? I’m a simple girl with simple needs.

And let’s face the facts. The man turns me on.

I lie back on the couch, staring up at my phone screen.

I have plenty of offers and a phone full of messages inviting me out tonight.

I could go to the ballet with Steven or a jazz bar with Javier.

Mr. Casteleone would love to discuss his art collection over dinner at one of the most exclusive dinner clubs in the city.

Even Chuck from receiving asked me to a movie.

Wining and dining have always drawn me in. Mixing and mingling in high society or even a cozy wine bar on the Upper West Side has the makings of a good night.

But I don’t want wine or food. I want Jackson.

That’s been my issue for a while now. Sure, we said we could date others when our proposition first came into play, but that ended not long after. At least for me, it did.

I didn’t use to ask him if he was still dating because I was afraid of the answer. But if I had to bet my life on it, I feel confident we’re in the same boat these days.

I’m not na?ve enough to think sex and relationships are mutually exclusive. I’ve actually been a proponent of proving it’s the opposite. It’s entirely possible to have one without the other. We did that for years prior to hooking up. Neither of us has ever claimed to be angels.

But the comfort and encouragement he gave me to take care of my business has kept me warm all day. I can’t imagine dating anyone else at this stage.

Holding my phone in my hand, I’m disappointed that he hasn’t texted me back yet.

I remind myself that he has business to take care of as well.

Easier said than done because despite all the stuff I should be doing, I can’t stop thinking about him.

I start to text again, but a message pops up first: Wrong number.

Oh, God! I sit forward, mortified, and double-check the number. Please tell me I didn’t send an I want to have sex text to a stranger. I see his name above the messages. Oh, thank God! I text: You’re a jerk, St. James.

He’s quick to return a message this time: Do you always tell jerks you want to have sex with them?

I type: Apparently.

Jackson: What’s the plan for getting you sexed? You need a wingman at a bar, or maybe a hookup to the club tonight. My password to watch porn? What do you need? Like the insurance, I’m there.

I slide lower on the cushion, kicking my feet up on the arm of the white leather sofa. Me: You’d help me pick up another man to have sex with?

Jackson: Fuck no. No other man is coming near you.

Why is it such a turn-on when he gets possessive? There’s just something so sexy when Jackson’s territorial instincts kick in. Me: But you just offered.

Jackson: Yeah, fuck that. Sexing you up is my job.

Me: You’re hired. When can you start?

A knock on my door has me bolting upright. I type: Hold on. Someone’s here.

Jackson: A little late, don’t you think?

I hurry across the apartment and lift onto the balls of my feet to peek through the peephole.

The smirk.

The deep-blue eyes.

And the little tousle of hair that’s fallen over his forehead.

Before I open the door, I playfully ask, “Who is it?” but also start unlocking the bolts in my excitement to see Jackson again.

“The Big Bad Wolf.”

I might have once said I didn’t believe in fairy tales. “My grandmother’s not home.” I swing the door wide open, and add, “But I am. Will I do?”

He eyes me from head to toe and back again, his tongue dipping out to wet his lower lip. I hold the door a little firmer as the sight of that tongue teasing me has my legs weakening under me.

“You’ll more than do, Marché.” Rushing in, he takes me by the waist and lifts me into the air.

I wrap my legs around his waist and secure my arms around his neck.

Our lips crash together, and then he pins me to the wall.

A harsh breath is sucked in before a wry grin appears.

“Why do you have to be so damn tempting?”

I lick my lips and find myself taking a deeper breath—the heat, the proximity, the man. I gulp and then shake my head. “I don’t know what to say to that, Jackson.”

He cups my cheek. “It’s okay. You don’t have to say anything. You just have to?—”

“Kiss me.”

Our mouths come together again in a flood of passion as his need presses hard against me. I tighten myself around him, wanting to feel this again, needing him, and wanting all of this, all of us again like we’ve always been.

When our lips part, Jackson dips his head to the side with my body, and whole being, still safe in his arms. He says, “You always did have the prettiest eyes.”

I get compliments on my looks all the time. So I’m not sure why my cheeks are suddenly heating under his gaze other than this compliment feels different coming from him. It’s as if he’s always felt this way but never shared before.

“Thank you,” I whisper, not having to pretend to act shy at all. I feel it for the first time, making me realize it matters what he thinks of me.

Kissing the corner of my mouth and then the middle of my lips, he has me melting between him and the wall, and then kissing him right back. Seconds pass before our mouths open, and our tongues begin to tangle again. He moves to my neck, leaving a surge of goose bumps in the wake.

His jaw is rough to the touch of my lips, but I kiss him, dragging myself across him to feel the burn of our connection. Pushing the tip of my nose against the shell of his ear, I whisper, “Why are we still out here when we could be in the bedroom?”

“I’m starting to think you only want me for my body.”

“Is that a problem?” I grin and bat my eyelashes.

A rogue grin glides into place. “Fuck no, it’s not.” He kisses my neck, and when I tilt back to give him more access, he kisses along my jaw. “I need to tell you something, though.” He slides his tongue over my skin and then blows, causing pebbles to rise in reaction.

“Yes,” I reply through unrestrained breaths.

“I’m going to keep kissing you. Now that I’ve had a taste, there’s no way I’m going back.”

“I’d already thrown that rule out the window.” I tighten my hold around him but smile because— Gah —he’s amazing. Not just his mouth, though that’s pretty magical, but the whole man. “Because I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

We’ve already crossed so many boundaries that there are no assets left to protect, except for maybe our hearts. But who cares when I have this incredible man carrying me into the bedroom?

He tosses me on the bed, leaving me laughing while he tugs his shirt off over his head. Kicking off his shoes, he starts on his dress pants.

“In a hurry there, cowboy?” I ask, propped up on my elbows and shamelessly watching him undress.

“Abso-fucking-lutely. I’ve been thinking about you all night,” he replies with a wink.

“Flattery will get you everywhere.”

“Good.” His pants drop to the floor, and he rips off his socks.

Crawling over me on the bed, he kisses my mouth once more, and says, “Because I plan to be everywhere on this body of yours.” Kissing my temple, he whispers, “Even in your head. My name is all you’ll remember when I’m through with you tonight. ”

My body shivers under his delicious threat, and I press my palm flat against his chest. No strength is needed when I push him to his back. He goes willingly and then holds me by the hips when I mount him.

With his hand slipping into my hair at the back of my head, he brings me down for another kiss that deepens quickly. My lids are closed as I begin a sweet surrender to him. But then he tilts me to the side and starts on my neck again. “Why are you still dressed?”

Reveling in his attention to detail, I smile with my eyes still closed. “I was just thinking the same.”

I torture myself by forcing distance between us, knowing the reward will come shortly if I’m quick. Getting off the bed, I start tugging my workout pants down my legs and step out of them.

Jackson moves up the bed and sits like a king on a throne with his back against the headboard watching me. I’m comfortable being naked in front of him and letting him admire me, but that look on his face has me squirming in anticipation to return to him.

When he licks his lips, I lick mine.

He rubs his hand over his erection, and I slip mine under the baggy T-shirt I was wearing to paint in. Two can tease. Unclasping my bra in the back, I slip it off through the sleeves, leaving the shirt to hide most of my torso.

His breaths lie heavy in his chest, the sound of each one becoming an aphrodisiac to my ears. “Take it off, sweetheart,” he commands without remorse. Suddenly, the nickname doesn’t bother me anymore.