Page 128 of Rookie Recovery

He spent another few agonising moments staring me down, frowning as though I’d skated all day and hadn’t bothered to shower and the smell was now at the level of wilting flowers and knocking out passers-by. Then his face lifted from abject horror to realisation.

“Boyfriend! Oh, Bowie.” He slapped himself on the forehead. “It felt so natural for you to use that word, I didn’t even notice it. Of course I’m your boyfriend.”

In an instant, Jamie closed the gap between us, both hands coming up to cradle my jaw, his mouth moving down onto mine. A sweet kiss, soft, gentle, but with the promise of better, hotter things to come.

“Of course you’re my boyfriend, you silly …” He looked into my face like he was searching for the right word.

“Numpty?” I supplied. “Wazzock? Pillock? Bellend?”

He laughed again, loud and deep. The kind that travelled straight through the sofa into my spine and made me feel warm and fuzzy and home. “None of those. Though I could listen to you talk British all day.” He pulled me into a hug and I simply melted into him. “I love you, Archie Bowman, my boyfriend. Wait—Is that a candy bar melting into the front of my shirt?”

“Wagon Wheel,” I squeaked as we eased apart, revealing the chocolate snack stuck to his chest, like half a puck.

“What is that?! A semi-circle candy bar?” He peeled the biscuit from his shirt and sniffed at it gingerly.

“It was a full circle just a moment ago.”

“I thought you tasted like sugar.” He tossed my snack onto the coffee table.

“Hey, broccoli breath, we should get this shirt off you, because you know, it might stain,” I said, though I had no intentions of rushing it to the laundry room to rectify. I climbed on top of his lap, my knees either side of him, and eased his shirt over his head. Slowly, in a strip tease kind of way. Gradually revealing more and more of his muscles and ink.

“Sneaky little Brit. This was your plan all along.”

I folded my arms over my chest and gave him a pointed scowl. “If you think I would waste an entire Wagon Wheel for a quick fuck on the sofa …” I wrapped my hands around the back of his head, tilted his face up to mine, and crashed my lips down against his.

In an instant, my tongue was in his mouth. Seeking the beautiful familiarity of him, drawing out those noises that made me feel like a king. Or a god. Or the horseback commander of some shouty, Roman, half-naked army. I was in charge of those noises. Only I could extract them from him. A sound somewhere between a growl and a whimper. Or a cry and a benediction. Those were mine. Just for me. And they travelled straight to my cock.

Jamie locked his arms around my back and thrust his hips upwards. His growing urgency pressed against my ass.

I broke the kiss, but didn’t tear my mouth from his. “Then, you’d be absolutely right,” I said, finishing my sentence finally.

“Oh, little winger.” Jamie dragged a hand through my hair. “I’m not going to fuck you.” He placed his thumb over my lips to stop my protestation before it had even formed. “I’m going to carry you into the bedroom and make love to my boyfriend. It’s going to be slow, and I’m going to take my time. Enjoy every second. I’m going to bring you to the brink over and over. Edge you into insanity. You’ll be begging for release.”

“Yes, please,” I said, my voice gravelled by desperation. My lips found his again, and my fingers climbed down the steps on his stomach.

Jamie grabbed the hem of my T-shirt and slowly lifted it over my head, tossing it to my side of the couch as soon as it was off. I tried to reunite our mouths, but he held a firm hand against my chest.

“Let me look at you,” he whispered, as though he were uttering an unreasonable wish into a well. Like he was asking for his own country, or immortality, or an actual space rocket in the shape of a massive dildo.

He sucked his bottom lip into his mouth, and furrowed his brow, as his eyes drank in everything from the top of my untamable blonde tangles, down my stomach, to the rapidly growing tent in the front of my sweatpants. He looked as though he might cry. From happiness or overwhelming horn, who knew?

“Let’s get you to my bed.” He brushed an errant lock of hair from my face and kissed me again. “Our bed.”

“But, Kitty, I should probably walk because I’m not sure your back can handle carrying the three-hundred-and-fifty-pounds of solid muscle I am, and still have enough strength remaining to give me a good dicking down.”

He laughed. “Well, we wouldn’t want me to expend my tiny energy reserves hauling your ass about the apartment.”

I jumped off his lap like he’d lit a fire underneath me and raced to his bedroom. I sat at the foot of his bed and slid out of my sweatpants, leaving them on the floor at my feet. A few moments later Jamie appeared, looking every bit the chiselled, tattooed sex god that he was. He paused in front of me, his hair mussed from our snogging sesh, his breaths coming out fast and shallow.

This was my favourite part of being intimate with him. Sure, coming was fun. Really fun, actually. Like, super amounts of fun, but this, the anticipation, the sheer thrill coursing through every vein in my body, like electricity charged through them, was intoxicating. I could get addicted to this bit.

I hooked a finger under the elastic waistband of his sweatpants, pretending I was oblivious to the enormous erection threatening to shuck the top of its constraints, and planted a delicate kiss against his happy valley.

Jamie hissed out a breath. I buried my nose into the fabric of his pants and breathed him in. That cologne, holy crap that cologne, and the smell of his laundry, and the soft, lived-in scent of him, his skin. I breathed him in again, then leant back on my elbows so that I could look at him.

“Fucking hell, Kitty, you are literally perfect.”

Jamie did a sort of shy head shake, pushed his already sexed up hair off his face, and ran his hand down the planes of his chest to the front of his pants, gripping his cock through the fabric.

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