Page 82 of Rookie Recovery

Jamie slung his bag onto the floor beside my feet, smacked the tupperware containing the brownies out of my hand, and half smiled at me. The man didn’t even look out of breath.

“You’re impossible,” he said, brushing the sweat-glued hairs off of my forehead.

“I really am,” I replied, trying not to wheeze too hard.

But it didn’t matter, because the next second Jamie crashed his lips against mine. Already claiming my mouth with his tongue. Flattening my body to the tree behind me with his. Squeezing out any gaps between us.

Jamie groaned into my mouth, pulling apart just far enough to say, “Fuck, Bowie, you drive me so wild. I don’t even know what I’m doing half the time I’m around you.”

He took his open-mouthed kisses along my jaw, onto my neck, down the column of my throat, across my collarbone, and brought them back to my mouth. “I’ve never known anyone as beautiful and infuriating. I need to taste every inch of you.”

Jamie cupped my ass cheeks just above my thigh and lifted me up, pinning me against the bark. I wrapped my legs around him. We were at perfect kissing height. Our lips exactly aligned. I wasted little time taking advantage of it.

“I want you so bad, Jamie. I’ve wanted you since the second I saw you.” My breaths were shaking, my voice shaking. With pure, undiluted need. I needed him. Near me, over me, in me. I needed to know what all of him looked like, what it all felt like, tasted like. I needed to hear the sounds he’d make as he fell apart. See the faces he’d pull.

“I know you did.”

“Did you want me?” I asked him, even though I already knew the answer. I just wanted to hear him say it.

“I thought you were a cocky asshole.”

“But did you want me, though?”

He laughed. “You’re still a cocky asshole.”

“Answer my question, Kitty.” I tightened the grip around his waist and Jamie rolled his hips, pressing his hard cock against my pelvis, squeezing the head against bone and hissing at the blissful friction.

“I want you, Bowie. I want you so fucking much it hurts. I don’t stop thinking about you. About the way you always seem to find the single most inappropriate thing to say, that nobody in their right mind would ever dream to say, and you fucking say it. Every time. Just to wind me up.

“I think about that tight little body of yours. The noises you made in my bathroom when you were fucking your hand. You know, I had to go home and jack off. I didn’t even make it to the bedroom, just did it right there by the door. And every night since then, I think about you as I come.”

“Fuck, Kitty, that is so hot.” I needed to see that at some point. Needed to watch it happen in real time.

He dragged his thumb over my lips. “And don’t even get me started on this mouth, and that fucking accent.” Jamie rolled his hips again. This time, holding the pinch against his cock for a few seconds longer, and trembling like I’d imagined he would tremble when inside me. He whined against my neck, and all my bones turned to liquid. Well, most of my bones.

I dug my fingers under the collar of his Henley, felt the hot, firm skin around his collarbone. “Do you remember the other night, outside The Lounge?” I took my fingers higher, twisted them into the back of Jamie’s hair, holding his head down against my throat, relishing the way his stubble scraped the delicate skin there.

“We kissed,” he said, and he was finally sounding breathless.

“Our first kiss.”

“I wish I hadn’t been so drunk. Wish I could remember it as well as you do.”

I closed my fist. Pulled his head back so I could look into his lust clouded eyes. “We’ll have so many other firsts, Kitty. And I’ll make sure you’ll never forget any of them.”

“You swear?”

“I swear. You’re sober now, right?”

“Yes,” he drew out the word. “Why?”

I straightened my legs and touched my feet back down to the soft ground. I fisted the fabric of his Henley and spun us both so that his back was against the rough bark of the tree. Then I dropped to my knees in front of him.

“Oh, fuck, Bowie. Holy fuck. Jesus. Fuck.”

“Can I …?” I pushed the hem of Jamie’s shirt up over his stomach.

Damn, those muscles. I planted a kiss against a small Celtic knot at the top of his happy trail, and pressed my face into the warm, downy patch, breathing in the scent of him. That expensive cologne of his, and the salty tang of sweat.

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