Page 28 of Curveball: The Baby and the Grump

I don’t waste any more time talking. I scoop her up so she can wrap her legs around my waist, and we keep kissing as I carry her to the stairs. “This is so bad for your elbow,” she says as we hit the bottom of the staircase.

“Hey, I’m back in commission. I need to try it out.”

“You’re not that much better yet. At least let me walk up the stairs.”

Reluctantly, I put her down, already missing the warmth of her body against mine. We all but run to my room and barely stop for breath before collapsing onto the bed, our hands all over each other, my fingers working at her shirt so I can feel her bare skin.

She moans as my fingertips dance over her stomach, her muscles clenching like she’s not quite ticklish but sensitive enough to react. Emboldened, I move higher, pushing her shirt up more so I can cup her breasts through her bra, tracing the lace and imagining what must be underneath.

“Fuck, Jackson, stop teasing,” Freya groans as I let my lips press into her skin.

“We’re wearing too many clothes for anything else,” I protest, and with that she wrestles us back to sitting up so she can tear off my shirt and start unbuttoning my pants. I let her get as far as pushing them down, but then flip us over so she’s beneath me, half-naked and panting. “Not so fast. I want to see you first.”

I kick off my pants, and when I look back, she’s reaching around her back to unclasp her bra, letting her full breasts fall free. All I can do is gasp with want, then bend down to devour her.

She writhes underneath me as I kiss and nip at her skin, my hands and mouth getting to know every inch of her breasts until finally I make my way down to her pants. I pull them from her legs in one smooth move, and just seeing her wetness glistening makes my own hardness ache.

“Freya, you’re fucking beautiful,” I say, and mean every word.

She blushes and tries to tell me to shut up, but I shake my head, not having it. “I am going to make you feel so good,” I whisper, and they’re the last words I get out for a while because my tongue is too busy doing other things, making her explode around me.

She makes the cutest noises when she comes.

Her legs tremble through another orgasm, and even though my jaw is starting to ache, I’m not about to move until she’s completely satisfied.

Eventually, she pushes on my head, and I come up for air. Her hair is a messy halo around her head, her cheeks pink and dimpled from her smile, her breasts rising and falling with her chest. “You’re good at that,” she gasps.

“I try my best,” I grin.

“Fuck me. Now,” she demands, and I can’t disobey.

I scramble across the bed to my nightstand so I can rummage in the drawer for a condom. Fortunately, I’ve got one, and the second I’ve rolled it on, she grabs me with both hands and flips us over so she’s straddling me, her hair dropping down into her face, her smile as wide and lovely as ever.

“Fuck, Freya,” is all I can say, my hands coming to her hips to grip her soft skin.

“That’s my plan,” she grins, then slowly — so slowly it’s a delicious kind of agony — she sinks down onto me, her mouth in a perfect “O,” our hands twisting together until she can’t sink any further.

And then she starts moving her hips, and I start seeing stars.

CHAPTER 16

FREYA

I’m slow to wake up, warm and cozy in a lightly air-conditioned room. I feel like I’ve just been in a dream, one of those really vivid ones that feels so real that it confuses you when you wake up, but what I experienced last night was no dream. It would take a strong dose of delusion to make me believe that.

Jackson’s arms are wrapped tightly around me, strong and muscular and protecting. Right here, in his arms, in his bed, I feel safe and cared for, like not everything in the world is my responsibility. It’s a feeling I haven’t had in a long time, and I almost never want it to end.

But only almost, because as soon as the endorphins start to clear, I remember that I haven’t looked at my phone all night and I have no idea how Matt is doing.

“Shit,” I hiss, my eyes snapping open and darting across the room to look for my phone. Did I leave it in the kitchen? No, I think I left it in the bathroom last night at some point, in between kissing and washing and sleeping.

“Hey, what is it?” mumbles Jackson from behind me, squeezing me tighter and kissing my neck.

“I need to talk to my brother,” I say.

“Can’t you wait five more minutes?” He presses his body into mine in persuasion, and it so nearly works.

“It’s tempting,” I say, sighing and settling back into him. “If I didn’t have to get up, I wouldn’t.”

---