Page 83 of First Surrender

“Can I kiss you, Jackson?” His eyes squeeze shut at my question and he takes a deep breath. “Please.”

His lids snap open and his warm honey eyes look at me with gratitude. This man has no idea how special he makes me feel with a single look.

His head lowers to mine as I rise up on my tiptoes and with all the strength in my body, I choose him. I mold my lips to his because I trust him and I want him, not in a moment of spontaneity but for every moment. The good, the bad, and the ugly.

He holds me tenderly, pouring his heart out and mending mine because he wants me like no one else ever has. Somewhere between all the fighting, hesitation, and resistance, he became everything I desperately wanted.

My fingers hook his black waistband and I drag him along with me as I back onto the bed. He doesn’t resist, his lips pursuing me intensely as his tongue dances with mine, and covering my body with his own.

When his cock finds its home against me I sigh in relief as my legs anchor his hips, pulling him in even closer. Desperation drives us, our hands seeking everywhere but landing nowhere specific. Our hips move in sync as he grinds his length against me.

It’s torturous, it’s delicious, and I’m almost certain that I could climax like this. Especially as his momentum, or maybe my hands, have managed to lower his waistband enough to let the bare head of his cock caress my clit over and over.

As his wandering lips drag along my neck, biting that sensitive spot at the base before my shoulder, I moan loudly.“Yes, yes,” I mumble almost incoherently, needing him to keep going.

Our hands move in tandem, attempting to remove his boxers, until obnoxious ringing shrieks through the air, interrupting us.

“NO! Fuck!” He groans loudly, reaching over my head to grab his phone. His weight crushes me, momentarily deflating my lungs until he settles back into position between my legs.

“Malec.” He snips his name out to whoever called, the phone resting in the hand of the arm holding his body over mine. His free hand fists his hard-on, lazily drawing circles on my clit with his tip while I try not to make a sound.

His eyes flick to mine then down to my pussy repeatedly, continuing to torture me. I don’t know how he’s able to concentrate on his phone call but he’s responding at seemingly appropriate times.

My legs start twitching involuntarily as he continues to work the sensitive nub and now his hooded gaze is glued to my face as I get closer to an orgasm.

Experiencing this pleasure while he’s talking on the phone is taboo and only excites me further. It’s twisted and inappropriate. I can’t believe he’d be involved in such a scandalous act and I love it.

The tingling in my toes matches the tingling in my chest and I know without a doubt an orgasm is imminent. I cover my mouth to hide any noise that I can’t control but he drops his phone suddenly, wrenching my hands away so he can watch the release hit me and transform my face. Our eyes lock as his mouth covers mine, breathing in my silent cries, until I’m sated.

“I’m sorry, I went into the garage and the call cut out. I’ll be in shortly,” he speaks into his phone again as I blink back to life, chucking his phone down the bed after ending the call.

“You have to work?” I ask, breathlessly.

“Unfortunately,” he says against my neck. “There’s been bad stuff happening. I need to be on top of it.”

“Mhm. You’re pretty good at being on top of things,” I murmur sarcastically. I feel his chest shake against mine with his laughter.

“Fuck, I don’t want to leave.”

“Sheriff Malec, I do believe that I am becoming a bad influence on your potty mouth. You never used to cuss in front of me.”

“That’s because I never felt anything significant enough to punctuate with curse words. You make me feel a lot of things with great significance.”

His analytical response only makes me smile. Leave it to him to have an entire thesis prepared in his head regarding his vocabulary.

* * *

It’s close to midnight by the time he gets back. I’m waiting in the kitchen for him because I couldn’t stand to be in his bed without him. His footsteps are heavy coming through the front door and I can’t help but notice a slump in his posture.

When he notices me sitting on the counter on the kitchen island, he visibly relaxes, exhaling audibly. He looks tired, more so than simple sleep deprivation. The bags under his eyes are heavy, matching the weight on his shoulders.

He beelines to me, dropping the few things in his hands haphazardly on the floor and the couch on his way over before wedging his body between my thighs. His head drops to my chest in defeat as his arms circle me.

“You should be in bed,” he breathes against me, stroking my back softly.

“So should you.” I tilt his head back to kiss him but he’s looking at me so tenderly that I’m distracted for a moment, staring at him thoughtfully before my lips finally meet his. It’s nothing like the hungry kiss this morning. This is deep and filled with longing.

This is the kind of kiss a girl would dream about on her wedding day. A passionate, love-filled promise.

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