Page 20 of Still the One

Jamie looks at me. Her devilish grin has morphed into an amused smile. She follows suit, and then I’m fully naked in bed with the ex that hurt me the most. I’d never thought I’d see the day, yet it somehow makes perfect sense.

“Hi.” Jamie’s voice is all warm, liquid lust. She kisses me again, and suddenly her hands are everywhere. Jamie’s all over me and every muscle in my body surrenders to her. My body has only waited twenty years for this. When her lips close around my nipple, I almost come there and then. Just from the delicious shock of it all, and the relentless desire that’s been building inside me. From seeing her naked. From feeling her body against mine. From being estranged from her for all these years to this.

The contrast is stark and stunning and overwhelming. Everything about Jamie is overwhelming, almost too much, but not quite. And that’s because Jamie Sullivan is—was—just right for me. That’s why it never got old between us. We managed to keep this delightful tension between us throughout the years. I’m not saying it’s still there—the only thing that’s still there are memories, half of them probably not even accurate. But nostalgia is a powerful force and her body against mine is the most poignant of all because it always was the essence of us. We were always touching, always walked down the street holding hands or with an arm slung over the other. It didn’t occur to us to not always be in physical contact, to not be intertwined.

Her lips travel to my mouth again because she can’t seem to get enough of kissing me. The feeling is entirely mutual. While we kiss, her hand drifts down to land between my legs. Her fingers trail through my wetness and I so want to hold on. I desperately want to hold out for that no doubt magical moment when her tongue touches against my clit but, for the life of me, I can’t. I can’t control myself. My body does what it wants to do most. Submit to Jamie’s touch. It only takes a few ridiculously light strokes against my clit for my entire being to yield to her.

With Jamie’s lips on mine, our tongues slow-dancing—like we did on the dance floor earlier—I come exactly as hard as she implied I would.

Chapter 12

Jamie

Mac is so goddamn beautiful, I could cry. But I keep my tears at bay. To have her come like that means a lot to me, but it must mean something to her as well, and I want her to have this moment without me pushing my emotions onto her.

“Jesus fucking Christ.” Yep. She still swears like a sailor—but only ever in bed. “Do you have magic fucking voodoo fingers or something?” She pulls me to her.

“Only baker’s hands.” I smile down at her. Making her come like that surely earned me the right to kiss her again, so I do. Mac pulls me even closer—as close as I can possibly get. My skin melds into hers, my flesh is on fire. Mac turns me on excessively because as much as it wasn’t just a kiss, this isn’t just sex. I can’t know what it is to her—maybe she will tell me later, maybe she won’t—but to me it’s part redemption, part certainty that there are so many good reasons why Mac and I made such sense together.

My clit is a red-hot fireball between my legs, but all I really want to do is make Mac come again. I want to taste her, feel so much more of her. But maybe she needs a minute or two. I’m sure she’ll let me know.

While I kiss her, my hands keep caressing her body. It’s familiar but it’s also not. Twenty years change a person inside and out. I sure have changed—at the very least, I’ve seen the error of my ways.

Mac pushes up her knee. I press myself against it. I might be heading for an early release just like she did. If I keep rubbing against her like this, while her tongue dances in my mouth and her fingertips dig into my flesh, I might very well come within the next minute. I wouldn’t call it a premature climax, because it’s been building all weekend. From that very first hug, which was stiff and awkward, but still. It was the beginning of this.

Mac retracts her knee, leaving me hanging in more ways than one. I open my eyes. She has a smug smile painted on her face when I look down at her.

“Are you still orgasmic popcorn?” she asks.

I chuckle. “Why don’t you find out?”

“Gladly.” She looks deep into my eyes and I’m caught off guard by a memory of us in stitches in our bed—the one with the really shitty mattress in that fourth-floor walk-up in Williamsburg. Of Mac laughing so hard, she fell out of bed and sprained her wrist. Even though painful at first, in the aftermath it was mostly funny because we knew how she’d hurt herself and the bandage around her wrist was a constant reminder.

“Are you okay?” Mac’s voice is so tender, so caring, it would floor me if I wasn’t lying down.

“Yeah. This is kind of a lot. You’re not just anyone.” For ten years, Mac was the most important person in my life. The one whom everything revolved around.

“I know. It’s… unexpected.” She brings the back of her hand to my cheek and caresses it softly. “Are you still okay with this?”

Am I still okay? I might be emotional and a little overwhelmed, but I’m more than okay with being in bed with Mac. I can’t claim it was the first thing on my mind when I saw her again, because to even entertain the prospect felt wrong. Yet here we are—and it feels so incredibly right.

I nod. “Are you?”

“I just came quicker than a horny teenager, so yeah. I’m pretty good.”

“Not bad for a woman who’s about to turn fifty.” I’ve never forgotten Mac’s birthday. It’s always been a weird day for me.

“Let’s see what it’s like for a woman who has already celebrated the big Five Oh.” With her strong body, Mac flips me off her and has me pinned beneath her in a matter of moments. “What did you do for your fiftieth?”

“Can I tell you later?” I smile up at her. My clit is still pulsing like mad and Mac flipping me over like that has only made it worse. “I’m a little preoccupied right now.”

“All right.” She narrows her eyes to slits, then closes them completely before she leans in again. Mac kisses me and my body surrenders to her touch completely.

Her arms are strong and solid when I run my fingers along them. Mac was a college athlete, and her sexy arms were one of the first things I noticed. Thirty years later, I still get the same kick out of them. Or maybe that’s just because they belong to her, to Gabrielle Mackenzie—the love of my life. The one I squandered.

Even though every fiber of my being is screaming for release, I could stay in this position, cradled in her soft embrace, for a good long while to come. With Mac draped over me, her lips on mine, our hands all over each other.

But then she tears her lips away from mine. She traces a wet path down, stopping at my breasts. When I catch a glimpse of her gaze, it’s more serious than sparkling. More filled with intention than wittiness. She licks along my nipple and a fresh fire is stoked in my core, adding to the one I already had going. It’s not just lust speeding through my flesh. It’s pure happiness because it’s Mac’s tongue against my skin, it’s her knee pushing my legs apart.

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