Page 67 of Born in the Spring

I shift a little to meet the heady look in his eyes, shining with that want, because he can see that I do.

“I want you to remember everything I’m doing and yearn for me to do it again,” he rasps, his mouth glistening with my wetness, stimulating the pulse in my pussy that still needs that mouth.

“I’m yearning now,” I tell him, begging. “Don’t stop.”

Those seem to be the magic words that seal his slick warmth back to mine. I don’t have to take another bite, and I wouldn’t be able to anyway with how he devours me. His tongue pushes and rolls as his lips suck the most consuming moans from my chest, my head thrown back and my hands digging into and slipping around the island top.

“Jasper. Jasper.”

His own moans grow louder as I chant his name. Heat rushes my core, and I’m jolted forward with my orgasm, myupper body bent and rocking against the island.

The waves seem to go on forever, as he does, helping me ride them out with more long drags until I collapse. My flushed face presses into the cool surface, that’s helping his hot hands to keep me standing.

“Fuck, you squirted all in my mouth.”

He sounds so proud, and I flush more, folding my face into the island top with a gurgly chuckle I swallow away as he now helps to upright me.

I sway into him, and he holds me tighter with a little laugh and a low, “You okay?”

I laugh back, mostly a breath, as I give him a glance. “You’ve ruined my childhood,” I joke at the meal we’ve done this with, and he smirks.

His face is soaked.Iam soaked. My body is still flushed, and now I have to walk out of here to get cleaned up, wet and hot.

My head is floating, nerves zinging through my limbs, as I stumble away to my tossed leggings and panties. I work them on, giving him one final view of my ass, and he says my name, asking me again if I’m okay, this time with a tiny amount of worry.

One look at me when I spin to him, and Jasper’s shiny lips stretch into a grin, seeing I’m more than okay. But I also can’t be late. Especially with him being the reason.

I turn at the thought, and at every muted thought following after, and stalk toward the door, grabbing up my jacket from the couch, then tugging on my boots.

“Elara?”

I spin around again, in the doorway, seeing a flash of understanding in his gaze, then that playful gleam as herepeats, “Breathe.”

I pull my lip between my teeth on a smile, while feeling like my heartisattacking itself, and finish hurrying off.

Twenty-Eight

Jasper

The ground under my feet has had its first quake. One crash report was called in, caused by a no-respect fast skier in a sea of slower skiers who couldn’t dodge in time. And the lift was held up by people not gettingoffbecause they were distracted by the pile up.

But I’m still sporting a smile—that experiences its first wobble as my ears catch my brother’s character theme music from the latest snowboarding game coming from some teenager’s phone—when I find Mom at the main lodge behind the bar and hand off the mail.

I hang out as she sifts through it all, my attention divided between the big brown envelope and the game.

A big brown envelope always means some kind of business papers Mom will need to discuss with me, and I haven’t heard the sounds from that game since Shepherd died. I thought I’d see people playing the game more, because they can’t seehim, or meet him anymore, but when I didn’t, I figured it was out ofrespect for our family. Now I figure the kid boarding as my brother has a respect cut off of seven months.

I train my focus on Mom for any trace of unspoken need for me to ask the guy to play the game somewhere else, and while I do recognize some need in the stilled lines of her face, it’s over what’s inside the envelope.

“Mom?” My hand moves across the bar in expectation of her handing off the papers. To see more dust of what Dad’s leaving has left us to sweep up now.

I move closer, repeating myself when she doesn’t respond.

And when she does, her nose flaring with a headshake and stuffing the papers back inside, my residual soured emotions toward my father and my defense of my mom snaps me forward to take whatever mess he’s brought in now off her shoulders—but she swerves them from my reach.

“Mom,” I say again, thrown by the motion.

“It’s nothing to concern yourself with.” Her tone is stern and protective, but so is mine as I reach again and capture the envelope.

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