She kissed him again and straddled his lap. His cock lengthened behind his fly as she ground her hips teasingly against him.
“Are you sure?” he murmured.
She pulled back to look at him, this man who’d helped her find her son, who’d taught Oliver about being the bigger person, who’d shown her what gentleness looked like even when his own demons were clawing at his throat.
“I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.”
The words seemed to unlock something in him. His mouth crashed against hers with a hunger that matched her own, and she could taste the desperation on his tongue, the years of isolation and self-imposed exile. He groaned into her mouth, and the sound sent liquid fire racing through her veins. She’d never felt power like this—the ability to make a man like Jax Thorne come undone with just the press of her lips and the roll of her hips.
They needed to get naked.
Right.
Now.
She pushed to her feet and took him by the hand, leading him down the short hall to her bedroom. Echo lifted her head from where she’d been lying on the rug, watching them with those mismatched eyes.
“Stay,” Jax told the dog gently, and she settled back down with a contented sigh.
Her room was small and simple—a queen bed with a faded quilt, a dresser that had seen better days, a single window that looked out over the alley.
Nothing fancy, but it was hers.
When she turned to face Jax, he was hovering in the doorway, as if afraid to cross the threshold, and the vulnerability in his expression cracked her heart open like an egg.
“It was a traumatic night,” he said quietly. “We don’t have to?—”
She silenced him with a kiss and yanked him into the room.
“Yes, it was a traumatic night.” She stepped back and pulled her shirt over her head, letting it fall to the floor. “But that has nothing to do with this.” She reached behind her back and unclasped her bra, letting it join her shirt on the floor.
Jax’s eyes went wide, his gaze moving over her like he was trying to memorize every inch of exposed skin.
“You’re beautiful,” he whispered, and his reverence made her feel like she was glowing from the inside out.
No one had ever looked at her like that before.
She stepped closer, close enough that she could feel the heat radiating from his body, could smell the lingering scent of rain and soap on his skin. “Touch me.”
His hands came up slowly, as if he was afraid she might disappear if he moved too fast. When his palms finally cupped her breasts, she gasped at the contact. His hands were warm and calloused, work-roughened, but so gentle as they skimmed over her skin. Her nipples hardened under his touch, and when he brushed his thumbs across them, her knees nearly buckled.
“Your turn,” she whispered and reached for his shirt, but he beat her to it, throwing it off in a blink, revealing the lean muscle of his chest and map of scars. She traced one raised line on his shoulder with her fingertip, then pressed her lips to the scar, tasting salt and skin. His breath caught and then trembled out of him. When she looked up, his eyes were dark with want and something that looked like wonder.
“Shut the door,” she murmured.
He fumbled behind him until he found the doorknob. It shut too loudly, and they both froze, their eyes locked.
Oh, God, please don’t let Oliver wake up.
Several seconds passed, and there was no sound from the other room. She let out her breath in a rush. “We’re okay. He’s still sleeping. We’d hear him by now if he weren’t.”
“Good,” he breathed, and then his mouth and hands were on her again, urgent and desperate as he backed her toward the bed.
When the backs of her knees hit the frame, she let herself fall, pulling him down with her. The weight of his body pressing her into the mattress felt like coming home, like finding a safe harbor after years of drifting.
“Nessie,” he breathed against her throat. “I need you to know... It’s been a long time for me. A really long time.”
She pulled back to look at him, and hated the shame she saw in his eyes. “For me, too. Alek was my first and only.”