Page 27 of Edge of Ruin
“I grew up around people who weren’t embarrassed about it. The aftermath of the sexual revolution, I guess. They let it all hang out.”
Interesting factoid, that. I pinched off a mint leaf and chewed it, letting the fresh, clean flavor clear my head. Jack dunked his head under the water and smoothed his hair back from his square forehead, and I noticed once again the white streak of the scar that disappeared into his hairline. “How’d you get that scar?” I asked.
He didn’t open his eyes. “Long story.”
“I’m not in a hurry,” I said.
His forehead contracted, and then he wiped his face clean of expression once again. “Another time.”
I plucked another mint sprig. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to pry.”
“It’s okay. Talk all you want. Just don’t expect me to be scintillating when I respond. Or even coherent.”
“Why? Is something wrong?”
He opened his eyes, and looked at me, with that bright, clear, wolfish gaze that made shivers of delicious terror race through me.
“I can’t concentrate,” he said. “I’m sorry, but I can barely hear you talk. All I can hear is my own heart pounding.”
The flat statement hung between us. The force of his gaze burned against my face. I closed my eyes, counted to ten.
I opened them. Looked at him. A lock of hair was clinging to his forehead. A drop of water rolled down his cheek. I leaned forward and touched it with my fingertip. His face was so hot, his wet skin so resiliant, velvety.
He caught my wrist in his hand and pulled, very gently. Enough to make me float effortlessly, inevitably closer to him, unless I put up some resistance. I didn’t.
For a few breathless moments, we were face-to-face, staring at each other. My breasts brushed his chest. He touched my lips. Slid his finger into my hair.
And then he kissed me, deeply, hungrily.
It was an explosion of emotions, sensations, bursting into being from deep inside me. Achingly sweet, and tinged with desperation, and there was something fierce mixed in too, something like anger, but brighter, hungrier. Twisting, twining, growing. Demanding. I wound my arms around his neck and hung on, digging my fingers into those thick muscles.
He drew back for a moment, his eyes full of wonder. “You taste like mint,” he said huskily, and then that huge vortex sucked us back into another desperate, twining kiss.
Oh, wow. He was so beautiful this close up. His eyes, the incredible length of his wet black eyelashes. Water drops trickling along the crest of the graceful, angled sweep of his eyebrows.
His lips were hot and soft, as wonderful and kissable as I had imagined, and his breath tasted so sweet. His skin was so supple and beautiful, with that delicate rasp of beard shadow over strong, graceful bones and chiseled manly angles. So fine.
I was charged with emotions I did not recognize, but they impelled me to touch him, clutch him. I explored his muscular back with my fingers, wound my arms around his neck, and opened to his kiss. The opening came from somewhere deep inside me, someplace vast and beautiful. A universe of bright, open space full of flowers.
I barely noticed the shoulder straps of my bathing suit being peeled down. I arched back, abandoning myself to his strong grasp, letting my head fall back and my hair float out in the water like a lily pad. I cried out with pleasure as he hungrily suckled my breasts.
So sweet, so shivering melting hot for him. My nipples felt like points of glowing light. My breasts had always felt so deplorably small, insignificant even, but under his hot mouth, they felt plumper, bigger and swollen with eagerness, alive to pleasure. My whole chest was melting and soft, as if he drank some magic elixir from my body as he licked me, and the more he took, the more I had to give.
The breathless aching pull of wanting between my legs grew keener every moment.
Jack pulled me down onto his lap and slipped his finger under the stretchy fabric of my bathing suit, and made a low, growling sound of pleasure to find me slick and hot beneath it. He slid the tip of his finger slowly inside me, and I squirmed, clenching around him, making a breathless, broken keening sound.
“Oh, wow,” he muttered as he caressed my mound with delighted fingers. “You’re completely ...”
“Yes,” I said. “No hair. I do a Brazilian wax whenever I get the chance. I tried it once on a dare. Realized that I like the way it feels. To be bare. It feels silky.”
“Yeah. I like it, too,” he said thickly. “Amazing.”
I hid my face against his neck, my breath jerking in short, hard sobs. My bathing suit was sinking to the bottom of the pool, forgotten. I had to slow this down.
“Um, Jack?” I faltered. “Wait. Just wait a second.”
“For what? I’ve never felt anyone so ready in my life.” He bent his head to my chest again, pulling my nipple into a wet, silken vortex of sensation, his hot tongue rasping, swirling.
