Page 119 of Burn for You (Slow Burn 1)
My laugh echoed off the walls. “You’re forgiven. Do it again.”
Gripping my hips, he started a slow rhythm. I clung to the wall. He slid his hand along the back of my thigh and lifted my leg, setting my foot on the tile seat to my right. It changed the angle of everything, deepening it, forcing a low moan from my chest.
He reached around and slid his fingers between my legs. I moaned again, louder.
“She likes that,” he said, softly laughing, reaching up with his other hand to caress my breasts.
No, I didn’t like it. I loved it. I was obsessed by it. I never knew dirty, wet shower sex would turn out to be something I adored more than chocolate croissants fresh out of the oven, dripping in butter.
“I don’t want this to stop,” I gasped, headed toward that bright white peak too fast. “Jax. Don’t ever stop.”
“It won’t stop,” he said roughly into my ear. “I promise. Now quit holding back.”
How did he know? I was beginning to think the man could read my mind. I leaned against him, reached around his neck with one hand, and pulled his head down. We kissed. He tested my lower lip with his teeth, explored my mouth with his tongue, took his time enjoying me. Time spun out and slowed until all the clocks stopped ticking and it was just the two of us, the water, our soft, shared moans and ragged breaths.
When I opened my eyes, he was staring down at me, a drop of water clinging to the tip of his nose, a look of adoration on his face.
Something in the center of my chest unlocked and broke free.
My orgasm slammed into me like a comet into earth. I stiffened and cried out, safe in the circle of his arms, gazing into his eyes as it happened. The bathroom echoed with the sounds of my undoing.
“You’ve ruined me for anyone else,” he whispered hoarsely, beginning to lose himself. “Bianca. I’m ruined.”
I convulsed around him, too overcome with emotion to speak.
He braced his arm against the wall to hold us up. He trembled, spasmed, made a sound like he was deeply in pain. “Fuck,” he groaned, and withdrew from my body. Then he kissed me like his life depended on it as he spilled himself onto my skin.
By the time we came back to our senses, the water had started to turn cold.
Jax reached out and turned off the spray. He wrapped his arms around me and hid his face in my neck, hugging me hard, his chest heaving.
He said my name, but I shushed him. “Not yet. Let’s not talk about it yet,” I whispered.
I was afraid what might come out of my mouth if he asked me how I was feeling.
We dried off and dressed in silence, avoiding each other’s eyes. We knew words would be too much, yet not enough. Something had changed between us in the shower. Something profound had taken root.
“You need food,” Jackson said, looking pointedly at my abdomen after another alarmingly loud rumble. My stomach sounded like it was occupied by a large, carnivorous beast, roaming around and kicking over furniture.
“Food! Yes!” I said with the volume of a person shouting across a highway to her friend stranded on the other side.
Jackson looked at me askance.
He stood in the bathroom doorway, watching me wind my damp hair into a big, messy bun. I’d pulled on a white cashmere sweater he’d bought for me and a pair of lovely charcoal-gray slacks he must’ve had custom made because they fit perfectly in both the waist and hips, a statistical impossibility.
“And maybe a stiff drink,” he added drily, examining my expression.
Stiff. Lord, don’t talk to me about stiff! I met his gaze in the mirror and forced myself to sound like a sane person. “So did you talk to your parents?”
One side of his mouth quirked. “I did.”
He let it hang there, torturing me. “And?”
A smile bloomed over his face. It was like watching the sun rise over mountains. “And they love you,” he murmured, holding my gaze.
Love.
Green beans, there was that word again.
