Page 110 of Burn for You (Slow Burn 1)
“Such a gentleman,” she whispered. Looking into my eyes, she slowly rubbed her breasts against my chest.
Her nipples were hard. I felt them right through my shirt, two firm little peaks that needed my tongue. A growl built low in my belly and worked its way through my chest and out my mouth, but still I held back.
Suddenly all the teasing left her voice and her eyes. She said firmly, “Jackson. I’m in your bed. I’m wearing your ring. We’re hot as two jalapeños for each other. Do me, dammit, and hurry up about it!”
A heartbeat of silence pounded between us. The moment stretched thin, then snapped, and the final shreds of my control curled up like burning paper and turned to ash.
I said, “You should write poetry,” and crushed my mouth to hers.
THIRTY-TWO
BIANCA
I’d seen Jackson’s scary side. I’d seen his hidden sweet side, too, and his suave side, and a dozen others.
But I’d never seen him dirty.
“Off!” he snarled, impatiently pulling my T-shirt over my head. He tossed it aside and it sailed across the room. He took a moment to stare down at me, his eyes black with lust, then he grabbed my sleep shorts and yanked them down my hips. Away they went, flung over to the dresser along with my panties. Kneeling between my spread legs, he made an animal noise as his gaze raked over me. Then his mouth was on my flesh.
There.
I cried out in shock. His mouth was so hot and wet, so unexpected. He dug his fingers into my hips and thrust his tongue deep inside me. I almost died from pleasure.
“So fucking sweet. I’d knew you’d taste sweet.” He took a moment to growl, his breath fanning over my spread thighs. Then he went right back to business.
I threaded my shaking fingers into the thick, soft mess of his hair because I needed to feel it. I didn’t realize how much I’d wanted to touch it until now. And now that I could, I took big, greedy handfuls of it and breathlessly laughed.
I sounded like I’d just robbed a bank and gotten away with it.
Jackson ignored my crazy laugh. His tongue—oh clever tongue—circled round and round that small rigid nub between my legs until it throbbed and I was gasping for air.
When I arched off the bed and cried out, Jackson turned his head and gently bit my thigh. “Close already?” he asked, laughter in his tone.
My hips rocking, I begged him not to stop in a garbled mess of words.
“You’re so goddamn beautiful,” he whispered. “I wish you could see yourself.” He ran his palms up and down my thighs, testing the flesh, pinching it and stroking it, his big hands rough and warm. “This beautiful skin.” He kissed my leg. “These perfect tits.” He reached up and squeezed them, thumbing over my hard nipples so I shivered in delight.
His voice turned spine-chillingly dark. “And this gorgeous pussy. Look at you, spread open for me, all pink and soft. Christ. I can’t decide if I want to eat you until you come and then fuck you, or if I should make you come on my hard cock first.”
Sweet baby Jesus in the manger, Jackson Boudreaux is a dirty talker.
“Please,” I pleaded brokenly. “Jax.”
He gently pinched my clit between two fingers and blew on it. I moaned like a porn star.
“Tell me what you want,” he demanded, lazily stroking me.
I blurted, “Anything. Everything. You.”
“Oh, sweetheart,” he murmured, “you already have me.”
Then he gifted me with his tongue again. I sighed in relief, my breath shuddering out of me, my body writhing under the expert movements of his hands and mouth.
He knew exactly how to take me to the edge and keep me there, teasing and gentling when I got too close, chuckling at my delirious implorings of “More. Hurry. I’ll kill you if you stop.” He took his time, though I knew he felt the same unbearable urgency I did. His fingers digging into my skin were just shy of painful. Every once in a while, he would catch his breath and curse.
I felt like I was riding a wave. A wave of heat and emotion, expanding from my body to fill the room, the house, the entire state. I wanted to laugh and cry and scream, I wanted to break apart and let him put me back together. I was sinking into the bed at the same time as I was floating over it, the feel of his stubble exquisitely rough on my inner thighs, the sound of his deep-chested grunts reverberating all the way through me.
“Oh God, Jax.” I groaned, unable to hold it in. “I’m there, oh God I’m there I’m so—”
