His lips touch my skin as he presses kisses to my knee and up my thigh until he reaches the area where I need him the most. He devours me with a frantic need, as if this is all a dream and he will wake soon. I understand his desperation because I’m desperate too.
He licks, he sucks. Then slowly, he presses a finger inside me. The movement is slow.
It’s a delicious torture.
Needy for more.
He must feel it because soon, he is quickening his pace, driving inside me once, twice, and then I’m falling over the edge. A long and primal moan that seems to last forever escapes my mouth and goose bumps form against my skin as I come undone.
Lost in the haze of my orgasm, I don’t notice him move, but now he’s standing naked before me, and I’m on the bed. I watch through hooded lids as he strokes himself before ripping a condom open and sliding it over his length.
Once it’s on, I move back up the bed, and then he’s crawling up my body. He frames my face with his hands and kisses me, an earth-shattering kiss that makes the world stand still. Only he and I exist in this universe. As he makes love to my mouth, I part my legs wider, pull him in closer, and then I wrap my legs around him.
“Jax,” I moan as I wait for him to press inside me. I need him inside me already.
He pulls back and looks down at me. A damn grin on his face.
“Fuck me already.”
He laughs then. “Like this?” he says, teasing my entrance.
He gently strokes me, but he never breaches, circling so slow, I’m sure I might die.
“Please,” I groan, and then as his lips part wider, he answers my pleas, slowly guiding himself deep inside me.
It feels amazing. Like heaven has come down to Earth and engulfed me.
He doesn’t move for a beat, allowing me to adjust to his size, and when I finally let out the breath I’m holding, he pulls back out.
He continues this slow and steady pace.
The feeling is too much with each press of his body within mine.
An overwhelming feeling of emotions rise to the surface, a feeling of protection, that Jax will take care of me.
He must feel it too because he leans down and mutters against my lips. “I’ll keep you safe.”
“I know,” I answer, and it’s as if my complete and utter confidence in him has a primitive effect because he is no longer slow and steady. No. Now his movements pick up.
He thrusts harder and harder.
Over and over again.
He tells me with no words, I’m his. That he owns me with every move of his hips. He tells me he will make sure I’m okay.
I feel the truth in it.
And I believe him.
Our breathing accelerates as we climb to our climaxes.
Once done, he drops his frame down until his mouth is nuzzled into my neck. He peppers my skin with kisses.
Several minutes go by as we come down from our high. Then he rises and removes himself from my body.
I miss his warmth instantly as he moves from the bed and into the bathroom.
“I’ll be right back. Stay here,” he orders playfully.
“Where else would I go?” I laugh, and he smiles and walks away. A few seconds later, he’s cleaning us off before helping me up from the bed. I excuse myself to use the bathroom.
When I’m back, I find a robe on the bed, but Jax is nowhere to be seen. I slip it on and pad my way into the living room.
I find him in the kitchen with no shirt on and low-slung sweats.
If I thought he was gorgeous before, seeing him again in sweats should be illegal. Or at least come with a warning label.
“Keep staring at me like that, and we will never eat.”
“Yes, Willow. Eat. Remember the picnic I promised?”
The picnic that started this chain of events, and as emotionally draining as it’s been, I don’t regret any of it.
“Let’s have a picnic. I’m starved.”
“Good, because I have way too much food.” He leans into the fridge and pulls out a tray. I follow him as he walks us into the living room and then sets up the picnic.
I’m still shocked he’s done this for me.
Set up in the middle of the blanket are mini sandwiches, scones, cookies, and more treats, including chocolate-covered strawberries and Kit Kats, that makes me laugh.
Next, he grabs two wine glasses. I have never seen Jax drink anything but tequila, so watching him grab a bottle and pour us each a glass makes me feel warm inside.
I take a seat, and he hands me the glass. We each lift our glass, clinking them together.
“What are we toasting?” I ask.