“Tell me you want this.” He slid down my stomach, to the swell of my hips. “Show me.”
And then he was uncovering me, fingers hooked in my panties, dragging them over my legs. He slowed down then, sat back on his haunches, and touched me—a soft, single brush of his thumb over my clit. The moan that escaped me pierced the stillness around us.
“I’m going to make you come, Rodel.” He said that part in my ear, partially covering my body with his because I was shivering. “I want to know what you sound like when you orgasm.”
I hadn’t expected Jack to be dominating, mostly because I had seen the other side of him—broken, nurturing, vulnerable. But Jack in bed was a different man. He had the Art of Manliness down to a precise skill. And it thrilled me, excited me.
“On your side.” He flipped me over and pulled the blankets over us, spooning me from behind. His rock-hard erection twitched against me as his fingers circled my clit. His other hand roamed over my breast, kneading the soft flesh with tantalizing possessiveness. My body squirmed against his, our contours nestling into each other, as hot, swift currents of desire stirred up inside me.
“Jack . . .” I half-turned to face him.
He knew what I wanted before I said it. He crushed my mouth hungrily, his tongue seeking mine, demanding it. My lips parted on a ragged sigh as he buried his face in the hollow of my neck, intensifying the rhythm of his fingers. Pleasure radiated outward, like jolts of liquid fire. I clutched the tendons in the back of Jack’s neck. He was a biter, grazing my neck with just enough force to command all of my attention, and then letting go, like a lion playing with his prey. I slid my fingers through the thick tufts of his hair, pulling him back, and then we were kissing again, leaving soul sonnets deep inside each other’s mouths. That was when he sent me over the edge, sliding his thigh between my legs, shifting his lean, hard frame over me. It was a simple act, but I shattered into a million glowing stars.
The contrast of rough against smooth, the anticipation of penetration, of being taken by Jack, the way our bodies were already locked in a hungry, primordial rhythm, his fingertips coaxing my pleasure points, his lips devouring mine. It was a sensual onslaught that rocked the very core of me. My breath came in long, shuddering moans that unleashed something hot and raw in him.
“I can’t hold back, Rodel.” He rubbed the tip of his shaft against me. “Tell me you want this.”
I knew what he was asking. He wanted to be sure I could handle it. This night, maybe a few more before I left. Nothing less, nothing more.
“I want you, Jack.” My body rose instinctively to meet his. The thick, hard length of him on my thigh was both electrifying and intimidating. “But you should know . . . I . . . I haven’t done this before. You’re my first.”
He stilled and sucked in a long, ragged breath. “This . . .” He took in another soul-deep breath. “You haven’t—”
“It’s okay,” I whispered. “Look at me. Look at me, Jack. I want you to be my first.”
And my last. And all the times in between. But I can’t have that. So I’ll take this. What we have right here. Right now.
But Jack wasn’t listening. “I’m too far gone, Rodel,” he growled, taking my hand and guiding it to him. His head fell back as my fingers closed around him, and he let out a soft gasp.
Against the flickering light of the fire outside, he was the glowing image of passion and raging desire. It was only when he started thrusting into my hand, his rhythm urgent and frenzied that I realized what he meant. He was too far gone to deny his release, but he was still in control of how it happened. I felt a stab of sadness, but it didn’t stand a chance against the heady eroticism of the man before me, the way he was watching me, making love to every curve, every inch of my body with his eyes, as my fist moved up and down his throbbing shaft.
“Fuck, Rodel.” His voice had a raw, brittle edge, like he was about to snap. His lips clamped down on mine as his body convulsed with sharp waves of pleasure.
He leaned his forehead against mine, catching his breath. When he rolled on his back, taking me with him, I thought how incredibly warm his arms were, how perfectly they wrapped around me.
“Rodel? Why are you crying?”
“Because.” I snuggled deeper into him. “It feels good.”
“This feels good . . .” He squeezed me tighter. “Or the crying?”
“Both.” I sniffed.
He propped himself up on his elbow and looked at me. “These tears—” his thumb swiped my cheek “—they have nothing to do with you thinking that I rejected you, do they?” A shadow passed across his face when I didn’t answer. “God, Rodel.” He swore. “Your first time. The possibility didn’t even register on my radar. Just the fact that you’ve waited this long—that has to mean something. It has to be special. Not in a tent, on a flimsy air mattress, in the middle of nowhere. And not with me, not with a man who can’t offer you all the things that should go with it. I did the only responsible thing I could, and let me tell you, it still feels like hell.”
“Good. Because I don’t want responsible, Jack. I’ve done responsible things my whole responsible life. I want reckless. I want mindless, ruthless, heedless. I want to be swept up in madness. I want your passion. I want your pain. I want you to tell me that you can’t bear the thought of me leaving, that it feels like you can’t breathe, that you want me, that you’ll miss me.”