High Risk Love (25 page)

I ran my hands up his chest, over his pecs, brushed across his ring, then onto his shoulders and back again, stopping at the waistband of his boxer briefs. His desire for me was obvious, but there was no shame in him, no worry about it. “You know.” I tugged at the waist band. “These are really looking like they don’t fit you. I think they might be constricting your blood flow.”

He chuckled low and deep, and I thought my knees might buckle. “Want to take them off for me?” His hands were on my shoulders, sliding around my neck and into my damp hair, massaging my scalp.

I leaned into his fingers. “Mmm. Maybe in a minute. This is very relaxing.”

He frowned. “Wasn’t going for relaxing.”

I smiled, feeling light and free, feeling the moment like I never had before. I slipped my fingers into the band of his briefs and pushed them down as far as I could reach. But instead of bending to take them the rest of the way, I lifted my right leg and hooked my foot into the briefs, pulling them the rest of the way down without even looking.

Because I wasn’t quite ready to just stare. Heck, I could barely look at him without heat rushing up my neck into what I was sure was a full on blush.

Jet’s eyes widened with pleasure, his hands sliding down my arms. “Now, that was a nifty trick.”

“That’s about all I’ve got,” I said, letting out a heavy sigh of mock disappointment.

He chuckled. “I doubt that very much.” And then his lips were on mine, nipping and licking, tasting, tongue dipping in and out, over and over, mimicking what I knew was coming. I hung onto him, dug my fingers into his biceps, felt the muscles play under my hands. The kiss broke into gasping for air, slowing down. He kissed me lightly, along my jaw, down my neck, across my collarbone. I slid my hands down to his waist, and let them travel lower, let my hands touch him where I couldn’t yet look. He was huge, bigger than I had been thinking if what I felt was . . . I glanced down and then back up again. I’d been feeling right.

“Spitfire.” He kissed his way to the top of my left breast, heat and moisture from his lips searing my skin, while his hand cupped my other breast, rolling my nipple between his teeth and tongue on one side, fingers and hand on the other. I arched into him, his hardness pressing into my soft folds, nudging my legs apart. Hot, everything was hot and moist, and full of anticipation, full of wanting and long pent up desires I couldn’t even speak.

I wanted to say something, but I could think of nothing cohesive, nothing that would make any sense. With a move I missed, he scooped my legs out from under me, and laid me on the bed.

“Jasmin, if you want to back out . . . .”

I smiled, feeling totally self-conscious laid out in front of him, but also wanting this more than anything. “Not for a second.” He stood above me, and I finally got a look at his tattoo. I raised myself up on my elbows, reached out and touched it. Along his pelvic bone were the words ‘Fear Nothing’ in a broken script that looked as though it had been torn apart and then stitched back together. The words were as scarred as Jet. I lifted my eyes to his. “Fear nothing.”

He smiled, and I looked at the tattoo again, thinking about how he would look if I could get the light just right, the way the tattoo would reflect him in a way nothing else could. “I wouldn’t mind having my camera right now.”

“Kinky, I like it.” He chuckled as he spoke.

“Not like that—” I didn’t get to finish my thought; his mouth descended on mine, the fire from his kisses lighting a trail to my aching center. His finger circled my wet folds, sliding along the cleft of my core, dipping into the warmth. I moaned, pushing my body against his, wanton need stealing away my inhibition, stealing away my fear. This was what I wanted. Jet, only Jet.

His touch fanned the flame between my legs, drove me higher, and then softened, allowing me to breathe.

“I want you to come for me, Spitfire. I want to hear you say my name while you fall apart under me.” He punctuated each word with a stroke across my throbbing bud, slowing his words as his strokes eased.

“Please, Jet.”

“Yeah, like that only a little louder. Let’s disturb the neighbors, Spitfire.” His mouth started toward my belly button, dipped lower.

Oh my.

He kissed my aching clit like he’d kissed my mouth. Tongue flicking out, lips drawing my heat into him. I buried my hands into the blanket, couldn’t think, couldn’t barely breathe past the slowly building pressure between my legs. Jet slid two fingers into me, spreading me opening, matching the strokes of his tongue to the thrusts of his fingers.

I didn’t recognize the animal noises escaping me, whimpers and moans, desperation as he took me higher, then slowly brought me down before I climaxed. How many times he teased me, drawing me up, holding me over the edge as his mouth suckled and lapped at my aching clit.

“Jet, please!” I cried out.

“Come for me, Spitfire.” His fingers quickened in time with his mouth, my hips bucked upward, pressed into him as the first roll of pressure spiraled up from my center. There was no thought except the feel of him on me, in me, his hands and mouth taking me over.

I screamed as the climax grabbed me, all but threw me over the edge of an abyss I’d not been to with anyone for a long time. Jet groaned against me and the vibration of his pleasure sent another shot through me. I whimpered his name, my body limp as aftershocks rippled across my skin, muscles contracting as they milked the last of the pleasure from the moment.

Jet got up, stepped away from the bed and disappeared into the hallway. I struggled to my elbows, wrung out from the orgasm. Wrung out from his touch.

There was a rip of something, and it took me a moment to figure out what it was I was hearing. He came back into the room, sliding the condom over himself.

“Pretty sure of yourself to have brought condoms with you,” I said. Though I was teasing, his eyes darkened. I held my one hand out to him. “I’m glad you thought ahead. I don’t have any condoms here.”

Jet’s eyes brightened back up, “I was hoping. Not assuming.”

He crawled over me, his body dwarfing mine in a way I hadn’t noticed before. But then, before, we’d never been naked together. I’d never felt his body hover over mine.

Our lips met, soft and sweet, salty; I could taste myself on him. I pulled him close, ran my hands over his body, everywhere, I wanted to touch him everywhere to know his body as I knew my own. To feel his heart beat faster as we came together.

I wrapped my legs around his hips as we kissed, as I sucked on his tongue, drew his lips between my teeth as he’d done to me. Tentatively, I ran my finger over his nipple ring.

“Spitfire, if you don’t quit touching me, I won’t be able to last.”

“Guess it’s going to be a quickie then.”

His mouth dropped open and he stared at me for a moment before chuckling. “There’s always round two.”

I smiled, feeling shy for a split second before saying what I really wanted to say. “And three and four.”

With a growl, he clasped our hands together, bringing mine above my head, holding me there with one hand easily. I squeaked, which turned into a low moan of pleasure as he pressed himself into me, slowly, inch by inch.

“Sweet Jesus, Spitfire.” He spoke in a hushed tone, reverent almost as if he wasn’t sure. He pulled back, leaving me empty. I wormed a hand free from his, reached around, and cupped his ass, jerked him forward, feeling him fill me in a single thrust. His eyes were wide. “Just wait, let me . . . I can’t.” His words were a jumbled mess.

“Fuck me, Jet.” I said it, and then couldn’t believe I said it, and by the way his eyes snapped to mine, neither could he.

“Potty mouth.” He gave a thrust into me, all the way to the hilt, and then slowly pulled out again. “I like it.”

I giggled, tried to at least, but it turned into a whispered plea, words of desire fell from our lips. Good words, ones that had him thrusting and driving me to a second climax. This was a first; I’d never climaxed from sex, though this didn’t feel like
just
sex. Something more. Better and right.

His skin was slick under my hands as I clawed at his back, not meaning to, but unable to stop myself. He bit down on the side of my neck and a new pleasure danced along my nerve endings. I writhed against him, unable to control myself, not wanting to.

His pace quickened, his body slammed into mine with a speed and ferocity I couldn’t grasp, but didn’t ever want to stop. His muscles bunched under my hands, his rhythm scattering as he tensed, came with a shout that might have been my name, but I couldn’t hear over the climax that burst over me, turned my body into a rolling wave of pleasure that left me a puddle of nothing on the bed, clinging to him.

Our breathing wasn’t breathing, but panting. We were panting for air, and I could feel his heartbeat galloping along wildly, out of control.

He moved as if to roll off me.

“Stay.” I touched the side of his face. “Please stay.”

“I’m not going anywhere, Jasmin. I don’t want to crush you.”

“If I can survive you and Hugh sitting on me, I can survive you laying on me.”

I stroked my hand through his hair and he lowered himself back down, bodies fitting against one another.

“Are you still afraid?” He murmured against the skin of my neck, kissing me lightly.

“No. Not of this, not of you.” How could I be? Yet even as I said the words, my fears tickled at the back of my head. Now I knew him, inside and out; how much worse would his death be when it came? Because it would come, in my life that was a certainty I had to face. Death was everywhere with me. With everyone I loved.

I wrapped my arms around his shoulders, touched each of his vertebrae down his back. “Maybe a little afraid.”

He lifted his head, propped himself up so he could look me in the eye. “Of what?”

I could do this, I could tell him. “Everyone around me dies, Jet. Everyone. How can I have this with you, loving you, knowing that you’ll die and I’ll be alone, destroyed? That’s what I’m afraid of. Not being alone, that is something I can handle. I’m afraid of having my heart shattered again. I’m afraid of
that
more than anything else.”

He touched the side of my face, took my jaw between his fingers, gave me his soft smile, the one that made my heart melt and dance at the same time. “I’ll make you a promise. I won’t die on you, not if my life depends on it.”

“You can’t keep that promise.”

“Have I broken any of my promises to you?”

“The kissing one.”

He pursed his lips. “Shit, I forgot about that one. Except that one, I’ve kept them all.” He lifted his eyebrows. “I won’t let myself get killed. I won’t die on you, Spitfire. I can’t imagine not ever seeing you again. That would be worse than dying. Trust me.”

I slid my arms around him and hugged him close, breathed him in, and let my heart go one last time.

“I trust you.”

Jet

T
hree days of Jasmin. Of being with her, touching her, tasting everything she had to offer. We never left the apartment, not even when we ran out of milk. We made do with what was in the fridge and cupboards.

Once the dam broke, we couldn’t get enough of each other. The shower, the kitchen, the floor, and the couch all got christened. The bed, the wall, the coffee table. The place didn’t matter because it was her, it was my Spitfire whispering in my ears, grabbing my hair as she screamed my name, it was her sweet body that spasmed around me, drew me to heights I didn’t know existed.

Sunday night came too quickly. We made love with a frantic need, almost as if we knew that this weekend had been a boon. Did I tell her it was manufactured? Shit, she’d never talk to me again. Yet I had to tell her; honesty, trust. I wanted all of that with her.

She was curled against me, hands folded against my chest, her breath slow and even. I couldn’t sleep as I wracked my brain, as I stared at her profile, so I slid my hands over her body. Teasing her awake.

There were no words, just the soft flutter of breath and kisses, the feel of her hand around my shaft, then getting bolder, reaching past to stroke my balls. I groaned and rolled to my back, let her take control, something that she was so very, very good at.

Her mouth started at my neck, while her hands slid up and down my shaft, teasing me with her silken hands. She tugged at my nipple ring with her teeth, stretching me upward, the zing of pain and pleasure mingling into a heady turn-on.

“Oh god, Spitfire, don’t stop.”

She didn’t say a word, just made her way lazily down to my throbbing hard-on, her lips touching just the tip, tongue darting out to flick it. I had to restrain the urge to push her faster, knowing this sweet torture would only make coming that much better. One hand on my nipple ring, the other on my balls, her mouth slid up and down my shaft, lips tight, tongue swirling.

“Oh fuck,” I hissed, feeling the pressure building fast, my body on the verge of letting go. This was the problem, if there was one. No matter how many times we had sex, no matter how many times we came screaming together—much to the displeasure of the old man downstairs—the second she touched me like this, I could barely hang on, barely keep myself from coming in three seconds flat.

Still, she said nothing, let her hands and mouth work me over. She sucked at the tip, grazing it ever so lightly with her teeth, tugging me upward as she massaged my balls, her other hand splayed on my chest, flicking and tugging on my ring.

I fought the pleasure, but couldn’t keep my eyes from her, from watching her beautiful body love me as if . . . as if she did love me. She’d said it that once, the words slipping out in the middle of a ramble, so I didn’t know . . . what if this was just a release for her? A way to break out of a rut? A way to get me out of her system as Lily had thought?

I shuddered as she sucked hard, her mouth and hands moving faster, driving me into a wild rhythm I couldn’t control, even if I tried.

The climax shattered me, stunned me with the force of it, letting go in her mouth as she squeezed my balls, milked me for every last drop. I jerked and writhed under her touch, hers and only hers.