Epilogue
I wasn’t just grumpy, I was downright furious.
I was pissed off, frustrated and…and…horny as hell.
Every nerve ending was alive, burning with expectation. I was aroused, needy, desperate to come and shit out of luck.
I’d been tantalized, teased, and tormented for the last hour. Kissed until I fell into a drugged haze, stroked until my clit throbbed and my pussy swelled, and licked until I’d balanced unsteadily on the edge of that precipice, desperate to tumble over.
Five. Times. Over.
Yes. Five times, Jack had taken me to that peak, and denied me.
I hated him. Despised him. Given half the chance, I’d kill him. Strangle him with my own two hands. But if I went anywhere near him now, he’d just start the torture all over again. He’d use my hands against me, wrapping them around his cock, not his neck, and then he’d feed his cock to my mouth—again—yet refuse me the satisfaction of him coming down my throat. Of coming at all.
Bastard.
Withholding, denying bastard.
I slammed the milk on the counter. Then I slammed the sugar next to it. I was more careful with the eggs. I had no idea what I was making. I just knew I had to make something.
Jack’s arrogant laughter peeled through the door, letting me know he was fully aware of my temper tantrum.
Asshole. Anticipation wasn’t all he made it out to be.
I grabbed a bottle of Sambuca and a bottle of Tequila. I’d whip up a mousse spicy enough to match the zest and heat Jack had introduced to my life.
With a bit of luck, my boyfriend would choke on it.
Cooking naked had become a bit of a habit of mine. Jack left me hanging altogether too often. The only way I had to work through my seemingly perpetual sexual frustration was to whip up new desserts. Find satisfaction in food, when I was unable to get it in bed. Or the shower. Or up against the wall, on the floor, on the couch, in the parking lot below the restaurant…
Jerk.
My prized Mixmaster was whirring the ingredients into a smooth, rich concoction when Jack finally moseyed into the kitchen, as naked as he’d been when I’d stormed out of the bedroom.
I refused to look at him. Wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.
Okay, maybe I peeked at his ass a little as he leaned into the fridge. But only a little.
Alright, a lot.
It’s perfect. Toned and round and so hard you could bounce a ball off it.
My mouth watered, knowing all the things I’d done to that arse. Jack hadn’t lied when he’d told me he’d love to have my mouth all over it.
“Like what you see?” he asked into the fridge, knowing I was thoroughly checking him out.
“Not even a little bit.”
He turned to grin at me, a bottle of water in hand. “A little grumpy, are we?”
“Fuck you.”
“All in good time, beautiful.”
“I hate you.”
“You love me.”
He was right. I did love him. I was head over heels, madly in love with him—as he liked to remind me. Often. “Right now? I hate you.”
“That’s okay.” He took a long sip of water then smiled lazily at me. “I love you enough for both of us.”
He did. He was head over heels, madly in love with me—as I liked to remind him. Often.
I’d been right. Given half a chance, we were spectacular together.
It hadn’t all been smooth sailing. Jack had a lot of guilt to work through. Guilt that Eva had died, and he hadn’t. Guilt that he’d moved on when she never would. And guilt about loving someone other than the woman he’d planned on spending the rest of his life with.
I gave him space when he needed it, time to come to terms with all the changes in his life, and, most of all, love so he knew he wasn’t alone anymore. And I let him know that if fate didn’t intervene this time, like it had with Eva, he’d never be alone again.
Jack was still apprehensive about the fate part, but he liked the idea of never being alone again.
We’d had our rough patches and hiccups. His mad hours at the hospital, and mine at the restaurant, meant we didn’t spend as much time together as we’d like. But the time we did spend together, we made count.
Jack had learned to deal with my bad moods. All too often, his anticipation theory would rub me up the wrong way, and I’d swear, and scream, and threaten him. But then he’d rub me up the right way, and my anger would magically disappear.
Three months down the line, we were going strong. We were a couple. We were happy.
He reached over and turned off the Mixmaster. Just as well. I’d gotten so distracted by his nude form, I’d forgotten all about it.
“If you so much as think about tying that cord around my wrists, I’ll rub De Luca’s chili sauce in your eyes.” Not really. I’d drop it in a heartbeat, so I could present my wrists to be tied.
“I’m not tying you up, sweetheart. I’m just seeing what you’ve concocted this time.”
“Fuck me first, then you can see.”
He snorted but shook his head.
“Fine, then let me suck you off. I’ll make it so good for you, baby.” I would, and he knew it.
He looked at me with that glint in his eyes. “I’ll make the wait worth it. Promise.”
See? I told you. I was shit out of luck on the coming-any-time-soon thing.
“Fine.” I sighed loudly. “I made a new dessert.” I dipped a spoon in and offered Jack a taste.
He dabbed at it with his tongue, swallowed, and licked his lips. “Mmm.”
My pussy clenched.
His eyes popped wide open. “Jesus, what did you put in there?”
“A little…extra heat.”
“A little?” He shook his head and took another taste. “It’s like smooth velvet, followed by a lick of fire.”
“Is that good?”
“Try some for yourself.”
He scooped more onto the spoon, but instead of offering it to me, he put it in his own mouth. Then he swooped in and kissed me, sharing the fiery dessert.
Cream, chocolate, and heat exploded in my mouth.
And the spark between us flared to instant life.
I was starving for more. Not mousse. Jack. Damn it, I was always starving for more of Jack. I intensified the kiss, clawed at his back, held him so close you couldn’t have wedged a piece of paper between our bodies.
Still it wasn’t close enough.
My nipples punched into hard beads, my clit throbbed against the thigh he’d shoved between my legs. I ground down on him, rubbing myself against his muscle and flesh and prickly hairs.
Just like that, I was ready. Desperate to come. My pussy pulsed, trickling liquid heat onto Jack’s leg.
He grabbed my butt cheeks, lifted me and settled me back down on the edge of the counter. Then he shoved my legs apart, broke the kiss, and dived in to lick my pussy. Again.
I howled in protest. There was no way I could handle another of his tongue lashings. Not without exploding in a million pieces. “Stop, God. Jack, please!”
He must have heard the desperation in my voice, because Jack began to pull away.
I rammed my hands over his ears, trapping his head exactly where it was. “Don’t stop,” I screamed. “God, don’t ever stop.”
His laughter was muffled by my thighs. He lashed my clit with his tongue, then swept it over my swollen folds. He placed his lips over my pussy lips and kissed me. Passionately. Then he lashed that tongue all over my clit again.
In minutes, I was a howling, sobbing wreck. The pleasure was intense. The climb beginning. My peak was close. So close. Every muscle in my belly tightened. The throb was now insistent drum beat.
I reached the peak, threw my head back, and…yelped in frustration as Jack’s mouth left me.
“Don’t come, Isabella.”
I swore at him. Cursed viciously in Italian.
I cursed viciously in gibberish, too.
Jack straightened, his eyes gleaming, his mouth wet. The heat in the look he shot me scorched me straight through to the bones.
“Fuck you, asshole.” I plunged my finger in my pussy, searching for that damned orgasm.
His finger joined mine, searching right along with me. And searching and searching and searching. But I couldn’t find it. Probably because every time I got close, Jack changed direction.
“I love it when you touch yourself.” His voice was a hoarse growl. Sweat beaded on his forehead.
I changed tactic, pulling my finger out of my pussy and wrapping my hand around his cock. He was hard, and thick, and pulsing. I jacked him off as he stood before me in the kitchen.
His harsh breaths echoed off the wall, and I closed my eyes, loving the chafe of my hand around his length. He shifted, leaned in, and painted my lips with mousse.
I licked it off, chocolate and fire exploding on my tongue.
Jack kissed me, sharing the fire, stoking the flames.
And then he stilled my hand, held my face between his palms, and changed the kiss completely. He gentled it, turning the blistering exchange into a tender moment. He kissed me sweetly, so sweetly I wrapped my arms around his neck and clung to him.
The moment was so intimate, so extraordinary in its tenderness, a tear leaked from my eyes.
Jack wiped it away. “I love you, baby.”
My heart swelled. “I love you, too.”
He kissed me again. And when he did, he pulled me even closer to the counter edge, wrapped my legs around his waist, and with one skillful thrust of his unsheathed cock, filled me.
Now that we were together, we had no need for condoms. I loved fucking Jack like this. Loved the friction of bare flesh against bare flesh.
After everything he’d done to me tonight, the number of times he’d brought me to the edge and left me hanging, I should have come instantly. But I didn’t want to. As desperate as I was for release, I was more desperate to stretch the tenderness of the moment into eternity. Not only was Jack wrapped around me in every conceivable way, I was wrapped up in his love for me.
It was a moment I knew I’d treasure for the rest of my life.
He thrust into me slowly, lazily.
I rocked back on him, reveling in his size, glorying in how he stretched me to capacity, yet rained down nothing but pleasure.
My heart raced in time to his. I knew, because his chest was pressed to mine. I felt the wild drumming of his heartbeat.
If I could have stretched the moment into forever, I would have. But the spark that burned between us couldn’t be banked. Flames roared to life. The tenderness turned to fervor. Affection became lust.
Jack drove into me, faster, then faster still. I bucked down on him, taking him deeper, then deeper. It wasn’t deep enough. Wasn’t fast enough.
He slammed into me, over and over.
Sweat beaded between our bodies. Our skin grew slick. We slid against each other as he bore down on me. And when my climax hit, the one he’d been denying me all evening, it struck like a bolt of lightning.
I came hard, convulsing around him. I swear, the strength of that orgasm knocked the wind from my lungs. I came, and I came, and I came, all over his beautiful, pounding cock. I came until tears streamed down my face and I was utterly destroyed by my love for him.
And when Jack faltered, roared, and let go of his own release, I came all over again as he filled me with his seed.
And it was then I had to admit, for the thousandth time, that maybe, just maybe, there was some truth to Jack’s theory of anticipation after all.
…