CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Sarah
“Did you have fun tonight?”
I’m curled up against Jack’s side, his arm wrapped around me as we take the short cab ride back to my place. With a laugh, I say, “It was interesting, that’s for sure.” Once I relay the stories from the wine bar, Jack’s still chuckling by the time we pull up outside my apartment.
After we’re inside and I’ve locked up, the mood shifts. Leaning back against opposite walls in my entryway, we remove our shoes. As soon as my second heel drops to the floor, Jack’s on me, crowding me in the most delicious way. His palms brace flat against the wall on either side of me. He drags his lips down my cheek, over my jaw, and down my neck before inhaling deeply.
“Are you smelling me, Westbrook?” I try to tease him, but my voice sounds more breathless than anything.
“Stop.” I can feel him smile against my skin. “You’re ruining the moment.” He trails tender kisses along the column of my throat.
I raise my hands, fingers sliding through his hair and gently tug him up to meet my eyes. Staring back at me in the dimly lit apartment, I swear there’s a hint of something different in his gaze. Something deeper. Something we haven’t embarked on before.
The corners of his lips lift slightly, and he brings the pad of his thumb up to toy with my bottom lip. Still holding my gaze, he whispers, “I missed you tonight, Sunshine.”
His hand shifts, his thumb sweeping across my cheekbone as his head descends, giving me what must be the most tender kiss I’ve ever had. No tongue, just the barest, featherlight touch of his lips to mine.
I swear I can feel it all the way to my heart.
Suddenly, I’m desperate for more. I tug him closer, angle my head to take over the kiss and deepen it, a driving need propelling me with each swipe of my tongue against his. That need increases with each gliding stroke of my hands over his back as I feel the play of his muscles. He presses closer between my legs, rocking against me, and his mouth swallows my moan. My body arches into his as my hands make their way between us to unfasten his pants, reaching inside to grasp his hardening cock.
Taking him firmly in my hand, I stroke him, feeling him grow harder in my palm. When he thrusts into my touch, it sends another surge of heat to my core as I continue to work him with my hand.
One of his palms slaps against the wall beside my head, and he tears his lips from mine, his breathing heavy and ragged as he presses wet kisses along my neck and throat.
“That feels so damn good, Sunshine,” he grits out; his breathing becomes more staggered, and I can tell he’s close. In fact, the knowledge that he’s close to coming makes me so wet; it feels like I’ve practically flooded my panties.
Oh shit. My entire body goes rigid in alarm. In fear. In mortification.
Breaking the kiss, my eyes grow wide, and I push him away from me. “Oh shit.” I don’t want to look down…but I know I have to.
Please let it not be there, please let it not be there, please let it not be there, I mentally chant. Maybe I got lucky.
But when I look down at the knee he’d pressed against me, to the center of my thighs, even in the dim lighting I see it. The tiniest spot of moisture on his pants.
Slapping my hands over my face, I blurt out hurriedly, “OhmygodI’msosorry!” With a wince, I peek out from between my fingers. “Why don’t you go to my laundry room and grab the stain stick while I, uh, do my thing in the restroom real quick.” Backing away from him, I practically sprint to my bathroom and lock myself in.
Reaching below the sink for what I need, I quickly strip myself of my panties before taking care of things and decide to toss the poor underwear in the trash. It’s not a newer pair, and I really don’t want to bother with getting blood stains out.
Cracking the door open before tiptoeing back into my bedroom and rummaging through my dresser drawer for some boyshort panties, a pair of sweatpants, and a T-shirt, I trade out my dress and bra and pull on the comfortable clothing.
Inhaling a fortifying breath, I head down the hall to see if Jack’s still here. When I find him sitting on my couch, one arm draped across the back, casual as can be, I’m not sure if I’m happy he’s hung around or disappointed he’s still here and I have to face him.
His eyes flick over me from head to toe, and it feels like a caress. “That’s a decidedly more comfortable look.” The corners of his mouth tip up. “It’s cute.”
Cute. Just what every woman wants to hear. Then again, I practically Scarlet Letter’d the poor guy…or you could say I pulled a stunt from the movie SuperBad. Either way, mortification is hanging over me like a dark cloud.
“So…” With an overly bright expression, I gesture casually. “Do you happen to know the last time you were about to get your rocks off?” I barely pause before continuing, my words coming out rapid fire. “And oh, you know, the girl’s menstrual cycle starts, and she gets a little”—my hands rest on top of my head, and I direct my gaze to my ceiling, my voice faint and weary, trailing to a whimper-like whisper—“blood on your pants?”
The silence hangs between us, awkwardness growing exponentially until he finally speaks.
“Sunshine.” I don’t move, continuing to stare up at the ceiling as though it’s my job. “Look at me.”
“I can’t. I’m currently attempting to stare a hole into the ceiling because tipping my head at this angle will allow me to survive a bit longer when the full flood of embarrassment comes rushing in to drown me.”
I swear I hear him chuckle softly. “Please look at me.”
“Did you use the stain stick?” I refuse to move my eyes from the ceiling. In fact, I’m pretty sure I detect the slightest discoloration in that one corner. A sign of water damage, perhaps? I should tell my landlord.
“I don’t care about my damn pants, Sarah.”
Shit. He’s using my name instead of calling me Sunshine. He means business now.
I hear him shift, and before I know it, he scoops me up and carries me over to the couch. Once I’m situated on his lap, he lifts my chin with his finger, directing me to meet his eyes. “Don’t hide from me.”
With an eye roll, I blow out a breath. “Fine. Quick conversation.”
“Okay.”
“I say I’m sorry for, uh, marking you, and you say, no worries, it—”
“It’s only a pair of jeans and—”
“And I say, hey, would you like to pig out on my ‘menstrual snacks’ with me, which consists of chocolate and salt and vinegar chips? Not at the same time but definitely partaking in both because that’s what I crave during this time and—”
“Salt and vinegar chips are my favorite.” His words are spoken so tenderly and sweetly that it gives me pause.
“Really?” I pause for a beat. “You’re not just saying that?”
He gives me one of those smiles, and I suddenly realize it’s special because it has a different quality to it. It’s not the smile he gives Ry or Maggie or the waiter when he thanks them for refilling his water. No, this smile is different.
It’s a smile he only gives me.
“Really, Sunshine.” Pressing a soft kiss to my forehead, he adds, “Now, go get those menstrual snacks.”
Slipping off his lap, I make my way to the kitchen, and he calls out to me. “Any chance there might be some ‘menstrual snuggling’ on the menu tonight, too? ’Cause I might be feeling kinda crampy myself.”
Damn smartass.
But I find myself smiling like a fool the entire time I gather the snacks in my kitchen.