eleven
Jack gazed at me as he slowly slipped my shirt from my shoulders, letting it drop to the floor. He ran his hands down the length of my arms, his fingers entwining with mine. Then he crossed our hands behind me as he kissed me long and deep, pressed so tightly against me, I almost couldn’t breathe. In a really good way.
As soon as he released my hands, they found their way to their new home, tangled in his hair. He feathered kisses down my neck to my collarbone, and my breath caught in my throat. Jack smiled against my skin, knowing this was my sweet spot. I felt his hands as they unclasped my bra, adding it to the pile at my feet. He bent his head and left a trail of kisses across the tops of my breasts, his hands traveling up to cup them gently. His thumbs grazed my nipples and I almost came out of my skin.
“That feels amazing.” I sighed, watching him attend to me. “Oh my” left my mouth as I dropped my head back to enjoy. His tongue flickered across my right nipple and his mouth zeroed in, taking me between his lips. His teeth softly encircled me, biting gently. I cried out, letting him know that this was exactly what I needed. His teeth nibbled more insistently and his left hand began to move toward my legs. I ran my hands up and down his back, beginning to feel the slow build that was going to quite possibly bring down this mountain.
We moved together across the room while I struggled to remove his shirt. When I took my first look at him shirtless, it was a good thing he was holding on to me so tightly, as I felt my knees shake.
He was so mother-flipping beautiful. I pushed him away just far enough to take him in, my gaze traveling up and down. He was long and lean, strong and handsome. He had a scattering of pale, almost strawberry-blond hair on his chest that gathered into a happy trail low on his tummy. I planned to take that trail as far as I could.
He noticed me staring and he grinned. “What are you staring at?”
“You. You’re beautiful.” I ran my fingertips lightly across his chest, lower onto his stomach, and he groaned.
“Nuts Girl, you’re the beautiful one in this room,” he answered, echoing my movements with his own. We stood about a foot apart, and I felt a sudden burst of shyness as I realized my much older body was being scrutinized. I tried to cross my arms over my chest but he caught them, holding them out to the sides so he could continue to let his eyes roam across my skin.
“Beautiful,” he breathed again, returning his hands to my body. I returned mine to his. As my fingertips slipped into the waistband of his jeans, he raised an eyebrow.
“You first,” he said, scolding me lightly, reminding me of his intentions. He began walking me backward toward the bed and our hands and kisses became urgent again. I knew I only had seconds left before I was going to be powerless, and I wanted him significantly more naked than he was now.
I expertly snapped open his button and unzipped him before he knew what I was doing. As his eyes widened, I slipped one hand inside, found what I was looking for, and gave him a gentle but insistent squeeze.
“Fuck, Grace . . . ,” he moaned, buying me a few more seconds, which was all I needed.
I slipped his jeans down his legs. He gave in, kicking off his shoes and allowing me to continue to slide them off. I knelt in front of him before he could stop me, and as I finished removing them, I chanced a quick look up. He was staring down at me with such a look of lust and want, it almost made me rock back on my heels.
His dark gray boxer-briefs were molded to his body as if they were made to be there. I could see his excitement underneath and my fingertips gently teased, fluttering and massaging him through the fabric. His hands wound in my hair and I pressed my face against him, feathering kisses on him, running my nails up the insides of his thighs.
“Sweet Grace, you are trying to distract me. It won’t work,” he said, warning me.
Is that a challenge?
I looked up at him, running my hands up along his bottom, grasping the back of his boxers firmly.
“You sure about that?” Before he had a chance to answer, I pulled them completely down, grasped him in my hand, and took him into my mouth . . . fully.
“Oh, God, Grace . . . Jesus,” he groaned, his hands tightening in my hair, reflexively bringing him deeper into me.
Hearing that gorgeous voice, that unfettered British accent—oh my God. I let him fill me, feeling the hardness of him at the back of my throat, and I inwardly smiled. This was exactly where I wanted him. He was perfect and huge and smooth and rock hard.
I was in penis heaven.
I pulled back slightly, placing both hands on his length, and decided to mess with him a little. As I admired his perfection, I looked up at him. “Would you call this a distraction?” I asked innocently, letting my tongue lick him from base to tip, playing it up as he watched me.
“Grace, what are you doing to me?” He moaned quietly, tracing his fingers lovingly around my face.
And in a voice that would have made a porn star proud, I answered back naughtily, “Sucking your cock.” I even shocked myself a little.
There was silence. Jack stopped moving—fingers stopped, hands stopped, hips even stopped rocking.
I closed my eyes in embarrassment. Oh, God, why did you say that? Too soon!
Which is why I was so surprised when I suddenly landed on the bed with such force that pillows were thrown all over the room.
Jack had picked me up, thrown me on the bed, and was now attacking me vigorously. My pants were unceremoniously yanked down and tossed aside. All that was left between this now-crazed Brit and me was a tiny pair of black lace panties—oops, I’d spoken too soon.
He tore, actually tore, my panties from my body, leaving me naked and in shock. Who knew the word cock would do all this? I’d have to remember that.
The sweet, sensual music of the Psychedelic Furs ended, and loud, aggressive industrial music filled the room. The Prodigy’s “Firestarter.”
Oh my.
Jack looked at me with crazy in his eyes, stopping where my legs met and licking his lips.
“Fucking brilliant,” he growled, and pulled my hips toward the edge of the bed, sinking down so that his face was level with them.
Then he bent his head to me and began to give me the most earth-shattering series of orgasms I had ever experienced in my entire life.
When his tongue touched me, I arched off the bed so violently that he had to hold me down. “No, love, you aren’t going anywhere,” he said, admonishing me, and the feel of his hot breath against me almost made me come again instantly. His hands gripped my hips, angling me so that I was completely vulnerable to whatever he wished to do to me. I shivered in anticipation.
Oh, sweet lord.
His tongue made another pass, dragging all the way up, stopping just below where I needed him, circling, and then pulling back again. I gave a passionate groan, knowing that he would tease me as long as he thought I could handle it. I didn’t know how long I could last. My hands buried themselves in my pillows as I gave myself over to the sensations that were coursing through me. The mix of the loud, crazy music and the feeling of Jack’s hair as it tickled my tummy was an amazing combination.
The music seemed to drive him on, setting a pace to his tongue. He began again, starting at the bottom and licking me, gathering me, never quite touching me where I wanted him, but dancing around it and over it, making me begin to moan and groan and thrash about on the bed. He did this for what seemed like hours, building me up and then letting me back down. It was maddening. It was intoxicating.
It was not to be believed.
“Oh, God, that’s so good!” I cried, and I could feel him smile against me as he moaned back, his lips vibrating slightly.
Holy Lord, Jack Hamilton is going down on you. And the Brit has mad skills.
“Grace, you taste unbelievable,” he murmured, letting his nose graze me. Then his fingers finally began pushing into me. I cried out from the sudden pleasure; feeling him inside of me was almost more than I could bear. I clenched down around him, unable to stop the good orgasm that was soon to rip through me.
“God, you’re beautiful,” he moaned, watching me react to his every touch, every stroke. His hands, his fingers, were genius.
I suddenly remembered the guitar in his bedroom. Guitar players always have the best hands.
I moaned again, beginning to lose it. He filled me up, pressing and twisting, searching for . . . fuck me, there it was. When he hit that, all my breath whooshed out of me in a rush. He had found what would forever be known as my J-spot.
I knew I was so close and I moved my hand from his hair, seeking his hand. His right hand let go of my hip and entwined with mine, and I began to see points of light dance across my eyes.
As he continued to apply pressure, stroking me from the inside, his tongue finally, thankfully, caressed me at the center of my world. He pressed it against me, not moving, not licking, not sliding, just holding me down and anchoring me with that one constant, perfect pressure.
And I came undone.
I chanted his name repeatedly as wave after wave crashed through me, my hands tight in his hair as my back arched and I screamed lustily, the insides of my eyelids a mix of exploding colors.
I lost track of all time. All I know is that in the space of several Prodigy songs, he made me come again and again. I was like a rag doll by the end, limp and limbless. He had taken me with his tongue and his fingers and his hands all over that bed. I was on the edge of the bed, and then I was flipped over on the bed. I was up against the headboard, spread-eagled, while he worked me from below. There was a particularly intense moment when he had me above him, my hands gripping the headboard for balance while he worked his magical fingers and his super-magical tongue inside me.
And he had marked me.
Just before he dragged his body back up mine, he’d nibbled lightly on the inside of my right thigh. I sighed his name once more and he actually bit down, piercing the skin and making me shiver delightfully. He had flashed me a triumphant grin—there is nothing like a proud, proud man. A man should feel pride in his work, and making me come was now his job.
I had never been given it so good in my life. My throat was hoarse, my legs were on permanent shimmy-shake, and I couldn’t wipe the grin from my tired face.
And I was still wearing my heels. Slut.
I was lying on my back with Jack snuggled up against me, his head pressed into the nook between my neck and my shoulders. His hand absently continued to caress my breasts, traveling from one to the other while I breathed contentedly beneath him. I had no energy to speak with, but I did channel a little strength into making my fingers scratch his head, granting me a peaceful sigh back. It was the least I could do. He had earned it.
“Grace?” he whispered long after the music had switched to something softer.
“Hmm?” was all I could manage.
“I love that you called out my name when you came,” he said quietly.
“I did?” I asked incredulously.
“You don’t remember?”
“Sweet Nuts, I don’t remember anything after you ripped my panties off. I think I may have blacked out.” I sighed.
He laughed and continued to stroke my breasts. It was more than pleasant.
“I’ll tell you what, though. You give mama a few minutes to recover here, and then it is on, Johnny Bite-Down.” The thought sent a fresh wave of desire through me.
“Grace, you have sex hair!” He laughed, guiding my hand up to the back of my head, where I could feel a nest beginning to form.
“Ah well, it was worth it.” I giggled, rolling on top of him and sliding down his body. “Now then, let’s see what young Mr. Hamilton is up for . . . ooh, I see he is already up,” I said teasingly.
“Hey, I thought you said you needed some recovery time, Crazy,” he said, protesting weakly, trying to grab my shoulders.
“Hamilton, shut the fuck up and enjoy this,” I commanded, using his own words against him.
He smiled and nestled his head back into the pillows, folding his arms behind his head to give him a better view of me.
“Carry on, then.” He smirked.
And carry on I did.