CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
Sarah
Why does my mouth feel like a litterbox?
Not that I know what a litterbox actually feels like because I’m allergic to cats, but still. Bleh.
And my eyes are stuck together. That’s what I get for taking Maggie’s advice and wearing more than one coat of mascara. I have to practically use both hands to gently pull the skin in opposite directions to pry my eyelids open. Talk about gross.
Want to know what’s not gross? Oh-ho, the sight I’m greeted with, that’s what.
Two words: Hello, morning wood.
Okay, that was actually three words. Damn it. I’m still hungover, and my brain is struggling here.
Jack’s morning wood is practically pulling an Adele and screaming, “Hello from the other siiiiiiiide!” The other side of those boxer briefs, that is.
The saddest part about a sexy as sin guy you’ve been naked with a bunch of times but never able to follow through with both of you getting the big “O”—in the same instance—is you always wonder…you know. Things like, I wonder how he tastes when he comes, I wonder what his “O” face looks like, or I wonder what it would be like to wake up to this every mor—
Whoa, whoa, whoa. Hold up. I must have really drunk a lot last night because my mind is veering off into areas I don’t dare tiptoe into. That’s just not me.
With a sigh, I shift as quietly as I can so as not to disturb Jack, only to realize I have no clothes on, nor any nearby. Approaching his dresser, I figure I can find an undershirt or something to slip on so I’m not prancing around his place with everything hanging out on a Sunday morning.
Just as my fingers touch the handle of the top drawer, my eyes catch sight of a tiny framed photo sitting off to the far corner of the mahogany. Intrigued, I reach for the photo and bring it closer for inspection because the little boy in it is so incredibly awkward looking. Jack really hadn’t been kidding when he’d mentioned being a total pocket protector wearing nerd back in the da—
“That was me and my dad a year after my mom passed away.” His voice is so unexpected that I jerk, nearly dropping the photo. My eyes fly over to see him watching me with an odd, guarded expression. “He had a heart attack about four years ago.”
“I’m sorry,” I say gently. I’ve always hated that response; it feels vapid and useless when it’s given to people who have lost loved ones, but it’s so difficult to come up with anything else that’s appropriate.
He lifts one shoulder slightly, gaze averting to the blinds covering the bedroom windows. “He buried himself in his work, and it was stressful trying to raise a kid on his own. Especially in this area…”
I roll my lips inward, unsure of what to say.
“Second drawer.” Again, he startles me, my eyes darting to find him watching me. “You should find your pick of T-shirts there.”
Turning back, I hear him release a small groan. “Jesus, Sunshine. You and that ass…”
Removing a gray cotton undershirt from the drawer he specified, I tug it on, smoothing it down as it reaches my mid-thigh, I turn back to face him.
“My ass what?” My expression is one of exaggerated innocence.
He scrubs a hand over his face, wincing on a tight laugh. “I might not be able to leave this bed for a while.”
“What if I, maybe, did something like this…” My eyes widen dramatically as I bend slightly, the shirt riding up my legs, the hem brushing the bottom of my ass. “Would that be terrible?”
“Sunshine,” he says in a mixture of a warning growl and a groan.
“Ha-ha,” I call out as I jauntily walk toward the bathroom. “Just kidding. My mouth is disgusting, and there’s no way you want near it without a hazmat suit.”
As I cross over into his en suite, I swear I hear him mutter something that sounds like, “I want more than just your mouth, Sunshine.”
But I’m probably mistaken.
* * *
People totally underrate apple cider and apple cider donuts. Seriously, though. I’m pretty sure I orgasmed when I took my first bite of the freshly made donut at the family-owned apple orchard we’re at.
Not only is the apple picking on hold until after I get my fill of this goodness but so is the corn maze. No way do I want to test my maze skills on an empty stomach.
Also, I’d like to go on record and say I have never eaten this many donuts in one sitting before. But right now, I have little to no shame. Hangovers will do that to a person.
“Should I have gotten a dozen instead of only a half dozen?” Jack’s eyes are sparkling with humor.
“Hmmph,” is all I can manage with a mouthful of donut. My eyes are nearly rolling back in my head.
After Jack had carted me back to my place this morning, he’d waited patiently for me to cleanse last night from my body. I put on more appropriate clothing, and he’d driven us up here to the apple orchards.
Currently, we’re sitting across from one another at one of the many picnic tables scattered beneath a large white tent while I gorge myself on donuts.
When I feel the granulated sugar from the donut clinging to my lips, I dart out the tip of my tongue because if I don’t at least attempt to savor it, that would be wasteful.
The donut gods frown upon such things, I’m certain.
As I concentrate on trying to nab some sugar on the upper left part of my lip, Jack slaps his palms against the wood and pushes himself up to stand. My eyes widen in alarm at the fierceness in his expression.
Warily eyeing him as he comes over to my side of the table, he slides one leg over the bench seat to straddle it, facing me. One hand reaches out, and his fingers thread in my hair, tugging me to him. His lips softly nip at mine, and his tongue discreetly darts out to taste the sugar clinging to my lips. My breath catches in my throat at the feel of the tip of his tongue on my skin, and my nipples instantly harden at the tantalizing thought of his tongue lapping at them in the same manner.
“Jack,” I breathe.
“Yeah?”
“This is a family place. A PG-rated thing.”
His lips curve against mine. “Oh, Sunshine. You have no idea how hard it is to keep things PG-rated around you.”
I lift my eyebrows suggestively. “I’m pretty sure I know how hard it is.”
The laugh he gives sends warmth running through me, and the corners of his eyes crinkle as he smiles. Dusting a soft kiss on my forehead, he whispers, “It’s harder than you can imagine.”