Jocelyn

During the shoot, I’d stood in the wings and watched, alternating between a keen interest in what was happening on camera, and biting my nails wondering what had drawn Andy Rumpert cross country to bother us here.

Surely, if he guessed at a relationship between myself and Boxer, he’d feed it to the wolves. I can only imagine the headlines: Ice Queen Melts for Star Recruit!

My heart thuds at the idea that Andy Rumpert could turn something so good, so promising into a weapon. If I wasn’t so upset, I’d be downright livid. For now, I’m somewhere in between.

By the time the shoot has wrapped, I’ve vowed to push thoughts of Andy out of my head. I can’t do anything about him now, and I’ve waited so long for this evening that I won’t let Rumpert ruin it; I’m stubborn, and I refuse to give him the satisfaction.

Boxer showers, changes, and joins me in front of the studio. Keeping things chaste with a kiss to my forehead, he follows me as I direct him to a waiting car and issue the driver instructions to bring us to our hotel.

Our hotel.

It still sounds so strange. For a hot second, I had debated getting a room of my own just in case, but Boxer had put the kibosh on that. Which leaves us with one room. One night. Eight weeks of torturous build up.

“You did great.” I squeeze Boxer’s hand as the cab pulls away from the curb and heads down the street. “Congrats! It will make for a perfect campaign.”

“Why’d they ask if I skipped a dentist appointment?” Boxer asks so quickly that I must look dumbfounded at the change in subject. “The producers asked me about my tooth, and I had no clue what they were talking about.”

I lower my gaze to my hands. “Oh.”

“So, you do know about it.”

“When I first got the gig for you,” I began with a sigh, “the producers suggested I look into getting your tooth fixed. This was months ago.”

Boxer doesn’t respond but I can see him running his tongue over his front teeth.

“I just... I didn’t follow through. I should’ve told them, I’m sorry.”

“Why didn’t you tell me about it?”

“I don’t really know.”

He cocks his head to the side, surveying me. “If we weren’t dating, would you have forced me to make an appointment? Be honest.”

I don’t need to think for long. “Yes. I mean, I wouldn’t have forced you, but I would’ve strongly recommended it.”

“What changed?”

It’s been so long since I’ve paused to actually think. About anything, really. I reach out, my fingers grazing down his chin, but he doesn’t pull his lips into a smile, so I retract my hand.

“I couldn’t ask you to change, even something so little. Because there’s nothing wrong with you.”

Boxer’s hand grasps mine. Once it’s in his clutch, he doesn’t let go, pressing a soft kiss to my palm before guiding it to rest on his leg. Then he raises his eyes.

“I’m not perfect,” he says, meeting my gaze. “I’m a mess, Joss. Even my teeth can’t manage to stay unbroken. I’m bruised and chipped and whatever else, but this is all I have to offer. I wish there were more for me to give.”

I swallow, but it’s a challenge.

“Don’t ever apologize to me for that.” I shake my head.

“I’m broken, too,” I tell him. “I was shifted from one foster home to the next until I found myself on my own. Nobody wanted me.”

He brings his hand to my cheek, rests it there, and pulls me in for a kiss, though it can hardly be called that. It’s light as mist, almost a curiosity, and when he finally pulls away, I’m left wondering if it happened at all.

“Puzzles start out whole,” he begins. “Then they’re broken. But the thing about puzzles is that when the right person comes along, they can put all the pieces back together again.”

“Do you want to pick up the pieces of me?” I’m more hopeful than I want to admit. My breath stills in my throat.

“That’s not what I meant.” He gives me a sardonic sort of smile. “You’ve already put me back together.”

I smile, reach for his hand, and wait out the rest of cab ride in a test of self-restraint.

I moderately pass the test, but Boxer fails in a glorious fashion. His hand creeps up, again and again, higher and higher onto my thigh until I am forced to move it back to my knee. I don’t care if the apocalypse comes tonight, I’m letting Landon Boxer take me to bed if it’s the last thing I do.

Boxer finally forfeits with the hand thing and instead slips his arm over my shoulders. He settles for a lazy kiss, a precursor for the rest of the evening. If the appetizer is any signal about the main course, then I’m in for a treat.

When the driver announces that we’ve arrived at our hotel, we’re both startled. Boxer stumbles through an overzealous tip before we continue his stumbling through the front door, past the front desk, and into the elevator.

I had stopped by the hotel after arriving in town today, checking in and retrieving the key before ever going to the studio. Boxer’s luggage had already arrived here, shuffled over by a PA from the set. We had nothing left to worry about except each other.

As soon as the elevator doors close, with only the pair of us inside, Boxer takes charge, pressing me against the wall and covering my body with his own. He’s magnificent—his long torso toned by years of intense athletic training—and it’s a joy to run my fingers over his shoulders, down his chest, to the lip of his pants. He’s taut with muscle everywhere, hard and lean and tough.

His lips, however, are everything but. Soft and sensual, when his tongue slips between my lips, exploring, teasing, the taste of what’s to come, it’s enough to make me molten lava in his arms.

It’s been so long since I’ve let passion take over, since I’ve been recklessly in love, and it’s exhilarating. I’d bet that if I jumped off a building tonight, I just might fly.

We’re on the verge of spontaneous combustion by the time we reach the door to our room. Boxer hastily attempts to slide the key into the slot, and on the third try, he gets it unlocked.

“This is nice,” I say out of formality, surveying a suite that would impress royalty. My eyes still land on the most incredible thing in the room—him. I sigh and brush my sweaty palms against my pants. “So, how are we going to do this?”

For a long moment, he stares at me with a completely blank expression.

I clap a hand over my mouth. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean it like...” I give up, letting a hand clasp against my forehead. I close my eyes. “It’s been awhile for me, if you can’t tell. I’m rusty.”

At this, Boxer unfreezes and throws his head back to laugh.

The tension has broken, and the remaining silence is an easy one—a pleasant, contented silence. Until his eyes flash from periwinkle bright to something darker, and the air inherits a sense of urgency.

“In answer to your question...” He steps toward me, suddenly commanding. Amusement lines his words, but there’s something primal underneath. “I’m going to hold you, kiss you, and now, if it’s okay by you, I’d like to bring you to the bedroom and relish every inch of you.”

My heart is racing. My breath—I’m not even sure if it’s there.

He pulls me into his arms and lands a tempting kiss just on the edge of my mouth. “I’m going to savor every moment with you. Every touch, every word, every look.”

He scoops me into his arms, carrying me from the living area to the bedroom, bringing alive a playful mix of exploratory kisses and joyful caresses. Of sweet touches and weighty glances. Of sizzling tension and lazy enjoyment.

He eases me out of my jacket one arm at a time. He inhales sharply as it falls to the floor.

“Let me see you,” he says, spinning me around like a slow dance. When I come to a stop and rest against his chest, our eyes lock and hold. “More,” he says gruffly.

I help with my top, but he manages to slide my pants down all on his own, leaving me in a state of undress that precious few men have ever seen. I’ve dated plenty of men; I haven’t gone home with most of them. Sex complicates things. I’m not a fan of complications.

Tonight is different. He’s different. We’re different together.

“You’re beautiful,” he says, his eyes roving over my skin. “Perfection.”

Framed by the elegant hotel room, modern black lining every surface and trimmed by deep mahogany on the desks and furnishings, he looks like he’s stepped into a scene from a movie. His shirt has vanished, leaving me with a delicious view of his chest—wide and muscled, his arms sturdy to lift me like a pencil.

This is the stuff fantasies are made of, I think, as he lowers his mouth to mine. Except for one thing—this, here, is my reality. It must be reality because it’s better than anything I could’ve possibly dreamed.

“Your pants,” I murmur, as he deepens the kiss. “They’re still on.”

I’m not eloquent, but it does the trick. We struggle together to get his slacks off, and it’s a show of teamwork to accomplish this without someone toppling over. We each sigh as they fall, discarded with the rest of our orphaned clothes on the ground.

Finally free, he covers my body with his. I’m blanketed by his sheer, delicious mass, and I don’t care if I ever breathe again. This is perfection, even if he’s slowly relieving me of all the breath in my lungs.

My hands come around to his back, my nails digging in as he shelters me, warms me from all sides. I find his hair, my fingers locking tight as I lean to him. “I’m nervous.”

“About what?” he murmurs. “Am I hurting you?”

“I want you more than I’ve ever wanted anyone,” I say, holding him close even as he attempts to pull away. “I’ve never dreamed I’d find this sort of relationship. It’s too intense.”

“I did,” he says bluntly. “I wanted to find love so badly that I was willing to sacrifice everything for the wrong person.”

“I don’t want you anymore, I need you. When I’m not with you, I think of you all the time. Life feels half lived when you’re not next to me.”

“I know,” he whispers, those blue eyes so achingly gentle. “You ruined me a long time ago, Jocelyn Jones. I was just waiting for your heart to catch up.”

“Well,” I choke out a half-laugh. “It has.”

He watches the rainbow of emotions pass over my face like a storm. “Are you crying? Don’t cry. This is supposed to be a happy night.”

“I’m not crying,” I say. “I hate crying.”

“Joss,” he whispers. “You don’t need to be scared. I’m not going anywhere.”

I gasp as he lowers his head to my neck; the conversation is over. He warms me in a trail of kisses that lead past my throat and down to my collarbone, then my chest.

His hands work the whole while, skimming down my sides, tracing my curves like a map. I sink into the moment, trying to remember every touch, every movement, though it’s impossible. He moves in a well-orchestrated symphony that can’t be separated into pieces.

When his mouth ravages mine, hot and aggressive, it turns into a war between us, a war to hold back words, emotions, every last bit of self-control—if we have any left. Should one or both of us collapse, it’ll change everything. We’ll collapse into something that’s joined and united, together. My hips raise, his hand sliding underneath to hold me against him. Chest to chest, core to core.

“Joss.” He holds me tight against him, pulling his face away just enough to speak. “I can’t...”

“Can’t what?”

“I can’t wait a second longer.” He’s lined up against me, every curve of his body matching mine. “I love you.”

My eyes fly open. I’m lost for a moment, blurry from battle, when I realize that I, too, have already fallen. I’ve fallen, and yet I’m still fighting to hold back, trying to keep some semblance of control over this whole thing.

“You don’t have to say anything back,” he whispers, “In fact, I don’t want you to. Say it when you want—if you want. Only if and when you mean it.”

“But—”

“No,” he says, and that ends it.

I swallow, the darkening in his eyes begging me to wait. To let this moment belong to him, to the start of us.

“Okay,” I tell him, my hands coming to surround his face. The quietest kiss seals the moment into a time capsule, one I want to remember when I am old and gray.

A groan slips out of Boxer’s mouth as I arch against him, one hand slipping behind my back to ease my bra off. He drinks in the view for a long moment, and it’s only when I shiver under his gaze that he blinks back to reality. Lowering his mouth to my breast, he offers a murmur of appreciation, a caress, a taste.

My stomach tightens and my eyes close, my hips lifting of their own accord as he begins to explore everywhere. He takes advantage of my raised body to remove the last bit of lingerie, leaving it on the floor with the rest.

He moves downward, descending in patient bursts and showering every inch of my body with attention, just as he has promised. When he reaches my stomach, he peppers kisses in a line from my center down to my inner thighs, teasing, toying, skipping over all the places that need it most. Then he gives me a look with his eyebrow raised and a cheeky smile.

“Please don’t stop,” I tell him. “You’re evil.”

He issues a soft laugh, but it’s enough of an encouragement. First his hand, then his mouth. Gentle, giving—utterly selfless.

Working in harmony once more, he circles me, pulls me higher until I’m crying out at the first waves of pleasure. My fingers find his hair, holding on as he drives me to new heights, only to guide me crashing to the depths below.

By the time I’m able to feel, to see, to comprehend, he’s moved next to me and wrapped me in his arms. He holds me tight, the scent of us together swirling into one. I’m breathing in ragged breaths, and his match mine.

I roll over, face him, a shy smile turning up my lips. “Wow.”

“Yeah?”

“Oh, yeah.”

He laughs, runs a hand through my hair. “Good. We’re just getting started.”

“Well, of course.” I reach lower, between us, and run a hand over him.

He closes his eyes and groans, burying himself into me—save for the fabric of his boxers. I sit up, but he stops me in the process. “No. Not tonight.”

“But, you just—”

“And I can’t wait a second longer.” His voice sounds strangled. “Please don’t make me wait longer. I need you. All of you.”

I dodge his hand, sitting up more fully, and work off his boxers until he’s a free man. An impressive one, at that, and I pretend not to stare. Landon Boxer, in all his naked glory. More impressive than I could’ve ever imagined, and most certainly the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen. Possibly the only man I’ve ever loved.

I plant a series of kisses down his chest that have his hands fisting in my hair. He pulls tight against my scalp, and the tension has me on fire for more, to drive this man wild, to make him lose control.

I reach his waist with my treasure trail of kisses and, despite his flimsy arguments, I circle him with my mouth. A string of hissed curses is enough of a confirmation that I’m doing something right. His head falls back to the pillow, eyes shut. When I rest a hand on his chest moments later, his heart is racing.

“Joss,” he growls. “Wait.”

Before I can argue, he pulls me up and onto his chest. We’re both naked, breathing heavily, and he presses into my stomach. This moment, this brief respite is the calm before the storm. His fingers skim my back and my head rests against his chest. It’s more intimate than anything yet.

He dips his head into a long, languid kiss. The sort of kiss that brings tears to the eyes and has one wondering how they’ve survived so long without it, and how they could ever survive without it again.

“Landon.” I blink, but one droplet escapes onto my cheek. “I love you. I love you, too.”

“God, I’ve been waiting so long to hear that.”

He brings me into his arms and rolls us so that he’s perched over me, my face cradled in his palm. His eyes turn almost savage, possessive.

“I’ve waited so long to have you.” From somewhere, he’s rolled on a condom, and there’s nothing but the weight of him against me now. “I need you, Joss.”

We hold there, the last moment before everything crashes into a wild spiral. When he pushes inside me for the first time, our eyes are both open, locked on one another, his gaze surveying mine. I let him drink all of it in—the fireworks most certainly lighting in my eyes, my desperate gasp as the pressure intensifies, my clenched fists grasping at the sheets—until I can’t possibly keep my eyes open.

I reach to feel him. I’m greeted with smooth skin, strong arms, and I latch on as he shifts and increases the friction between us. One thrust, and then another. He fits me—a perfect match.

His lips meet my neck, suckling as he presses against me, raising my body so my back curves to a new angle. He drives harder, faster, murmuring sweet encouragement against my neck.

“Stop thinking so much,” he says as I mumble nonsense. “And just feel.”

Finally, I forfeit and let myself go completely over the edge and into his arms. We move together, and it’s no longer two of us, it’s one—a single rhythm, melody, racing toward an inevitable conclusion.

Together we reach the edge, the precipice, and pause for one moment, trembling on top of the world, before he slides in one final time, and we crumble together into pieces. His release comes seconds after mine, and when he says my name, it drags out every last sensation in my body. Each and every wave until the pulsing subsides, and calmness settles.

One of his arms drapes over my body, snuggling me close. My back is pressed to his chest, his lips resting near my ear. We don’t speak, don’t move; we simply savor the closeness. The closeness turns into a dream, and for the first time in a long while, my dream can never be better than my reality.

If this is what love is, then I want it. No matter the cost. Forever.