Jack

The hotel room smells like Katie. Minty and girly. Scarves are draped along the backs of chairs, lotion bottles are arranged on the nightstand, her suitcase lays open in the corner. I want to pick up every item in the room, feel it in my hand, smell it and commit it to memory. Especially Katie. God, this girl has me by the bones. I don’t want to get away.

She was bouncy and courageous on the train, but as we got closer to the hotel, I could feel the growing tension of her body from its perch on my back. Which is why I’m halfway across the room, hands shoved into my pockets. I might want to tackle her onto the bed and strip her down to the skin, but tonight is her first time. I’m lucky as shit she’s letting me have anything to do with it. So we’re going to take this slow.

Out of the corner of my eye, I spot a second suitcase in the slightly ajar, mirrored closet alongside the bed. “I wouldn’t have taken you for a heavy packer.”

“Actually.” She winces, probably because her voice came out ten octaves higher than usual. “Actually, those aren’t clothes or shoes or anything.”

“What is it?”

Avoiding my gaze, she bends down to unzip her boots, stepping out of them. “Inside that suitcase . . . is the fourth item on my Katie Conquers New York list.”

“Yeah?” I shrug off my jacket and hang it on the desk chair. Then I slip my hands back into my jeans pockets. She watches me all the while and I think she understands what I’m telling her. One thing at a time. No rushing. “If you don’t want to show me what’s inside the suitcase, that’s okay. But if it’s a dead body, I’d help you bury it. Might want to take advantage.”

Some of tension leaks from her shoulders. “You would, wouldn’t you?”

I nod once.

The rest of her anxiety would go away if I put my hands on her. I’d disrobe her and distract her so thoroughly, she wouldn’t have time for nerves. I want her to feel comfortable before I touch her, though. Who the hell even knows why? Or how come I’m suddenly so goddamn Zen about fucking, but there it is. I want tonight to be about Katie. And I want it to be different for me, too. Different from any other time I’ve been with a girl. Nothing I’ve done in the past has any place in this room with us.

Just because I can’t touch her doesn’t mean I can’t remind her what it’s like, though. Right? Dipping my head, I watch Katie from beneath my brows and approach her. Slowly. Giving her time to anticipate it. Even in the room’s moody near-darkness, I can see her feet writhe in the carpet, see her sucking in a deep breath. But at the last second, I plant a kiss on her shoulder and move towards the window, pushing it open, letting the sounds of Manhattan fill the room. Whooshing wind, sirens, rushing traffic, distant bleating boat horns drifting from the East River.

“I want to show you,” she says, her voice mingling with the city noises. “What’s in the suitcase.”

She’s not facing me, which is probably a good thing, because she can’t see my eyes close, the gratified smile that ticks my lips up. Before Katie can venture to the closet to lift the possibly heavy luggage, I move past and do it for her, laying it on the bed.

“I’m going to ramble a bit now. I hope you don’t mind.” She unzips the suitcase, which forces her to bend forwards and give me a great view of her ass, the green material stretching over those works-of-art buns and moments like these, I really think Jesus loves me.

“I definitely don’t mind.”

Hearing my lecherous tone, she sends me a reproving look that can’t quite hide her amusement. “Once a year, my mother brought me to Blackrock Market and told me I could buy one thing. It wasn’t for Christmas or my birthday. More like a special girl’s day out present. Just one thing, and somehow it was always better than all my birthday and Christmas presents combined.” After a slight hesitation, she peels back the suitcase and color explodes across my vision. Yellows, reds, startling whites, robin’s egg blues, teals and pinks. “I always chose a purse.”

“These are them?”

“No.” Her chest rises and settles. “I made these ones.”

Look, I don’t know the first thing about handbags. Or pocketbooks, as my mother calls them. Whenever I happen to be down on Canal Street, knockoffs are being sold everywhere and I might give them enough attention to spot the newest trend. Buying one has never crossed my mind, however, so my knowledge is pretty limited. Still, I can tell these purses of Katie’s are good. They’re quality. Without laying a finger on the packed leather bundles, I’m willing to bet they’re butter soft. The buckles—silver, shaped in a KM—gleam in the low lamplight. They’re organized according to color family, which is so like Katie, I have to swallow.

“When did you make them?” I finally ask.

“During downtime, when I was training.” She tucks a strand of red hair behind her ear. “Nighttime mostly, when it got hard to sleep. I ordered the materials from the Internet and had them delivered. Special-ordered the buckles with my leftover graduation money.” She shrugs. “I learned what I could online and taught myself the rest.”

That’ll teach me to think Katie can’t get any more amazing. “Can I hold one?”

“Yes, of course.” Her hands flutter over the purses, trying to pick one, and she finally lands on a fire-engine red creation with black stitching. I don’t miss the way she’s looking at me, like she’s holding her breath. For my opinion? “Damn, Snaps. These are . . . wow. I know Ever and Danika would rock this. My mother, too. It’s beautiful.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, really.” I give her an are-you-insane look. “Hasn’t anyone told you?”

“You’re the first one I’ve shown.” She’s pink to the roots of her hair. “Well, apart from my mam.”

Humbleness closes in around me, making it necessary to gather my thoughts. “Why do you have them here?”

“That’s where my list comes in.” She takes the purse from my hands, wedging it back into place, and closes the suitcase. “Making bags is the only thing I’ve ever done just for me. Because I love it. And I thought . . .”

“Yeah?”

She bends over the case and zips it back up, but this time I refuse to look at her ass. I’m too interested in hearing her explanation. “The Olympics was my father’s goal; a way to divert his grief. Joining the Emergency Response Unit as an instructor seemed logical, with my skill set.” A slow, dreamy breath leaves her. “But bags . . . that’s just for me. I thought if I could sell just one or two, it would mean what I love isn’t a waste of time.”

“I’ll buy all of them right now. Just give me a couple hours to sing on the subway,” I say without hesitation. Her rush of laughter hits me square in the stomach, heating every inch of me, inside and out. “Nothing you love could ever be a waste of time, honey. Nothing.”

I’m a far cry from Shakespeare, but hell if the words I managed to string together don’t chase away a little more stiffness from her body. “I have this secret wish to create them on the side, when I have time.” A tiny, too-quick laugh tumbles out. “A weapons instructor moonlighting as a handbag designer. Have you ever heard anything like it?”

“No. But I’ve never met anyone like you, either. That’s how I know it’s possible.”

Another dose of tension leaves her, those pale blues holding mine for heavy—important? I hope so—beats, before tracing down to my belt buckle, her palms rubbing the fronts of her thighs. I’m used to women wanting me, but I’ve definitely never wanted to crawl towards them on hands and knees. Never wanted to make every single thing so perfect, she can’t forget me, even if she tries. Before I can second-guess my intuition, I take off my hat and my shirt, letting the latter dangle in my fingers a moment, dropping it to the floor. With Katie’s wide eyes on me, I climb onto the bed, leaning back against the center of the headboard.

“Come here and kiss me,” I say quietly, crooking my finger at her. “I’ll kiss you all night until you decide you want more.”

Appreciation glows so brightly inside her, my hand drops. Stowing a lock of hair behind her ear, Katie walks towards me on her knees. Her weight barely dips the mattress and I’m suddenly so protective, my fingers curl into my palm with the urge to yank her close. Not yet. Not this time. When she’s only inches away, she hesitates, then rests her hands on my shoulders. I hold my breath as she eases herself onto my lap, straddling me.

There’s no restraining the moan that flies out of me. No stopping my hands from snagging her waist, holding her steady. Her pussy is hot and firm, pressing down onto my cock, her mouth a millimeter from mine and I beg, beg, beg myself not to lose control. Not to lunge forwards and pin her down. The idea of her being nervous or uncomfortable stops me, calming the crazy boiling of my blood. Somewhat.

“Did I tell you earlier how fucking hot you look in that dress?” My hands glide up her back, tangling in her hair. I tug a little on the strands and her head falls back, exposing her throat. My tongue takes advantage with a hungry lick, right up the middle. “Those boots were just cruel, Katie. My dick has been aching all night.”

She gasps when I set my mouth to work beneath her ear. Nibbling, sucking. Fuck, she tastes like mint candy and I can’t get enough. “Even though they made is necessary for you to carry me around?”

“Especially because I got to carry you around.” My mouth finds hers and delivers a nasty kiss. The kind that’s going to make her think about me eating her pussy. And yeah, I know it works like a charm when her thighs shimmy up higher around my hips, little whimpers leaving her throat and traveling into my mouth. “I loved carrying you on my back. Quickest way to let everyone know you’re all mine.” I rasp against her lips. “You are all mine, aren’t you, honey?”

“Yes.” She breathes against my lips for few beats, then leans back just enough to whip the green dress off over her head. “Maybe I should have left the boots on. Rookie move.”

Christ, it’s like a surgeon slaps me with electric paddles the way my pulse slams into hyper drive. There’s her tits, two plump little temptations, swelling over the edges of purple silk. In my periphery, I can see her panties match and I’m fucked. I’m so fucking fucked. My cock is way too stiff to be confined in my jeans. When she leans forwards for another kiss, pressing down on the erection from hell and I groan like a dying man through my teeth, understanding dawns in her beautiful, flushed face.

“Oh, we should get your jeans off.”

“I knew I liked you, Snaps,” I manage, my voice sounding like smashed glass. “Just . . . just the belt and zipper so he can breathe, huh?”

Her eyes widen, as if it just occurred that I’m hoping she’ll perform the job. I’m already crazy for Katie—let’s just face it—and I sink a whole lot deeper when she takes a bracing breath and squares her shoulders. Her blue eyes flick up to mine, once, twice, as she unfastens my belt. We both stare down at the trunk of flesh battling my zipper for freedom, our heavy breaths colliding in the space between us. She makes a sound of sympathy and hurries to slide my button through the denim hole and lower my zipper. My dick bobs out and rebounds off my bare stomach, the sudden lack of pressure wrenching a hoarse sigh from my chest.

“You . . . you don’t wear underwear?”

Unbelievable. I want to nail this girl until she’s a sticky, sobbing mess and she can’t even look at my cock without blushing. Everything she does ties my organs up in knots. “Might have to start wearing some around you. I’ve never had to worry so much about being hard in public.”

Her upper lip curls. “Don’t pretend you care about offending people.”

My heart squeezes. “Caught me.” Keeping our eyes locked, I slip my hands around to her ass, cradling her cheeks in my palm, skimming up and down, listening to her inhales and exhales accelerate. “You want to play a game, Katie?”

She nods jerkily, her throat working with a swallow.

“Since I don’t have any underwear on, why don’t you share yours with me?” I knead her tight, rounded ass. “Try to get my cock inside your panties. No using your hands, though. That would be cheating. Just your thighs and hips, you understand? If you manage to get me inside that purple silk with your wet pussy, you win.”

By the time I finish outlining the rules, her eyelids are at half-mast and I know, I know I could throw her down and give us what we both need right now. She’s ready. But I don’t just want Katie ready. I want her screaming for my cock and clawing me when I hold out. I want her to resent every second I’m not slamming into her. I want to own her.

Turns out, she’s going to own me, though. She kisses me once—to gather courage?—then the slick material of her panties settles against my erection. The back of my skull meets the headboard and lights flash in front of my vision. And that’s before she starts moving. That first slide of damp silk up and down my dick burns the inside of my throat, turns a molten hot wrench in my belly. She turns me into a desperate beggar and I want every inch of her against me. Want nothing between us. I release a broken growl on the next stroking writhe of her pussy, my hands flying to the front clasp of her bra, flicking it open with shaking hands.

“Ah, Jesus, Katie. You’ve got the sexiest tits.” Keeping one hand on her sweet ass so I can feel her ride me, I use the other to mold her left breast. Lifting it for my starved mouth to feast on. I do, too. I start by opening wide and rubbing the center of my tongue over her pointed nipple, up and down, until the pace of her hips kicks up. Then I lick a circle around the rose-colored bud, before sucking it hard between my lips.

“Jack! Oh my God.” Her breath shudders in and out. “D-do that again. Again, please.”

Praise Jesus, the Virgin Mary and Santa Claus. My girl has sensitive nipples. Not everyone does and if I couldn’t get my mouth on these little handfuls as often as possible, it would have been fucking blasphemy. “Move my head, honey. Put me anywhere you want. Make sure I give them both enough attention.”

I’m going to have a sore neck in the morning, but it’s going to be worth it. Katie drags me from right to left, demanding I suck her nipples with throaty whimpers that have precum beading on the head of my cock, dripping down the sides. “Please, Jack, please.”

“Good girl. Fuck me through those sexy little underwear.” I take a chance and slap her ass—a nice, firm swat—and I’m rewarded with a shocked moan of pleasure. “You haven’t won the game yet. Your pussy is still all alone inside those panties, isn’t it?”