I am sort of shocked by the words that leave my mouth, but I have no shame. It’s Jordan, after all. He’s seen me at my worst and my best.

Besides, I want him too damn much to worry about anything else. The frantic need that’s building inside of me is threatening to take over. I haven’t experienced this feeling in so long—six years, to be exact—and it’s making me edgy. Shaky.

“Fuck, I like it when you’re bossy,” he confesses just before he takes my mouth in a commanding kiss.

Now, let’s be real here. I may have bossed him around just now, but it was minor. And I don’t want to be the boss. I want him in charge.

God, I love it when he’s in charge.

His agile fingers are at the back of my bra while he kisses me, undoing the hooks. The lace-trimmed cups fall from my chest, the thin straps slithering down my arms until they land at the crook of my elbows, and I shake my bra off completely, a disappointed moan leaving me when he steps away once more, contemplating me yet again.

“They’ve grown,” he murmurs, because of course he’d notice that. He was always extremely observant.

“I’m a B cup now,” I tell him proudly.

Chuckling, he reaches for my breasts, cradling them in his hands, his thumbs brushing across my nipples, making them harden. Making me tremble. “Still sensitive?”

I bite my lip, nodding.

“Still pretty too,” he says just before he dips his head and takes a lick. I tilt my head back, my hands sinking into his soft hair when he sucks my nipple into his mouth. My eyes fall closed and a whimper escapes me when he nibbles first on one nipple, then the other, alternating back and forth. Licking. Sucking. Biting. Making me want him.

Making me wet.

Truthfully? I don’t want to have sex on the kitchen counter. Not really. The marble is cold on my butt and I still have my pants on. The angle between us seems off, so I’m not quite sure how we’d fit.

But then he grips the back of my thighs and tilts my body back, pulling me into him so his erection is directly between my legs. Showing me exactly how we fit, exactly how we’d do this.

I brace my hands on the counter behind me, lifting my hips so I brush against the front of him nice and slow. He removes his mouth from my chest and shifts away from me, his blue eyes dark, his cheeks ruddy, his hair a mess.

“Teasing me?” he asks in a rumbly growl, his intense gaze never leaving mine.

Nodding, I rub against him again, pressing my lips together when I hit a particular spot that feels extra good, so I do it again. And from the way his brows lower, I know he realizes I’m hitting that spot too.

“No way are you going to come on my jeans again,” he says, reaching for the waistband of my pants. They have a drawstring, and he slowly undoes it, the black string winding around his long fingers. I watch in breathless anticipation, craving those fingers on me. In me.

I toe my shoes off, then lift my butt so he can pull my pants down my legs, leaving me in my plain black panties and white socks. Definitely not sexy. I wind my legs around his waist again, working my socks off with my big toe, and heave a sigh of relief when I’m successful. He’s staring at me again, his gaze devouring me, and he takes a step away from me so that I have no choice but to drop my legs.

“You have a condom somewhere close, right?” I ask, pressing my thighs together when he keeps watching me with that intense gaze of his.

Nodding, he reaches for me, his fingers sliding between my thighs and pushing them apart.

“You keep condoms in the kitchen?” I’m joking, but what if he says yes, as a matter of fact, I do? What if he keeps condoms in every corner of his townhouse? That would mean he’s always prepared, and I appreciate a man who’s prepared, but not if that means he’s having sex all over his house with various women.

I don’t like thinking of Jordan with various women. It’s bad enough I know for a fact he went on actual dates with Selena Gomez.

“No, I don’t keep condoms in my kitchen, Mandy. I have a condom in my wallet.” His fingers tickle the inside of my thighs, making me squirm. “Not sure if I want to fuck you here, though.”

I try to pull my thighs together, but he’s too strong. “What are you saying? Please don’t tell me you think this shouldn’t happen.”

“Oh, it’s definitely going to happen. Tonight.” The promise in his voice rings true, sending a delicious shiver down my spine. “I just don’t know what exactly I want to do to you first.”

There are so many things I want to do to him. I totally understand what he’s saying.

“I could touch you.” His fingers brush the center of my panties, making me throb. “Go down on you.” Oh Lord, I love his tongue so, so much. “Or forget the foreplay and just…go for it.”

I want all of it. He could touch me, go down on me, and then go for it. In whatever order he wants. “It’s unfair, you know.”

“What’s unfair?” He’s still stroking me between my thighs, his fingers barely touching the thin fabric of my panties. But he’s touching me perfectly, his fingers drifting over my clit, trying to drive me wild.

“That you’re completely overdressed,” I tell him.

Without a word he remedies that, whipping off his shirt, revealing all that muscly goodness. I forget all about his magical fingers and focus on his broad shoulders. His wide chest. The dark hair curling between his pecs—is there more now? Not that he’s super hairy, but he’s hairier than he was at nineteen.

And his abs. Oh. My. God. His abs. He has a six-pack. No, I take that back, he has an eight-pack. I didn’t think it was possible, but his body is even more muscular, more beautiful than it was the last time I saw him shirtless. He’s firm and hard and his stomach is flat, and I fixate on that thin path of dark hair that starts just below his navel and leads into his jeans.

Yes. I want to follow that path with my tongue. I have before. I want to do it again.

Now.

“Your body is unreal,” I tell him, my voice reverent. I sit up and reach for him, running my fingers along first one shoulder, then the other. “God, you’re hard,” I murmur almost to myself as I press my hand against his chest.

“Yeah, I am,” he says, amusement in his voice. He grabs my hand and places it on his denim-covered erection. “See what you do to me?”

It’s a powerful thing, to know I make this man want me so badly.

That power goes straight to my head, making me dizzy, making me bold. I cup his erection. Run my fingers along it. Reach for the fly of his jeans and undo the button, then slowly draw down the zipper. I spread the denim open, my fingers trailing across the warm gray cotton of his underwear, and I swear he twitches beneath my touch.

He bites out a curse when I slip my fingers beneath his briefs, encountering nothing but hot, hard skin. I wrap my fingers around his cock and he’s shoving down his underwear, his jeans, his movements frantic. I release my hold on him and he strips in record time, my fingers seeking him again just as his hand delve between my legs, slipping beneath my panties.

His fingers sink between my folds and I hiss out a long, trembling breath. I squeeze his cock and he groans. He’s so long and thick, and I familiarize myself with him, my fingers tracing the veins along his length, the velvety tip of him.

Without warning he leans in and kisses me, our eager mouths sloppy, tongues everywhere as we continue to touch each other. I’m growing wetter; I can actually hear his fingers as he explores my depths, and when his thumb presses against my clit, I whimper into his mouth.

I’m having a serious déjà vu moment. That familiar urgency is making me remember what it used to be like between us. What it’s still like. He knew exactly how to touch me, and where. The right pressure and speed. He kisses me with perfection. No thrusting fat tongues or too much saliva. It’s always just enough, though when he does get carried away—like he’s doing right now—it’s because he’s so overcome.

He’s a tightly controlled man who loses control when he’s with me.

“Fuck this,” he says after he breaks the kiss, and for a moment I’m alarmed. Is he having second thoughts? Is he realizing that this won’t work between us? I’m this close to covering my naked bits with my hands, but then he backs away, pulling me into position so I’m poised on the very edge of the kitchen counter. He falls to his knees, his face directly in front of my legs, and he pulls my thighs apart, shoves my panties out of the way and places his mouth right on my very center.

My head falls back at the first swirl of his tongue on my clit. Holy hell, he knows just how to work it. He licks me up and down, his fingers spreading me wide open, his tongue playing with my clit. Circling it. Flicking it. Sucking it into his mouth. My orgasm is coming at me at a fast pace, and I squeeze my eyes shut, wishing he would slow down, wishing he would hurry up. I blindly grasp at his hair, pulling on it, and I swear to God I’m about to fall off the goddamn counter.

But he grabs hold of me, his hands gripping my butt cheeks, his mouth still on me as he licks me straight into oblivion. Until I’m a moaning, shaking, climaxing bundle of need, falling right over that delicious edge.

Once the trembling has subsided, he rises to his feet, wiping his mouth off with the back of his hand. Why I find that move so incredibly sexy, I don’t know. But I reach for him, pulling him in so I can kiss him. I taste myself on his lips, on his tongue, and it makes me want him even more so I pull him in closer, my legs winding tight around him, my arms circling his neck.

“I don’t want to fuck you like this,” he whispers against my cheek.

“Since when do you say fuck all the time?” I ask just before I bite his perfect jawline.

He tilts his head to the side, his gaze meeting mine. “I’ve always loved the word.”

“You never used it to say you wanted to fuck me.”

“Guess I always thought it, because that’s all I could think about back then. How much I wanted to fuck you. All the time.”

I rear back so our gazes meet. Hold.

“I want to fuck you now,” I tell him, loving the flash of heat in his gaze when I use the word.

“I want to make you come again.” He touches my hair, fingers playing with the wayward strands that escaped my braid. “You’re beautiful when you come.”

“You know just how to do that.” I press a chaste kiss to his lips. “Your tongue is magical.”

He chuckles, his hands cupping my cheeks, his mouth close to mine. “You’re fucking magical. Let’s go to my bedroom.”

Before I can say anything, he’s got me in his arms, carrying me through the kitchen and up the two flights of stairs with ease. His biceps bulge, his chest flexes, and I stare at his upper body in wonder, eager to explore and lick and touch. When we reach his bedroom, he carefully places me on the giant bed, and then he’s there, hovering above me, his hands braced on either side of my head as he begins his own exploration.

Butterfly kisses to my forehead, cheeks and nose. Licks down the length of my neck, gentle bites along my collarbone. He touches my breasts, flicks my nipples with his tongue, kisses a lazy path across my stomach, dips his tongue inside my belly button. I’m giggling and breathless, his touch tickling me, driving me out of my mind. He shifts downward, kissing my inner thighs, the back of my knees, my calves, the top of my feet.

“You have a foot fetish?” I ask when I realize he’s studying my pink painted toes.

“More like an Amanda fetish,” he confesses, dropping a kiss on the tip of my big toe before he moves up, up, until his face is in mine. His entire body covers me, his warm, heavy weight making me sigh with pleasure. “You’re just like I remembered you.”

His words fill me with worry for the briefest moment. “The same ol’ thing, huh?” I say like a joke, though deep down I’m terrified he’s already bored with me.

“You’re perfection,” he whispers just before he kisses me. It’s a slow, melting kiss. Like all of that earlier frantic passion has subsided, and he’s content with taking this at a languid pace. I should be the one who feels that way since on tonight’s orgasm scoreboard we’re Amanda: one, and Jordan: zero, but now I’m the one who’s filled with overwhelming, frenzied need.

My hands are everywhere, sliding down his back, gripping his extremely hard ass. His cock probes between my legs, and I spread them, wishing he was inside me already. Wishing we were connected once again. It’s as if I need that connection like I need air, because I’m gasping for it, my chest shuddering, my fingers clawing at him.

“Sshhh,” he murmurs against my lips. “Calm down, babe.”

He called me babe. I love it when he does that. Yes, he also told me to calm down, which coming from any other man, might’ve pissed me off, but not Jordan. He knows I need to calm myself. That I’m a bundle of crazed nerves.

He rises to his knees, studying me while his hands wander across my chest, his touch fleeting. “Take a deep breath,” he instructs, and I do as he says, releasing it slowly. Steadily. Trying my best to calm my racing heart.

“I want you,” he tells me, his gaze on mine. “So fucking bad.”

“I want you too,” I admit softly.

Jordan reaches over me, pulling open the drawer on his bedside table, rustling around inside of it before he pulls out a wrapped condom. He undoes the wrapper and slips the condom on. I watch in rapt fasciation, my stomach twisting in anticipation of him finally being inside of me.

I close my eyes when he positions himself, his cock probing at my entry, his hands once again braced on either side of my head. I tilt my head back, my legs spread, waiting for him to push inside me, but nothing happens.

“Look at me,” he commands, and my eyes automatically pop open to find him staring at me.

Slowly, surely, he enters my body, one delicious inch at a time. My eyelids waver, a whimper falling from my lips, and when he’s fully seated inside of me, I exhale loudly, bringing my knees up so they press against his hips.

We lay like that, unmoving for God knows how long. A few seconds? A full minute? Five minutes? I don’t know, but it’s like we’re reveling in the reconnection. He flexes his hips, sinking a little deeper, and we both moan. We’re still watching each other, his lids at half mast, his expression lazy. Pleased. His jaw tight, revealing that he’s holding himself back.

I want him to unleash on me.

I slide my hands down his back, resting them on his ass, pulling him closer. His gaze flickers and I whisper his name.

That’s all it takes to spur him into action. He starts moving, sliding almost all the way out before he’s back in. It’s excruciating, that long drag, that deep plunge. Again and again he does it, slowly at first, picking up speed after a few tries. I move with him, establishing a rhythm, our bodies growing slick with sweat, my second orgasm already hovering close. I wrap my legs around him and he reaches between us, touching me just above where we’re connected, his fingers finding my clit with ease.

“You don’t play fair,” I gasp, my eyesight blurring as the orgasm barrels down.

“You’ve never played fair,” he reminds me, making me come with an expert thrust and a flick of his fingers.

I cry out his name, my inner walls milking him, the orgasm so powerful I swear to God I’m having some sort of out of body experience. Like I can actually hover above us, observe us on the bed, his big body nestled between my legs, his hips pumping, his skin shiny with sweat.

Little shivers run through me, my nails scratching down his back, and then he’s coming too, his entire body going still just before the shudders take over. He thrusts hard, again and again, his hips battering mine, and I take it. Welcome it.

“Fuck,” he mutters when he lands in a heap upon me, his head turned toward mine, his mouth at my cheek. “I came too fast.” His lips tickle my skin when he speaks.

“No.” I run my hands up and down his back lightly, enjoying the heavy feel of him on top of me. I didn’t realize I missed this kind of connection with Jordan until I’m actually experiencing it again. “You didn’t.”

“Whatever you say.” I can’t believe he’s arguing with me about this. “But trust me, I’ll make it up to you.”

Okay, that sounds promising. “You will? How?”

“Whatever you want, it’s yours.” He shifts his head closer, his nose pressing against mine. It’s a sweet gesture. One that makes my heart sing in my chest, which is corny but true. That he can be both sweet yet savage is incredibly arousing.

And just like that, I’m aroused all over again.

“Whatever I want?” I repeat, just before I kiss his cheek, my lips lingering on his stubble-covered skin.

“Hell yes.” The contented sigh that escapes him warms me from the inside out. “Know what you want yet?”

“Oh yeah. I do,” I say with an eager nod.

He smiles again. Reaches out and grazes my cheek with his fingertips. “What is it then?”

“I want to give you a blowjob.”

He blinks at me. Bet he wasn’t expecting that request.

“And I want you to come in my mouth.”

His smile turns hungry as his hands seek me out. “Whatever my girl wants.”