Page 18 of Hooked on Love

I’ve been kissed before. I’ve had boyfriends. But this…

This is different.

This is Jake tasting like lime and salt, his stubble rough against my skin, his breath mingling with mine as he tilts his head and deepens the kiss. My hands rest against his chest, his heart hammering under my palms, and I realize he’s just as affected as I am.

He pulls back slightly, just enough to look at me. His eyes are dark, pupils blown wide, and there’s a question in them.

“Peyton,” he breathes, the rough pad of his thumb stroking my cheekbone.

“Don’t stop,” I breathe, near panting at the very idea of him wanting me.

His mouth curves into something between a grin and a groan, and then he’s kissing me again. Harder. Hungrier. His tongue sweeps against mine and I whimper into his mouth. His hands slide down my sides, grip my hips, and suddenly I’m pulled forward. He guides me onto his lap, and I go willingly, straddling him on the couch. The position puts us at eye level and the way he’s looking at me…like I’m something precious.

I kiss him, taking my time. Learning the shape of his mouth, the taste of him, the way he makes this low sound in his throat when I gently bite his lower lip. His hands roam down to my thighs, groping, exploring, like he can’t decide where he wants to touch me most.

I find the hem of his shirt and tug upward. He breaks the kiss just long enough for me to pull it over his head and toss it aside. Then his bare chest is beneath me, all golden skin and hard muscle and scattered nautical tattoos over his biceps and chest.

“You’re staring,” he murmurs, but he sounds pleased.

“You’re…perfect.” The words slip out before I can stop them, and his eyes darken further.

“Peyton,” he groans, guiding me down into a kiss. His hands slide under my blouse, fingers splaying across my lower back. The touch of his skin makes me gasp and grind down onto him, and I feel exactly how much he wants this. How much he wants me.

Heat pools low in my belly.

“Jake,” I breathe against his mouth.

His hands tighten on my waist mid-grind and he groans before shifting his mouth to my neck, kissing, sucking, definitely leaving marks I’ll have to cover tomorrow. But I don’t care. His hands are fire over ice, melting me against him as they slide higher under my blouse. I arch into his touch, desperate for more.

It’s been too long.

His thick fingers graze the edge of my bra and I hum my approval. He doesn’t waste time. One hand cups my breast through the thin fabric, thumb brushing over my nipple, and a breathy moan escapes me. The sensation shoots straight through me, I press harder against him, grinding down in a way that has him cursing under his breath.

His control seems to snap. Both hands come up to work the buttons of my blouse, fumbling slightly, and I help him, our fingers tangling. Finally, it’s open, and he pushes it off my shoulders. I’m left in my black pencil skirt and a simple white bra, nothing fancy, but the way he’s staring at me…

His strong, sure grip hikes my skirt over my hips, bunching at my waist. My white cotton panties exposed. I blush at the visible damp seam of my slit showing through the thin material. His eyes drag up to meet mine, dark and hungry. He groans low and rough, “Fuckin’ hell.”

His thumb traces the damp fabric slowly, and I shiver. “More,” I whisper, leaning into his touch without hesitation.

A growl escapes him before he tugs my panties to the side, the cool air hitting my heated core. His fingers trail my wet entrance, toying with my slit and sliding his fingers over my clit, rubbing slow, slick circles. I moan softly, eyes drifting closed.

His voice is rough velvet at my ear. “Look at me.”

My eyes flutter open to meet his. His gaze holds mine as his fingers move, slow and firm and devastating. My breath stutters.

“There she is,” he croons.

My hips rock forward instinctively, chasing the pressure, and he lets me. His free hand grips my hip, guiding the rhythm and pace I’ve set for myself. I move against him, and the friction, the eye contact, the unbearable tenderness of the way he’s watching me…

“That’s it,” he murmurs, pushing one, long thick finger inside me. My hips flex, bucking against the intrusion. Then he adds another and I moan at the stretch. “Good girl.”

His words detonate somewhere low in my belly and my breath catches. “Jake.” His name comes out wrecked, barely a whisper as my hips move quicker, the pressure building.

“I know, baby.” His lips brush my temple, my cheekbone, the corner of my jaw. “Stay with me. Show me how you come. I want to see how beautiful you break for me.”

I ride his hand, my hands gripping his bare shoulders for purchase, his skin warm and solid under my palms. The tension is coiling tighter, pulling me under, and I let it. For the first time in so long, I stop thinking and I just feel.

His fingers curl slightly, hitting deep along my inner walls, and I cry out, muffled against the side of his neck. “Good girl,” he says again, softer this time. “Let go.”