Page 24 of Hooked on Love

I reach back and pull my shirt over my head, dropping it on the floor. Her gaze moves over me, cataloging my tattoos—the compass rose, the anchor, the script along my bicep—and the open appreciation on her face makes my jaw tighten and my cock swell.

She shivers under my gaze.

I step forward and reach for the hem of her camisole and tug upward. She sits up obligingly, arms lifting as I pull it over her head and send it the same direction as my shirt. Her bra follows. I hook my fingers into the waistband of her shorts, taking her panties with them, and draw them down her legs slowly, deliberately, watching her.

She’s bare in the low light, all warm skin and soft curves, and I straighten. I stare at her for another long moment, taking my time, letting myself have this—have her. Because no matter what she claims, I don’t truly believe I deserve her, but I’m going to give her everything I have.

A flush creeps up her chest. “Jake.”

“God, Peyton.” The words scrape out of me. “Do you have any idea—” I shake my head. “Just let me look at you, baby.”

She goes still, her breath unsteady, letting me, watching me.

I take one more second, then I plant a knee on the mattress and lower myself over her, bracing on my forearms, and kiss her slow and deep until she’s arching up against me with a soft whimper.

I start working my way down. Her throat, the soft skin below her ear, the curve of her neck, the hollow of her collarbone. I take my time at each one, feel her pulse jump under my lips, hear the way her breathing changes. Her fingers slide into my hair, my name on her full lips.

“Mm.” I drag my mouth lower.

Her breasts are perfect—full and soft, her nipples tightening the moment I breathe over them. I cup one in my hand, feel her sharp inhale as my thumb brushes across the peak. I take her into my mouth and her back arches clean off the mattress.

Every sound she makes when I suck and tease and drag my tongue across her pert nipple is better than the last. By the time I move to the other side she’s got both hands fisted in my hair and she’s saying my name like a litany, broken and breathless.

Jake. Jake. Jake.

I could live on the sound of it.

“Please,” she finally gasps. “Please, I need—”

“I know what you need.” I press a kiss to the underside of her breast. “I’ll get there.”

“Jake.”

“Patience, sweetheart.”

She makes a sound that’s half moan, half laugh, and I grin against her sternum.

I kiss down her stomach. Trace the curve of her hip with my mouth. Feel her thighs tremble on either side of me as I work my way lower, taking my time, pressing my lips to the inside of one knee, then dragging slowly upward. She’s squirming now, her hips lifting off the mattress, chasing the contact I’m not giving her yet.

I breathe against her inner thigh and she whimpers.

Fuck.

She’s slick and needy, and the sound she makes when I finally put my mouth on her hot pussy goes straight through me like a current. I grip her thighs and hold her open. I take my time learning what makes her gasp, what makes her hips buck, what makes her say my name in that desperate way that makes precum drip from the swollen head of my cock currently straining in my jeans.

I find the combination she craves—the one she needs. Long, slow strokes of my tongue until she’s shaking. I lick tight circles around her clit until she’s gripping the sheets and panting. I slide two fingers inside her and feel her clench immediately. She cries out as I curl them forward while my mouth keeps working her slick clit. She shatters within minutes, her thighs locking around my head, her whole-body shuddering.

I work her through every wave. I don’t stop until her trembling subsides and she goes limp against the mattress.

Then I start again.

“Jake,” she breathes, squirming in a weak attempt to pull away. “I can’t—”

“You can.” I press a kiss to her inner thigh, nipping at the soft flesh. “Give me one more.”

She drops her head back and moans.

Her second orgasm is slower to build, but deeper when it hits. I feel it in the way she tightens around my fingers, hear it in the way my name comes out of her this time—low and trembling. Her hand fists my hair, holding on, and I stay with her until she’s completely, utterly spent.