Page 245 of ClickBack

“You could have mentioned it.”

“You were talking.”

I run my fingers over the close hair at the back of his head. He tips his face up, waiting for me to kiss him again, and I take my time doing it. I like how he watches me now. He knows I want him. He is still interested in finding out how much.

When I lift my head, he catches the hem of my shirt.

“Bedroom,” he says.

“You have something in mind?”

“Yeah. And you’re sitting on it.”

I laugh into his next kiss. He lets me feel what I am doing to him, his hands drawing me closer, then gets up with me still against him. I wrap my arms around his neck. He carries me down the hall without breaking the kiss until he needs to see the doorway.

“You could let me walk,” I say.

“Could.”

He lowers me onto the bed and follows me down. I reach beneath his shirt, wanting his skin under my hands, and he pulls it off before I can work it up his back. Then he is kissing me again, one knee on the mattress, his palm moving beneath my blouse.

I help him with the first button. He catches my hand.

“Let me have it.”

I look at him. His face is close enough that I can see the small change in his expression when I leave my hand in his instead of reaching for the next button.

“All right,” I say.

He brings my hand above my head and kisses me until I forget where I planned to put the other one. When I reach for him, he takes that wrist, too, gathering both in one hand against the pillow.

I could pull free. I test his hold instead, and he smiles against my lips.

“You comfortable?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Keep those there.”

The last words go through me more quickly than his fingers have. He sees it. His free hand finishes opening my blouse, then moves beneath the lace of my bra. I arch into him when he draws the cup down and takes my nipple into his mouth.

“Jay.”

He lifts his eyes to mine without letting go. His tongue moves over the sensitive peak, then he draws on it again, harder this time, until my hips lift off the bed.

I turn my face toward the pillow. He kisses his way up to my jaw.

“Stay with me.”

I look at him again. He has my wrists in one hand, my jeans open under the other, and I am more aware of being wanted than of being watched. When his fingers slide inside my underwear, I stop trying to guess what I ought to look like.

His touch finds me ready. He slows down when I move toward him, letting me feel the full pressure of his fingers before he gives me more. I pull against his hold, and he keeps me there, his mouth at my breast again.

“Jarrett. Please.”

He lifts his head. “Tell me.”

“Don’t slow down.”