He bit down gently, and I jerked, a sound escaping me that I didn’t recognize.
“There,” he murmured against my skin. “Found it.”
I laughed breathlessly. “You’re keeping notes now?”
“Always.” His hands moved to my waistband. “Can I?”
“Yes. God, yes.”
He worked the button free, then the zipper. I lifted my hips to help, and he pushed my jeans down. He dragged my boxers, too, not wasting any time. I kicked them off along with my socks and settled back onto his lap, skin to fabric now, feeling everything.
“Your turn,” I said, reaching for his shirt.
He lifted his arms, and I pulled it off. Underneath, he wore a thin undershirt that clung to him. I traced the lines of his collarbones, his shoulders, the slight dip at the base of his throat.
“You’re beautiful,” I said.
He flushed. “You keep saying that.”
“Because it’s true.” I kissed him again, slower this time, tasting him. Learning him. His hands roamed over my back, my sides, and my chest. Every touch sent sparks through me.
I ground down against him, and we both groaned. The friction was perfect and not nearly enough.
“Bed,” he gasped. “Properly.”
We shifted. I rolled off him, and he stood long enough to strip off his pants. Then we were tangled together, skin against skin, heat and pressure and the slide of bodies moving without any rhythm.
His leg hooked over my hip. My hand slid down his side, over his thigh, pulling him closer. Our mouths met again and again, breaking only to breathe.
“Missed this,” I said against his lips. “Missed you.”
“It’s been one day.”
“Still.”
He smiled into the kiss. His hand moved between us, wrapping around us both, and my vision went white at the edges.
“Bennet…”
He didn’t say anything.
We moved together. Urgent. Desperate. Perfect.
His grip tightened as I thrust myself through his fist, rubbing hard against his cock. I could feel the slickness between us, precum dripping and mixing, covering his fingers as I worked hard to stay cool and make it last.
His breath hitched against my neck. I felt the shiver run through him, felt the way his fingers dug into my shoulders like he needed the anchor.
I kissed down his jaw, along his throat, and the hollow at the base where his pulse hammered. His skin was hot under my mouth, faintly salty. He arched into the touch, spine curving, head pressing back into the pillow.
My hand traced the line of his ribs, each one distinct under my palm. His stomach tensed when I brushed lower, muscles jumping. I watched his face, the way his eyes squeezed shut, the way his mouth fell open on a silent gasp.
His leg tightened around my hip, heel digging into the back of my thigh. The pressure pulled me closer, aligned us better. We both groaned at the contact.
“Jason,” he breathed. Nothing else. Just my name, strained and needy.
I shifted my weight, bracing one arm beside his head. His free hand came up to cup my face, thumb brushing my cheekbone. The tenderness of it made my chest tight.
Then his other hand tightened around us, both of us hard and pulsing like crazy. I shuddered, hips jerking forward. He made a sound, half laugh, half moan.