His tongue has the dexterity of an artist’s paintbrush. His grip is possessive. And the look on his face undoes me almost as quickly as his mouth.
I come, crying out, “Jason!”
Now I’m sliding. He’s got my ankles and he’s slamming in me, to the root, my calves up against his chest.
Wait…thismight be my favorite position.
***
“Want some breakfast?” I ask, snuggling closer, running my hand up his chest. He catches it and laces our fingers together, over his heart.
“I just had my new favorite thing for breakfast, but thanks,” he quips, licking his lips suggestively.
“Well, I’m hungry,” I tell him. “So, how about–”
My phone dings.
I reach for it from the table beside the bed and say, “Oh! Cat! She says Stan just put a coffee cake on the porch. She sends her congratulations. Wanna have that for breakfast? Great timing!”
I jump up, about to put my robe on, but I’m yanked back to the bed. Jase leans over and kisses me, then says, “Stay here. I’ll get it. You want coffee?”
Breakfast in bed? Sounds good to me.
“Yes!” I nod excitedly, but then call out, “Jason?”
He’s already on the move, so he stops and looks over his shoulder at me.
“I love you,” I say.
“Love you too,” he replies, with feeling.
“This… all of this… better than I dreamed it could be. And I dreamed hard, Jase.”
His dimples pop.
“But…” I start.
He goes alert.
“What you just did to me? It’s making me a little OCD.”
“OCD?”
“I feel sticky.”
I scrunch up my nose.
“You’ll get used to it.”
I wait for him to crack a smile.
But nope… it doesn’t happen.
“Actually, I think I need to wash you off me.”
He frowns. “Do it and you’ll just get marked again.”
I laugh. But he doesn’t. He stares, making sure I know he means what he just said.