Take My DareBy: J. Kenner
She wasn’t there now, and because Syl had taken the day off from work, he knew that she wasn’t scheduled to come to the house for work until ten.
“No talking,” he said, more firmly. “You do as I say, or you pay the consequences. Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir.” Her voice came out breathy, so full of longing it made him ache.
He let his eyes rake over her naked form. Her lush curves. The smooth skin of her back and hips. His gaze lingered on the tattoo between her shoulder blades. The one she’d told him she’d gotten after the horror with Reed had finally ended. His gut clenched, and he bent to kiss it, his lips on her skin the only physical connection between them.
“Shh. No talking. Not unless I tell you to. Understand?”
She nodded, and his lips curved into a smile as he dropped to his knees, then brushed a kiss over the intricately inked J intertwined with an S. Jackson and Sylvia.
When she’d gotten it, they’d been apart, and she’d believed they’d never get together again. The tattoo was a symbol, a reminder. All of her tats were. A map of pain and triumph. And it felt right to gently kiss each of them now, when the memory of her most tangible pain was pressing so hard against her.
“Turn around,” he ordered as he stood, then gently kissed his way around her body. He felt the way her skin tightened and heard the uneven draw of her breath. It was as if she were a mirror of his own desire, and he was that close to losing it.
His body tightened, demanding release. He was driving them both crazy by these insubstantial touches when they craved intensity. By gentleness when they wanted it rough.
He spun her back around without a word, and her moan of surprise and anticipation told him it was time. Besides, he was so painfully hard now that he couldn’t wait another damn minute. “Bend forward,” he ordered, though he was already pressing his hand on her back to force her to comply.
She did, then held onto the edge of the barrier for balance. “Good girl,” he said, unbuttoning his jeans and lowering his fly to free his cock. He moved his hand from her back to her hip, holding her still as he inched forward so that his erection nestled tight against her ass. He leaned over her, his chest against her back, his other hand cupping her breast. He brushed his lips over her hair, breathing in the scent of her.
They were so close he could hardly tell where he ended and she began. Her skin was hot to the touch, her breathing coming faster and faster.
Christ, he wanted her, and her response to him—so sensual, so open, so full of need and trust—both humbled him and turned him on even more now than it had before they were married. Now, their connection was complete. Now, she was truly his.
Now, he couldn’t wait another moment.
But he had to. Because this morning was about her. What she wanted. What she needed. And so he slid his hand down from her breast to her belly, then lower still until his fingers found her core. Hot and so incredibly wet. And when she squirmed in silent, wanton demand, it took every ounce of restraint not to thrust his fingers inside her.
For that matter, it took all his strength not to hold her tight, take her hard, and fuck her wildly, brutally.
But he still clung to some remnant of sanity, and he paused, his hand cupping her gently as she squirmed against him, so clearly wanting more. He turned his head, so his lips grazed the back of her ear. “Tell me what you want, baby. I want to hear you say it.”
“You,” she said, the passion in her voice both filling and humbling him. “All I’ve ever wanted is you.”
My word floats away, as if the wind is carrying the truth of it to the world. Because it is true. I could live without so many things. But to truly survive, it is Jackson that I need.
I sigh and tighten my hands on the balcony in order to force myself to obey and stay still the way he wants me to. But I’m going to break the rules soon, because I’m almost ready to snap. I’m desperate for his touch, wild with anticipation. And any moment I’m going to break out of the cage of his arms, whirl around, and demand that he fuck me.
He chuckles, the vibrations rolling through me, and I realize he knows exactly what I’m thinking. “Patience,” he murmurs as his hand strokes my sex in slow, rhythmic motions. I shift, spreading my legs apart, silently demanding that he touch me. Fill me.