Scared of Beautiful (Scared #1)(46)

“Don’t tease,” I whisper, the words coming out almost like a desperate plea.

Her lips curl into a mischievous smile. “Close your eyes,” she says low.

And I do. If she asked me to run down the street hard and naked as payment for wrapping her lips around my dick, I would gladly comply. Maia’s tongue moves in one sure motion along the underside of my now very hard shaft, and my body lets out an involuntary low moan. Her lips wrap around me as she takes me all in. My fingers grip her hair as she moves steadily back and forth, and my hips find their own rhythm, all of their own volition. I pull back before I lose my shit. I’ve missed Maia too much to end this experience by coming in her mouth. Maia looks at me questioningly until I reach down and kneel in front of her.





Chapter 25




Maia

For this one moment, everything is right with the world. I’ll allow myself this tonight. My body needs Jackson in a way that is primal. He kneels in front of me, and I pull his shirt over his head, taking in his toned chest and allowing my eyes to slip down to the perfect V-shape below. A searing heat rushes through my body, landing squarely between my legs. Jackson takes my arm and plants soft kisses on my wrists and all the way up to my shoulders. A delicious tingle courses through my body as his lips nuzzle my neck, before making their way down to my breasts. Jackson’s tongue expertly licks circles around my nipples as my body arcs, and I moan in pleasure. The amount of control we’re both showing by taking this slow is remarkable. Until he comes up, and our lips meet.

All of a sudden, a mutual fever takes hold of us. Where once was slow and sensual, has now been replaced by fervor and absolutely raw need. Our kisses are deep, suffocating in the best possible way. Jackson’s hands search my body desperately as I fall back on the bed with him following, his hard on stabbing deliciously into my inner thigh. My hips arch towards it, begging for it, needing it. My hand reaches down, grabbing him, long and hard, in an effort to guide him to where I want him to be.

“Maia,” Jackson breathes my name, our lips still touching. His hand slips between the soft flesh of my thighs, rubbing slow, purposeful circles, until he slides a finger in. My body arches in response, but this is a poor substitute for what I have in my hand.

“Now!” I say aggressively. “Don’t tease.” The words leave my mouth as a desperate whimper. Jackson’s eyes meet mine and his lips curl upwards in a coy grin.

“Tell me what you want me to do to you, Maia, say it,” he says softly with a dangerous edge.

“f-uck me, now!” I demand fiercely.

I hear a foil wrapper crinkle before Jackson slides into me slowly, savoring each moment. He lets out an animal groan, as I purse my lips together to mute the strangled cry that threatens to escape. He fills every inch of me, as my legs form a vice grip around his waist and his hips grind slowly and purposefully into me. Our bodies move in unison, perfect synchronicity, our lips and hips both dancing to an intense harmony, building with each thrust and moan to a perfect crescendo.

Jackson grabs my hands and grips them above my head. “f-uck Maia,” he moans as he picks up speed.

I’m past the point of being quiet, and loud moans fly from my mouth with each thrust, each one hurting me with a beautiful pain, each building a wave in my body that’s bigger than the last. Until they crash, sending violent spasms through me, my nails digging into my own palms. Jackson’s eyes meet mine and I see in them complete reckless abandon. He thrusts into me with purpose until his hips grind with finality into mine, and moments later, a loud animalistic roar floods from his mouth. His hands tighten over my wrists as his body goes rigid before falling over mine, the both of us exhausted, completely spent. What have we done? What have I done?

Jackson rolls over and steals a glance in my direction before getting up to dispose of the soggy prophylactic and retrieve his boxer shorts from the floor. My soul craves these moments of absolute recklessness, of acting without thinking or talking myself out of it. But I deny myself them, because inevitably they lead to heartache and pain. Right now though, I swat away those thoughts and settle into my pillow, enjoying the wonderful ache between my legs. Jackson doesn’t come back immediately, and for a horrible moment I feel relief at the fact that he may have left. Except for the fact that his jeans and shirt lay in a crumpled heap on my bedroom floor. I forego my Brown t-shirt and slip Jackson’s white V-neck on before padding softly out to the lounge.

Jackson stares out the window down onto the street below. He looks resplendent, in just his boxers illuminated by the moonlight. I lean against the door frame, contemplating why I am denying myself this. Him. And then the memory of Atlanta, all the complications, the gut wrenching pain I felt when I thought that he had hurt me, it all floods back. Giving me my answer.

“You know, running away in the early morning in your boxers will definitely give you hypothermia. Parts of you may start falling off,” I joke.

Jackson turns around to face me. “I figured you may need the space,” he replies seriously. He always knows what I need and when. “So, are we still friends? What was that?” Jackson asks softly.

“We’re friends Jackson, I told you that’s what I wanted. That was, well, it was great, but it was what it was,” I reply casually.

“Yeah, but what was it?” Jackson walks over and leans against the wall, matching my stance. “Did we f-uck?”