Stay with Me (Wait for You, #3)(86)

“Fuck,” he growled, burying his head in my neck; kissing and licking and touching him already had my turned-on body revving into high gear. When he got a hand between our bodies, careful of what I was doing, I spread my legs for him. “God.”

His finger moved over the center of my undies and then his fingers were inside. At first contact of his skin against mine, I cried out, and when I said his name, he ground out another “Fuck.”

He moved his hand and then he lifted my hips, dragging my panties down my legs. My hand tightened on him as I really started to get breathless. I opened my eyes and tension coiled tight in the pit of my belly.

What I saw was like a blast to the hormones. My hand wrapped around him, and he was swollen, pink, and hard. But beyond that, my undies were down my thighs, almost to my knees, my legs open and his hand between them.

Then he slid a finger inside me, and my body reacted. My hips punched up and my head kicked back.

“Calla, baby, you’re so tight,” he muttered, and by the heaviness in his voice, I figured this was a good thing. He moved his finger slowly—a lot slower and smoother than what I was doing and then I stopped doing everything, because he picked up pace. “I’m thinking you like this.”

“I . . .” I didn’t know what to say to that, but I knew I wanted more. I wanted him. The finger was great, but I wanted more. I didn’t stop to think about where I was taking this. “I want you.”

“I know.”

My eyes narrowed, and he chuckled as my hand tightened around him. I could feel him pulse against my palm. “I want this,” I told him in a thready whisper. “I want this in me.”

His hips thrust halfway through what I said, and he made that deep sound again that curled my toes. He dropped his forehead to mine, and the next kiss was sweet and soulful, a different kind of kiss. As that kiss shifted into something far more sensual, he added another finger.

“Oh God,” I gasped against his mouth.

“I want nothing more than to be in you. God, I could come just thinking about it.” He moved slowly, dragging out the feel. “But this thing of yours has to come off.”

His words cleared the haze. “My tank top?”

“Yep, baby, it’s got to go.” His tongue trailed along the seam of my lips. “You ready for that?”

Okay. Today was a different day, but it wasn’t that different and some things would never change. My shirt might come off, but the tank top was never, ever coming off.

“No,” I whispered.

“That’s what I thought.” He kissed the tip of my nose. “But you need to understand something, honey, I’m not going to get in you until we’re skin to skin.”

My pulse thundered at his words, but the look I gave him said we’d see about that, and he answered with an amused chuckle and another scorching hot, wet kiss. His hand shifted between my legs, putting his thumb right over the most sensitive part of me. It wasn’t long before my hips were moving against him, following the pace he set, and then setting my own. He gave me what he could with those two fingers sliding in and out, his thumb pressing on the bundle of nerves.

“That’s it.” He lowered his mouth to mine, slanting his head and kissing me deeply as the knot built to a point. “Ride my hand.”

Any other time, I would probably die of embarrassment hearing those words, and maybe later, I’d care, but right now? I did what he said. I rode his hand as I moved mine over him. Then there was only a subtle warning—a deep flutter—and then the knot whipped out, unraveling inside me, and I cried out as I came. He kept up, prolonging the sensation until my legs went weak.

Then he slowly eased his fingers out of me and then circled his hand around mine. I watched him—I watched us—through heavily hooded eyes. There was something wholly intimate about this, something that nestled in my chest and got lodged there. His body moved beautifully, full of masculine grace. Muscles along his hips flexed and rolled as he thrust against my hand.

His mouth was on mine when he came, and that had to be the most awesome thing out of all of this. Feeling the tremors in his body, the grunt of release that was caught on my tongue, and the way his hips slowed. But the most amazing part was the minutes immediately following.

Jax stayed with me for a few moments, half his weight on me, and the kisses went back to something sweet, a tenderness that meant more, and further lodged that feeling in my chest. When he did get up, he strutted into the bathroom in his naked glory and returned quickly with a damp washcloth. He cleaned up what he left behind and then he slid my undies back up my hips, but he wasn’t done there.

Wrapping his hands around my wrists, he forced me up into a sitting position, and it was too late when I realized that this exposed my back and everything he could see that the tank didn’t cover.

Panic exploded in my gut and I started to throw myself under the covers, but Jax was quick and the f*cker was clever. He slid in behind me, sitting up against the headboard, and then he wrapped his arms around my waist. He tugged me between his spread legs and against his chest—my back completely flush with his chest.

I knew he could feel the rougher scars on the back of my shoulder blades, because the tank top was one of those damn razorbacks. And I also knew he’d seen them before he pulled me against him. Maybe not a good long look, but he had to have seen them.