Straight Up Love (The Boys of Jackson Harbor #2)(59)

“Fuck yes.” His eyes are all over me. “So fucking perfect.”

I catch his eyes as I loop my thumbs into the straps at my hips and tug until this last scrap of covering falls to my feet, then I step out of my shoes.

“This is happening.” He shakes his head slowly, eyes scanning every inch of my face—trying to read me or memorize me. Both?

I swallow hard because I can’t believe it either, and I’m scared to admit even to myself just how long I’ve wanted this. “I like the way you look at me.”

“How’d you think I’d look at you?”

I shrug and swallow the words lodged like a fist in my throat. Now’s not the time for insecurities. This is a moment for bold passion and frantic touches, but Jake wants to know, and it feels important. “I’ve always wanted to be more.” I take a step toward him and wave a hand down my body. “More hips, more boobs, more ass.”

“Nah,” he says softly. “You don’t need more of anything.” He lifts a hand to cup my breast and grazes a thumb across my nipple. His greedy eyes are all over me. “This is you, Ava. Do you know how many times I’ve gotten myself off imagining you showing me this body? Imagining you letting me touch it?”

“Really?” My voice cracks on the word—like a shell breaking and releasing my fears to puddle at my feet.

“I’ve pictured you so many times that you’d think I would have gotten it right.” His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. “And yet you’re even more beautiful than I imagined.”

My insecurities fade away, replaced with boldness from the awe in his eyes. “I’ve thought about you too.”

He lifts his head, his eyes locking on mine. “Have you?”

I nod. “Every night this week I’ve touched myself thinking about the things you said to me.” I lick my lips. The admission leaves me exposed, but I like the feeling. This is what it’s like to strip myself bare for Jake. To show him where I’m most vulnerable. “I don’t normally do that so often, but you’ve made me . . . Jake, you put ideas in my head. Made me want things.”

“This week?”

I nod. “And in the shower . . .”

His chest expands on his deep inhale. “And what about before this week?” He grazes my collarbone with his index finger, then traces a line down between my breasts, over my navel, and between my legs, where I’m swollen and needy for him. “Before this week, did you ever touch yourself thinking about me?”

Desire is ungrounded electricity between us, snapping at the air and looking for connection. “Yes.”

“Once? Twice?” He cups my jaw in his hand and rubs my bottom lip with his thumb.

“Too many times to count.” I give a shaky smile. “You’ve starred in my fantasies for years. Even when I didn’t want to admit it to myself, you were there.”

He growls and nods. “I would’ve been. You only had to ask.”

I open my mouth to question this—or maybe to object—but he leads me to the bed, and I don’t care about anything else. “Lie back, beautiful.”

I do as he says, but he’s unbuttoning his shirt, so I only go down to my elbows, wanting the view of his broad shoulders, the display of ink on his skin. He drops his dress shirt to the floor, then yanks his undershirt over his head and throws it aside. The sight of him makes the ache between my legs coil tighter. Bare chest. Tattoos. Hard muscle under soft skin.

“I like that.” He nods to me. “I want you up on your elbows when my mouth is on you.” He strips out of his jeans, and my breath catches at the sight of him. His strong legs. The dark hair that trails under his navel and into his boxer briefs. The thick erection beneath them.

He’s gorgeous. And right now, he’s mine.

“Come here.” I reach out a hand. As he takes it, I hear the muffled trill of his phone from his discarded jeans. “Ignore it.”

He grins. “I don’t have anything nice to say to someone who’d interrupt me right now.” He climbs over me, and I lie back, welcoming the weight of his body between my legs, the press of his erection through the cotton of his briefs.

He kisses me again, and I lift my hips and cry out at the pressure of him against my clit. How can I be so close to coming apart? He’s hardly touched me, but I feel my body skating along a precarious ledge. I press my hips down into the mattress to suppress the instinctive grind.

He mutters a curse against my ear. “Don’t stop.”

I grip his shoulders and curl my nails into his skin. “I’m afraid I’ll . . .” My hips jerk under him, and heat whips down my spine. “Jake . . .”

“Just let yourself feel good.” He circles his hips, rubbing himself against me, and God it’s good. It’s heat and pressure and elation, and I want more and less all at once. He sucks at the tender skin of my neck before returning his mouth to my ear. “Do you have any idea how hot it is to see you this turned on? To have you naked under me and know you’re about to come against my cock?” He sucks my earlobe between his teeth, and I hear my own sharp cry. God, that mouth. “I can’t wait to get inside you.”

His words are my undoing. They cut away the last of my restraint and push me over the line between pleasure and release. I rock against him through it—wild and unashamed, my entire body a collection of tiny explosions.