Lucky Stars (Ghosts and Reincarnation #5)(85)

She’d barely got her arms free, she definitely didn’t get a chance to focus on him but he was right there, she felt his hands at her bottom and she was going up.

She dropped her dress, wrapped her arms around his neck, her legs around his h*ps and she was turned, moved and then falling backward to the bed.

It started wild and out-of-control and neither Belle nor Jack did anything to stop it.

He had her out of her underwear and him out of his clothes before she could whisper, “oh” (which she did).

Then she pushed him to his back, her mouth on him, lips brushing, tongue tasting, her body igniting as she worked her way down his broad chest, over his planes and angles of his belly and lower, her hand moving to wrap around his hardness, her thumb lightly rolling over the tip.

That was all she got.

He flipped her to the back and did the same thing down her chest and rounded belly, until his mouth was between her legs.

At the feel of him there, she arched her back and neck as he lifted her calves over his shoulders.

Calvin never did this to her. He hated it. He expected her to put her mouth on him but he didn’t return the favour.

Jack was good at it. So good she was writhing under his mouth, noises escaping her lips, her hands deep in his hair holding him to her and she felt it coming and it was going to be beautiful.

Then his mouth disappeared, Belle gave a soft cry of protest but his body came over her. He didn’t rest his weight on her but rolled them, her on top. Without delay, he jerked her knees to straddling him. He shifted his hand quickly between them and sat up, taking Belle with him, filling her as they went.

Her head dropped back with the delicious feel of him deep inside and her arms wrapped around his shoulders and held on tight.

His hands went to her h*ps and she tipped her head to look at him.

“I thought I remembered,” she whispered, her mouth against his. “How good you felt.”

“Belle,” he murmured, his voice hoarse, a hand sliding into her hair and fisting in it with gentle force.

“I thought I remembered,” she repeated, beginning to glide up. “But I didn’t remember you feeling half this good.”

She didn’t get the chance to slide back down.

She found herself on her back, Jack up on his forearms, his h*ps pounding into hers.

She loved it, every nanosecond of it.

Of which there weren’t many.

It built and exploded with raw, exquisite intensity.

So much, she almost missed his thrusts deepening and his breath catching against her neck before he sighed.

She took his weight for only a moment before he pulled her legs up his sides, hands behind her knees and, keeping them connected, he rolled to his back.

She rested her forehead against his jaw, trying to get her breathing back to normal. Jack stroked her spine as she felt his erratic breaths with the rise and fall of his chest.

Okay, so, she’d just taken a risk, she’d jumped in with both feet and found something hugely rich and rewarding.

Then her mind, never her best friend, took her back to the morning after their first night together, reminding her of what she said.

Then it reminded her how Jack responded. How he’d been stunned and insulted when he realised she actually believed he’d used her as a prize in a competition with his brother.

And she had believed that.

And she’d walked away and not looked back.

Then she’d gotten pregnant and didn’t intend to tell him.

Then she again threw his supposed behaviour with his brother in his face in the bathroom after she’d had All Freaking Day Long Sickness and again in the stables.

She’d done all this when (not including the time he was angry at her when she first came back into his life), he’d never been anything but that Jack of the first night.

Okay, maybe he had been something else but that something was his being much more of the Jack of that first night.

She was the idiot to end all idiots.

And she’d been right when she wasn’t able to non-think that evening on the cliffs.

What she’d done wasn’t rude.

It was unforgiveable.

“Oh my God,” she whispered right before her body froze solid.

Instantly, he stopped stroking her spine and his arms wrapped tight around her.

“Belle,” he called.

“Oh my God,” she repeated, pushing away from him, causing their bodies to disconnect but he held even tighter.

“Belle,” he called again, one arm moving up so he could wrap a hand in her hair.

“Let me go, Jack,” she whispered, her voice sounding ugly with fear.

He tugged gently at her hair but she resisted, keeping her forehead pressed against his jaw and pushing at his chest.

“Belle, damn it, look at me,” he bit out and when she didn’t, he rolled again so he was on top. She took a goodly amount of his weight at her hips, his legs tangled with hers but he twisted his torso away and rested his weight into his forearm in the mattress at her side.

His other hand came to her jaw and he turned her to face him.

When her eyes met his, he looked a mixture of concerned and irritated and asked in a curt voice, “What’s in that head of yours, poppet?”

She studied at him for a moment then two, all she could think was that he was criminally handsome even looking concerned and irritated.