Best Laid Plans - Robyn Kelly (red white and royal blue hardcover .txt) 📗

hand plays with my breast. I arch my back in response, and give voice to the hunger building within me. “I need you, Jackson. I need you inside me now.”

His hand moves between my legs, and gently rubs between my thighs. “And?”

That word again. Is this a lesson? Don’t think. “No man has ever made me feel this way. I didn’t think any man could.”

“And?”

Damn him! “In the back of my mind, you are going to take me and use me up and then leave, and I’ll never recover but right now I don’t care. I only know I want you to fuck me!”

“Jillian, this is very nice to hear, but all I’m asking for is the magic word.”

Oh, no. Tomorrow I’ll regret everything I said, but right now all I want is to end this agony of waiting. “Please!”

He thrusts deep and hard, and my eyes close at the mixture of pleasure and pain. My breathing is ragged as I try to relax all the muscles inside me.

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” he moans before giving me a quick kiss on the forehead. “That wasn’t a criticism,” he adds.

The fullness starts to recede, as his hips lift off me slightly. I open my eyes to find him staring at me so intently—waiting for me to let him know what I’m feeling. His razor stubble scratches my cheek as he whispers in my ear, “Where are you?”

A good question. “I’m on a cliff,” I moan. “I’m afraid I’ll fall. Afraid I’ll crash and burn.” Afraid I’ll end up like all his other exes from just this one night of passion.

“You can fly, Jillian. You can soar with me. Let go. Let go of all of those thoughts and worries. Trust me. I’ve got you. Make the leap.”

I close my eyes and imagine stepping off the edge of Half Dome as my body relaxes into his erotic assault. He moves slowly and gently, working his way deeper with every thrust. My arms wrap around his neck, and I lift my hips up to match his thrusts. His appreciative growl is loud enough for even Mrs. Johnson to hear, and soon our rhythmic pounding reflects the urgency building inside us.

“Open your eyes. Look at me.” His voice has lost its sensual purr. It’s pinched and tense, and I instantly obey it. “I knew it would be like this, once we got past all of your defenses. I knew there was a sweet little submissive woman inside.”

My tongue wants to debate that observation, so I move my mouth on his and let it express itself with action rather than words. When his tongue lunges for mine, I parry his attack with the skill of a fencing instructor.

He lifts his head up and his eyes are alight with amusement—and excitement. He tsks at me. “What am I going to do with you?”

His mouth moves to a pebbled nipple and flicks it with his tongue. I arch my back, raising my breasts higher, wanting him to play harder with them. His teeth replace his tongue and my breathing becomes shallow.

“Jackson, I’m close.”

“I know. Keep your eyes open. I need to see what it looks like when you come. We’re going to come together, looking in each other’s eyes.”

I respond without thinking. “Yes, sir.”

I can see the effect my words have on him. His eyes open wider, and the look on his face is so possessive that it sets off a sensation deep inside me. His thrusts become more demanding—deeper and faster.

“Come for me. Come for me now.”

Jackson was right—I am flying, and all my senses are in overload. My muscles try to contract, but there’s no room when he’s buried deep inside me. My body shudders into his solid mass of muscle. Staring at him takes all of the concentration I have left. His breath halts and trembles, and his expression becomes so twisted and tight that I wonder whether orgasm is painful to him. He thrusts his hips into me with an erratic rhythm, while gritting his teeth, and then collapses.

I relish the weight of this man covering my body. As we lie there catching our breath, I get an impulse to kiss him. I’m sure if I thought about it, I would second-guess myself so I kiss him on the forehead and whisper in his ear, “Thank you.”

He takes a deep breath and lifts his head over mine. “For what?”

“For all your hard work.” If I had known it was going to be like this, I wouldn’t have fought with him for the last two weeks.

“You’re too sweet and trusting for this to be considered work.”

“Thank you.” I don’t even remember why I was fighting with him.

“It’s not a compliment. Life isn’t kind. It grinds up the sweet and trusting.”

Okay, now I remember why I was fighting with him.

He gets out of the bed and tosses the condom in the wastebasket. “You should be protected.” He grabs his pants off the pile.

Much as I want to respond to his opinion on my ability to take care of myself, the realization that he is leaving so quickly after sex makes my heart sink a little. “I guess this is good-night.” I sound petulant, even to me.

He looks at me curiously. “I’m getting my cell phone. I have to tell Ron to go home.”

He’s spending the night and Ron is the first to know? Part of me is glad and part of me is a little annoyed. I may like his take-charge attitude during sex, but couldn’t he at least include me in on his plans?

He turns to face me, and his smile turns to granite. “All right, Ron. I’ll call you tomorrow morning when I’m ready.” He crosses his arms. “She’s back.”

I ignore his sarcastic tone. “Who?”

He tosses his phone on the dresser. “I’m beginning to recognize your expressions. You’re setting me up for failure.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I say defensively.

“You’ve got your tight lips on. That means I’ve disappointed you. Let me guess. I didn’t ask if I could stay the night.”

“I thought that…briefly.”

“Right. Thought. But what you told me when you were feeling was that you were afraid I was going to use you and then leave. That made it very clear I was invited. Or are you just looking for all the little dating conventions? Is that what your other boyfriends would do? I’m sure they were very sweet and had very nice little apartments, and very nice little cars, and very nice little bosses who told them what to do. That is not me. People don’t tell me what to do. I have worked very hard all my life for that privilege. So don’t think you can change me into someone who wastes time with all that etiquette crap. Decide now. Tell me to go, if you want me to go.”

“You’re right. I’m sorry. I want you to stay.” He tilts his head and raises an eyebrow. I’m starting to recognize his expressions, too. “Please.”

Jackson slides in next to me, and the weight of him feels so good, even my bed moans. I give him a kiss on the lips and then stretch to turn off the lamp on my nightstand. Jackson presses himself against my back, and his arm circles my waist. I lay back down and he moves his mouth to my ear, whispering, “I got a thank you for the sex. Don’t I get one for spending the night?”

“If we do this again, please gag me.”

“If? You’ll find I’m not an easy man to get rid of. Now thank me and we can go to sleep.”

I let go of my mental walls. I snuggle up to him and enjoy the feel of his body. “Thank you.”

“Just one more time, Jillian. And add, sir.”

I hesitate. When I’m not wrapped up in the passion of the moment, it’s harder for me to play the part of a submissive. I know he senses my hesitation. I can feel his grip around my waist tightening. His lips are at my ear again, and I expect a reprimand.

“Please.” That simple word, spoken softly, and sincerely—it unravels all the tension and second-guessing in my mind. The man who doesn’t do etiquette is using the magic word.

“Thank you, sir.”

His lips stroke the back of my neck. Then he settles beside me, and for the first time in a long time, I feel completely at peace.