“Pick your panties up.”
She stood still, only her eyes shifting with a bit of confusion.
“Do it.”
Keeping her eyes on him, waiting for further explanation, she bent down and picked them up.
He stepped closer, so close she could smell his minty breath and intoxicating body wash. Ryn was certain she smelled like lemon furniture polish, but she didn’t care in that moment.
“Wad them up in your fist.”
“Uh—”
“Just do it.” He ducked down and sucked her earlobe, biting it as if to accentuate his demand.
It had to be a fetish he hadn’t revealed to her, she just knew it. Jackson would make her stuff her panties in her mouth to muffle her screams while he fucked her. She took a hard swallow and wadded them up, accepting her new life, a sacrifice for his body inside of hers.
The expectant look on his face said he was done talking. She knew what to do and he waited for her to do it.
Slowly … she brought her panties to her face and parted her lips.
He narrowed his eyes. “What are you doing?”
“Um … what you want me to do?”
He grabbed the handle to the refrigerator and jerked it open a few inches, forcing her body flesh to his. “I want you to toss them in the refrigerator, hot pants.”
Ryn’s eyes widened in realization while her skin crimsoned with embarrassment. She tossed them inside the refrigerator, attempting to act like she didn’t just taste her own panties.
Jackson knew otherwise. He palmed her ass and hiked her up his body. She wrapped her legs around his waist as he kissed her.
“You were going to…” he mumbled over her mouth between kisses “…stuff your panties in your mouth for me.” She couldn’t respond. She would never acknowledge any such thing.
“That’s so fucking hot.”
*
Ryn found her sexy and owned it. Jackson Knight was the lucky recipient of it, and nothing compared to a woman hell-bent on making up for missing out on two decades of not feeling loved, not feeling desired, not feeling alive.
He “effed” her in nothing but a black necktie and black glasses. Then he carried her to her new bed and made love to her.
“Tell me you’re staying.”
He chuckled into the pillow, his arms stretched over his head. Ryn’s body cloaked his back, her cheek resting on his shoulder as she traced his inked skin. Naked Ryn touching him—he never wanted to leave her bed.
“I think we’ve been over this.”
“I know, but I asked you on the verge of an orgasm and you answered with half my breast in your mouth. Maybe we should go over it again now that we’re sexually sober.”
“You’re naked, on my back, and tracing my ass with your fingernails. I’m not sure this qualifies as ‘sexually sober.’”
“Did you just wake up one day and think, ‘Hmm … I’m going to get a dragon tattooed on my ass today.’?”
“No. It was more of a premonition. I knew someday it would tempt Ryn Middleton into touching my ass.”
She buried her face in his neck and giggled. “Is that so?”
“Yes.”
Her lips brushed the back of his neck. “Tell me you’re staying,” she whispered.
“Forever.” He rolled over, dragging her on top of him. “Tell me you like your Pinterest house.”
Her hair tickled his face as she kissed the corner of his mouth. “It’s too much. It took my breath away.” Ryn’s soft blue eyes gazed into his. “You take my breath away. You make all my dreams come true … and it has nothing to do with any of this. It’s just … you.”
Jackson threaded his fingers into her hair, holding her to his face, nose-to-nose. “I hope our baby has your freckles.”
Her eyes filled with tears. “What if I can’t—”
“Shh …” He kissed her, his hands gliding down the perfect curves of her beautiful body. “Don’t worry about it. I can do this. I used to find all the eggs on Easter before Jessica.”
Ryn laughed through her tears. “Just don’t drown in my pond before you find the eggs.”
Chapter Forty-Two
Brother dearest called to share the news of his reunion with Ryn. He had been away from her for less than a week. Did he really think she was going to have moved on already? In his words it was the season of miracles. However, Jessica had yet to witness one. After ten days of living like roommates with Luke, she felt something inside of her begin to die: hope.
His kindness and patience made it worse. He cooked her meals, took her to dinner, joined her for walks with Jones, and talked about everything and yet nothing. But he didn’t touch her. They hadn’t made any sort of physical contact since the night he held her in the hospital.
Every night he told her goodnight and walked to his bedroom—their bedroom—and shut the door. He told her to “stay as long as you want;” he didn’t say “stay forever.” At first it felt like he was giving her space to grieve, space she needed, but that space seemed to grow with each passing day.