Shackling her ankles, he pulled her to the end of the bed, her legs on either side of his, her back now on the mattress. Hands to her waist, Bobby pushed her shirt upward and made quick work of removing it. “Fine then,” he said, grabbing one of her boots, and then the other, insurance she wasn’t going anywhere fast. “It’s not makeup sex.”
She sat up and pressed her hands to his waist, tilting her chin to stare up at him with a gleam in her beautiful eyes. “Then it’s settled,” she said, her hand sliding over his crotch, tracing the rock-hard ridge of his bulging erection before unsnapping his pants. “Just sex. Only sex. And I’m in charge.” She tugged his zipper down, then tugged at his waist. “Take them off.”
He didn’t argue. The faster they were naked, the happier he would be. He wanted to be inside her. He wanted to taste her. He wanted to fuck her and then make love to her and do them both again, in no particular order. Fully intending to undress, he instead stood spellbound, watching Jennifer as she undressed. His cock thickened as her bra fell away, her nipples plump and rosy, with memories of licking them while she sat on the kitchen counter.
Next she stood, sliding down her jeans and panties, kicking them aside. And how had he gone seven years without seeing this woman naked? Desire punched him in the stomach with gut-wrenching impact, his gaze raking over soft ivory skin, a narrow waist, sexy hips.
He reached for her. She held up a hand and sidestepped. “Oh, no, Bobby. You want control but you don’t have it.” She was behind him before he knew her intention, her hands on his waist. “Slide these jeans down and let me see if your backside is still as glorious as it once was.”
His cock twitched, as pleased with her comment as he was. “You thought my backside was glorious?” he asked over his shoulder, shoving his pants down, underwear and all.
“You know I did,” she said, and he could hear the smile in her voice.
He grinned. “Yeah,” he admitted, since she’d told him often. “But I wanted to hear you say it.” Because it reminded her of the past, because it drove home how much that past was a part of the sex they were about to have. And because it did his ego good.
Jennifer smacked his ass, not hard, but it got him harder—as if that was even possible, but apparently it was. Electric heat raced down his thighs, tugged at his balls.
“Nice and firm,” she purred. “I approve.”
He would have reached for her, but she seemed to anticipate his intentions and wrapped herself around him. He damn near whimpered. This was Jennifer—soft, silky Jennifer who had melted into him like a second skin, the stiff peaks of her nipples against his back, her hands on his stomach.
He reached down, grabbed her hand and pulled her forward. Molded her to his side and chest, her hip resting against his jutting erection.
She reached down and stroked it. He sucked in a breath and molded her closer. “I liked this, too,” she said, closing her hand around the width. He pulsed in her hand, and offered her a little of her own medicine, smacking her ass, as she had his.
She gasped and pumped his cock. He laced his fingers in her hair and kissed her, drank in that sweet, honey bliss and suckled her tongue. She was on her toes, reaching for more of his mouth, her hand working him over. Oh, yes, she was still a mind-blowing combination of sweet angel who could turn sex goddess behind closed doors.
He closed his hand over hers. “If this is your way of punishing me for the ass slap, sweetheart,” he said, “please, don’t stop.”
“I can think of so many better ways to punish you,” she promised.
“Any of them involve a feather?” he challenged. “And yes—I remember that feather often, and there is no way I would have shared our secrets. What we do together is between us.”
She blinked up at him, the tension suddenly thick between them—sexual, emotional, raw. And then something snapped. The games, all of them, outside the room, and inside, were gone.
“Jennifer,” he said softly, lifting her weight so that her legs wrapped around his waist.
Her hand went to his face, her fingers lacing his jaw, his lips. “I can’t believe you’re really here,” she whispered.
Bobby sucked in a breath, his chest heavy with the impact of her words, at the message behind them. She’d told him more than she realized. This moment, them together again, meant something more to her than sex. And he burned to spill the regret in his heart, to explain why he’d left. To open a door for them to explore what might be in their future. Instinctively though, he knew, if he said the wrong thing, she’d shut down. He’d lose the ground he’d gained.