Jack (The Family Simon Book 2) (19 page)

Those huge eyes looked up at him as Jack set her down and reached for the soap. Once his hands were lathered up he slid them over her shoulders and began to wash her. Slowly, carefully, he kneaded tight muscles, and massaged sore limbs. He touched every inch of her. Her breasts. Her stomach and hips. Her thighs and calves. He cleaned the bottom of her feet and gingerly washed her injured ankle. He got between her toes, the underside of her arch.

Every single inch.

After that, he coaxed her into his arms so that she was resting on him and he carefully washed her hair. By the time he was done, her eyes were open and they regarded him in silence.

He hated the silence. This wasn’t Donovan.

They stood under the hot shower for a long time, it seemed, and then she made a sound, like a sigh, and traced a path down his chest with her fingers. His body, already hyperaware of the woman in his arms, reacted immediately. His cock hardened and when her fingers flew like butterflies over his abdomen he clenched his jaw so tight that it hurt.

Now was not the time to go there. Sex wasn’t what this was about. He wanted to comfort her and let her know that even though their situation was royally fucked up, things would be okay. They had to be okay.

Donovan paused, her touch light on his hip, there where he’d once had a tattoo. Her tattoo.

She stared down at it, her fingers still caressing him and, Jesus, he wasn’t strong enough. His dick was so hard and heavy, and when she moved against him he hissed, whether from pain or pleasure he wasn’t sure. Maybe it was both.

“Donnie,” he said carefully. Things were unsettled between them, and they’d both had an emotional day. He should step back. Gain that perspective that he needed so badly. A stronger man would.

But then she’d always been his kryptonite, hadn’t she? The one weakness he couldn’t get over.

“I almost had mine removed,” she said softly.

When he didn’t respond she looked up at him. “My tattoo. Maverick took me. I’d been crying on his shoulder for weeks, and I was a mess. I guess he got sick of it, because he dragged me to his local tattoo guy. Told me that the only way to get over you was to get rid of everything that reminded me of you.”

She exhaled, her eyes back on the empty patch of skin. “But I couldn’t do it. I sat in that chair, drank a fifth of whisky and waited for the pain to go away. When the guy was about to start the laser treatment, I bolted. I just…ran. This tattoo is a testament to what we had and what I lost.”

She sniffled and his heart turned over at the sadness in her eyes. He felt like an absolute shit, but he had to at least try and make her understand. For him, it was different. He wasn’t strong enough to carry that kind of burden around. He needed a clear line—a finish line—and he’d taken it.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “I had to.”

She lowered her lashes, wet from the water, and blew across his flesh. “I know. I screwed up so badly, Jack. So badly.”

“Hey,” he said, running his hands through her hair. “We don’t have to do this. Not now. It’s been one hell of a day.”

Donovan’s hands moved up to his chest, and she slid her mouth across one of his nipples. It wasn’t fair. The reaction she got out of him with a touch as simple as that.

His fingers were still in her hair and maybe it was the tilt of her chin, or the way she looked so vulnerable that had him tied up in knots. Maybe it was the feel of her in his arms or the sight of his mark on her body. His tattoo. The one she’d kept. Whatever it was, when she made that sound, that little whimper of surrender he was done for.

There was no turning back.

He’d been scared shitless most of the day. With no idea of her whereabouts. With the cops telling him it wasn’t unusual for hikers to go missing for days. With the memory of their fight in his mind.

At one point, he would have gladly wrung her neck for putting him through that, but right now, with her soft and wet and willing, he had other things in mind.

Jack bent and swept a kiss over her mouth, biting her bottom lip before trailing a line down her throat. She arched backward and his cock hardened even more when her thighs pressed into him.

Her pulse ramped up, and he licked her there, his hands sliding over her wet body before his mouth left her throat and then closed over one of her nipples. He gave it a tug, his teeth grazing, teasing.

“Jack,” she gasped.

He smiled wickedly and then he suckled hard, his tongue and mouth firmly in place.

She bucked against him and then whimpered, her hands now in his hair and holding him there. He licked and sucked and kneaded until she swore (now there was his old Donovan), and yanked on his head so hard, he glanced up.

Her mouth was open and she was panting for him, that damn tongue licking the corner of her mouth, there where her mole was.

He reached for her again, hands on either side of her face. Both of them were breathing hard, and he needed to take a moment. Get some of that perspective back.

“Donnie,” he managed to say roughly. “Maybe we shouldn’t—“

“Oh we are,” she said hoarsely. “We so are.”

That was enough for him. His perspective could go to hell.

Jack’s tongue went deep as he claimed her mouth and kissed her with all the fury and passion and anger and need that was inside him. Tongues danced, hands slid over slick skin, touching here and caressing there, and it seemed like hours had passed when they eventually came up for air.

Christ, kissing had to be the most underrated form of pleasure there was. He could spend hours kissing this woman. Every cell in his body was firing all cylinders and Jack was so fucking hard and ready—all from a kiss.

He would have taken it slow. Gone back for some more tongue dancing. He would have loved and kissed every damn inch of her body. But Donovan wasn’t having any of that. There was a fever in her eyes, and he understood her need to connect.

He felt it too.

They could have lost everything today, but instead they’d found their way back to each other. Sure there was a lot of crap to wade through, but Jack wasn’t letting this woman go. Not again. Not even if she wanted it.

Donovan James was his, and he was going to damn well prove it to her.

“There’s no going back,” he said, hands on her hips.

Her bottom lip trembled a bit. “I don’t want to go back.”

Jack growled and lifted her into the air, hot water sluicing over them as he thrust deeply into her slick heat. Bracing her against the wall, he levered her just so, a dark grin on his face when she cried out and wrapped her legs around him.

“This is gonna be fast and hard,” he said hoarsely, his body finding rhythm, his strokes deep.

“Fast and hard is good,” she managed to say before kissing him into silence.

As it turned out fast and hard was more than good. In fact it called for seconds.

And it was nearly an hour and a half later when the two of them collapsed onto Jack’s bed. Both wet and satiated and thoroughly loved.

Jack rolled Donovan into his arms and held her until her breathing was even and he knew that she was asleep. Outside, the storm raged on and Jack had no way of knowing that a new one was brewing, and it would be one that would test him in ways he’d never thought possible.

He eventually drifted off, missing his cellphone and the vibration that signaled a slew of text messages.

A slew of messages that signaled the coming storm.

Donovan must be dreaming. Or maybe she’d perished in the Canadian wilderness because this right here? This was heaven. Waking up beside Jack Simon after a night of lovin’ sure as hell was her idea of bliss.

He was on his back, one arm flung above his head, the other resting on her hip. Her leg was tucked between his, and as she lay on her side gazing up at him, she knew that she could spend hours doing nothing but watching him. It was a total high school moment. An, I’m-fifteen-and-crushing-huge kind of moment, but she didn’t care.

His thick hair was a mess, and it gave him a boyish look. Coupled with his five o’clock shadow, that beautiful, sculpted mouth and eyelashes any woman would kill for, he was sexy as hell. He was sexy and yummy and at the moment, Jack Simon was all hers.

The storm broke sometime in the night, and the sunlight streaming in from the windows bathed them both in warmth, but the rays gave Jack an almost ethereal look.

Ethereal on Jack was damn hot.

Donovan watched him, listened to his breathing and when she laid her head on his chest, she loved the sound of his heart beating slow and steady. Damn, but she missed this. Waking up with Jack.

Tears sprang to her eyes, and she sniffled, swiping at them. No more of that shit. She was done with all of it. Done with feeling sorry for herself. Done with living a life through eyes that were half dead. Done denying that this connection was ever going to go away. There was no chance in hell of that happening.

She winced and eased her body a bit, but it was no use. She was sore in places she hadn’t known existed. How much of it was from her night of sin or how much from her pathetic adventure in the great outdoors was anyone’s guess, but it was a good sore nonetheless.

Sore meant she’d survived that long trek into the bush.

Sore meant that she’d had one hell of a hot night with a man she loved.

And pain? Well, pain just meant that she was living.

“Jack,” she whispered. “Are we going to make it?”

He didn’t answer, of course, because he was still asleep, and she kissed his chest, laying her cheek there again so that she could keep listening to him. He was like a melody she hadn’t written yet. A melody slowly coming to life. She didn’t want to think about all the hard stuff still ahead. Didn’t want to think about Cooper Simon or Derek McKenzie or the many scenarios that could still play out.

All she wanted to think about was how good it was to be here. In this moment with Jack.

Now, maybe Donovan was doing what her mama says she always did. Pulling an O’Hara (as in Scarlett), which basically meant putting off today for a chance at tomorrow. But she didn’t care. Nope. Donovan had other things on her mind.

She moved so that she was on top of a Jack, smiling wickedly at the pleasure that erupted all over her. She slid her leg so that her soft folds were pressed against his hard thigh and slowly she gyrated her hips.

Nice. She pushed into him harder.

Very nice.

She was already wet. So wet. And licking her lips, breaths falling in small pants at the sensation of his hard skin against her moist center, she continued to move.

Her breasts were already swelling, the nipples taut and pebbled, as she slowly kissed his chest and ran her hands up his shoulders. The man was built like a god, and she smiled when she felt his cock start to thicken against her.

Moving onto her knees Donovan stared down at Jack. She bent forward and her breath caught when her sensitive nipples scraped across his chest. She brushed thick hair off of his forehead and kissed him softly on the mouth before heading lower.

The ache between her own legs intensified as she made her way down his abdomen, and she whimpered—like a baby wanting more. His cock wasn’t fully erect yet—she glanced up half expecting to find his dark eyes on her—but he was still asleep.

“Not for long,” she whispered.

Donovan tossed her long tangled hair over her shoulders and slid her hand along the base of his cock. She stroked it, slowly, carefully, before teasing the head with her tongue. When he jerked and swore, she looked up at him with a smile.

“Good morning, Jack.”

He opened his legs giving her all access, and she laughed. “Seems to be,” he replied, a lazy grin on his face.

Donovan didn’t wait. She bent down and took him into her mouth, her tongue sliding underneath the head. She put pressure there, with her fingers and her tongue and loved the way he shifted beneath her. The play of muscles in his thighs. The masculine scent. The velvety softness. The hard and straining cock.

“Jesus Christ, Donnie. Keep that up and this will be over before it begins.”

But his smile was still there and with his sleep heavy eyes, rumpled hair, he was so damn sexy it made her ache. This easy place was the one she remembered. The one that had haunted her. It was as if the last five years had never happened, and they were just themselves.

“Do you like this?” she asked, flicking her tongue along his shaft.

“No.”

“You’re lying.”

“I am.”

“Do you want me to continue?”

“No.”

She laughed, low and throaty. “You’re lying.”

Jack’s eyebrow rose. “I might be.”

Donovan took him back into her mouth and suckled him, first gently and then with firm strokes. Her tongue and her fingers were everywhere. Sucking. Stroking. Licking. She could tell he was close—felt it in her mouth and her hands—and when he yanked on her head she let him slide out of her mouth with a grin.

“You’re a fucking jezebel,” he said hoarsely.

“I know.”

Donovan crawled up his body and with her elbows leaning on either side of his head, claimed his mouth and kissed him with every ounce of passion that she had. She loved everything about this man. Every. Single. Thing.

She always had, and it was damn time she claimed him again. She wanted there to be no doubt at all. She wanted Jack to know that she was all in.

Donovan broke off their kiss and stared down at him. Chest heaving, her head fell back when he coaxed one of her breasts into his mouth.

“Don’t stop,” she managed to say. His hands roved her body, kneading her ass and pulling her closer and closer. He blew across her damp nipple. Tugged on the end then claimed the other one. Every pull and tug shot straight through Donovan.

It was hot and intense, and she was so close to the edge that she knew she would fall.

Donovan slowly eased up onto her knees so that she straddled Jack. Her hands ran down his chest and then up her own thighs until they paused, just below her tattoo.

There was something to be said about the power of sexuality. Right now, with Jack looking at her as if he wanted to eat every single inch of her body, well, that was empowering. That was real.