Jake: I’ll have the desk give you a key.
Naya: Are you asking me to keep my fingers at bay?
Jake: Not at all. Not even a little. Just asking you to bring them closer to me. I just need to get the groom home safe.
Jake: I’d love to see you tonight. Will you consider it while I corral him?
Naya: Ok. Think of railroad tycoons and baseball in the interim.
Jake: There is a 0% chance of me thinking of anything besides you and your ten talented fingers.
Nineteen
I’d been lying on the luxurious hotel bed for ten minutes, dressed only in the pink groomsman T-shirt I’d found tossed over a chair. The fabric smelled faintly of Jake’s cologne and his natural scent. A quick rap on the door and the beep of the lock drew my attention forward.
I’d envisioned doing a sexy slink to the end of the bed on my hands and knees and saying something breathy and alluring when he opened the door. What I actually did fell a little short of that, but Jake didn’t seem to notice. “Hi,” I said with a small, awkward wave. Smooth.
The surprise on his face made me wonder if he hadn’t expected me to take him up on his offer. “You’re in my bed . . . in my shirt.”
I lifted my chin and shifted, as if to climb off the mattress. “Maybe I have the wrong room. I was supposed to meet an old-timey railroad tycoon.”
He stood at the foot of the bed, mouth slightly agape, before crawling toward me. He looked up, heat in his eyes, and his fingers grazed reverently over my hip. “I’d have a joke for you, but thinking about your fingers has consumed all my brain power.”
My skin tingled under his touch, and my core was increasingly wet with every caress. My anxiety began to calm, which was happening more and more often with his hands on my body.
“I should leave if I’m distracting you. I don’t want to be responsible for a dearth of bad jokes.”
“No, look at you . . . My God. Stay.”
I laughed. “Well, I guess I could give you a minute or two.”
“I don’t know if I should be more offended that you believe I’d only last that long”—he returned to my neck and then back to my lips—“or that you’d be okay with leaving.”
I slid my fingertips over the warm, taut skin along his abs and beneath the waistband of his jeans. The tension in the room heightened, our banter forgotten. His zipper slid down smoothly, and I reached inside to stroke his rigid length. He inhaled with a hiss, his mouth at my throat and his hands trailing down my spine.
“I’m not leaving,” I whispered. I’d never taken control like this, and his sharp intake of breath pushed me forward. “Just in case you were wondering.”
“Thank God,” he murmured into my neck, before I slid down his body to take him in my mouth.
Jake’s excitement, his obvious pleasure, sent a bolt of arousal through me. The way his groans rumbled from him in a frantic burst drove me so wild, I didn’t want to stop. This wasn’t the first time I’d done this, but it was the first time I’d enjoyed it. When I finished, his heavy breathing filled the room, and I slowly pulled away, embarrassed by how much that had turned me on. Something in the combination of his reaction and knowing that I was giving him that feeling, that I had the power to drive him to a place where he lost control, filled me with an odd burst of confidence. The sensible woman in my head reminded me I had given a blow job and not discovered the secret to world peace, but I ignored her. This felt great.
Jake opened his arms and pulled me to lay next to him, his hooded gaze scanning my face, sweeping his long fingers along my neck. “You’re amazing.”
“I might have read a few how-to articles in magazines,” I joked.
He chuckled. “That was amazing, yes, but more than that . . . tonight . . . you being here . . . greeting me like this . . . all of it.”
“Yeah?” I moved to my side as well, facing him, our bodies aligned, chests pressed together.
“You’re so . . . unexpected.” His index finger traced the top of my ear and down my jawline, and his expression was intense, like he was fighting with himself.
I glanced away from his stare, examining the stubble on his chin. His eyes bored into me, and I couldn’t always handle it.
“It’s not something I do. I need you to know that,” he added.
I smiled, one eyebrow cocked. “You seemed to enjoy your first time.”
He chuckled, his intense stare relenting. “No, there’ve been lots of women for that . . . Gladys, Mabel, Gertrude, Estelle . . .” He wrapped his arm around me, splaying his fingers across my back as I feigned offense.