There was a dark undertone to the last part of that statement. So much shaped the man that Jack was, and I didn’t even understand a fraction of it. Sitting in my driveway, with the firehouse behind us, and him talking, I wanted to know more.
“You said you protected each other. From what?”
“From our lives,” he said, and opened his door to exit the car.
A thick tremor slowly crept up my spine at his words.
What kind of lives did they have? What life did Jack have? What made it so bad that his seemingly only friend in the world was more like a comrade-in-arms?
Jack walked around the car and helped me out, taking my arm as he walked me to the front door. His stance and silence shutting down the minimal conversation we’d barely scraped the surface of.
Pulling the keys from my purse, I unlocked the dead bolt, and we walked in.
He cupped my hips, pulled me into him. “Thank you for staying with me this weekend.”
I brushed his biceps, my palms trailing up, as his went lower to the small of my back. “I feel the sudden urge to throw a fit and demand that you stay,” I whispered, my mouth hovering over his.
He raised a brow. “Demand?”
He squeezed my ass hard, pulling me even closer against him, until I felt his cock nudging my stomach. “You have me walking around like a damn teenager. Hard and ready to take you at any time.”
“Is that such a bad thing?” I said, and swayed my hips, just enough to brush against his swelling length.
“You tease me.”
“Maybe you should do something about that then?” That time I was really challenging him.
He nipped my bottom lip. “I see your brazenness is coming out. Tempting me now? You know what happens when you tempt me.”
I wrapped my arms around him, stood on my tip toes and whispered in his ear. “I liked it. All of it. You take me over. And I love it when you do.”
His hard chest rose and fell on a deep breath, the action causing his sculpted torso to brush along my nipples, which only made the inner heat pooling low in my belly rise.
“I slapped your ass,” he said quietly.
“Yes, and I liked it.”
That seemed to please him, but when I leaned back to look in his eyes, they were conflicted. His hold on me was tight, like letting me go, giving me space, was something he wasn’t willing to do.
“You liked it,” he repeated. Not as a question, but almost a statement of proof he needed for himself that everything worked out. I wanted to ease whatever was weighing on his mind.
“I’ve seen you,” I said, repeating his words from the first time he saw me in his office. “I’ve felt you. There’s no reason to worry anymore about what I can handle.”
“Hot or cold?” he asked. “I need to know if the other night was too much. If the spanking was—”
“Hot. The only time I start to feel cold is when you pull away.”
That seemed to take him off guard. Whatever internal battles he fought, it was clear on his face that they were raging. He was confident, sure of himself, but over the past weekend, I’d caught glimpses of a man beneath that I didn’t understand. But wanted to desperately. Because all signs pointed to him caring about me.
“You’ve been with women,” I started.
“Yes,” he said with a faintest “duh” in his voice.
“I feel like you worry about me a significant amount. Did you worry about the others like this?”
“No, I didn’t worry about them the way I do you.”
“Is something about me different than the others?”