“Ah, Jack.”
He had to still, the sensation of their fit too intense. Her back and head were protected. He didn’t have to worry about hurting her when he slammed into her, and he would. “Okay?”
“So good.”
He took her mouth, tangled tongues, feeling her in the follicles of his hair and the soles of his feet. She moaned, loud in his ears, ringing in the vast space. He loved that abandon in her. It was a gift. The way she surrendered even as she came at him for her own piece of the action, gripping his face in her hands, using her thighs to ride him.
When he bent his knees and flexed his hips to withdraw, to renter, to do it again and again, bouncing her back into the padding, they were both vocal, incoherently; a conversation like the combat in their bodies: taking, giving, striking, receiving.
“Can you come this way?” He had her shoulders pinned to the wall, his hands under her thighs.
“I want to.”
He groaned. “I know you do. Use your hand.”
She used her eyes first; it was almost the end of him. Swapped heavy lids for a wide clear focus, aimed directly at him. He’d never been so grateful for being shortsighted. No barrier between their gazes, nothing hidden, everything given. How had he lived so long without knowing there was this?
“Jack.” She might’ve said more, her mouth opening, her breath short, but his control was shot. He pushed her hand aside and got a thumb to her clit and sent her shaking and crying into her release, taking his own in tight, hard thrusts and spilling into her heat.
They might have slept on the mat after that, but he knew Barney would be unhappy about this and he didn’t want to actively annoy the man.
A week with Derelie and he still felt that lost, found, patched sensation. It couldn’t be this easy to fall into something this good. If he had to thank an experiment for that, he would. But the questionnaire didn’t give any hints of what you were supposed to do if you got beyond intimacy. That had to be what this was. An overwhelming desire not to be parted from her, to know she was near, to hear her voice and see her smile. To know he could touch her in the most casual way and understand her in the most solemn. To feel in the core of his being that his own happiness was brought to life by hers.
He didn’t know what to do about feeling that way. What to call it except love.
It was a sucker punch, and he’d voluntarily walk into that blow repeatedly.
He’d have liked to have found a more romantic way, a more considered way to declare it, but it happened in the pet food section of the market.
The woman was young, colored pieces in her hair, skintight athletic wear. “Are you Jackson Haley? You’re him, aren’t you?” She had a voice for shouting at kids across a football field. “Oh, I’m such a fan.”
“Thank you.” He said it softly, hoping to encourage her to turn it down a notch; they were attracting attention, an older couple had stopped to watch.
“You have a cat.” He had a tuna-and-rice concoction in his hand. “How precious. I’d have taken you for a dog person. Can I take a selfie with you?” She rummaged in her bag. “No one will believe it. Jackson Haley buying cat food. Me and Jackson Haley.”
“I, ah, really, I’m in a hurry.”
His special fan had her cell phone. There was a time when he’d reacted badly to people pulling unseen items from bags in front of him, but this would be a social media hit inside five minutes and that always made the Courier’s marketing team happy, and since he hadn’t delivered on the love experiment story yet, this was a goodwill gesture.
“Come on. My name is Ginny.” She pushed alongside him, leaned in. “Put your arm around me and say pizza.” She took a shot, checked it. “No good. Try again.” She lifted her cell.
“Hi. Can I take that photo for you?” Sweet rescue. Derelie had a basketful of fruit and vegetables she put down at her feet and a proprietorial look in her eye.
Ginny bristled and threw an arm across Jack to block Derelie. “Whoever you are, you can wait your turn.”
He should’ve stepped away but he was frozen food, looking at Derelie, trying to thaw. “She’s my—” What? More than a colleague, more than a friend. “Derelie is the woman I love.”
Ginny tugged on his arm. “I just want a photo for the laugh. I don’t want to steal you. You’re not that famous or that good looking.”
He let Ginny under hi
s arm again. He smiled for her selfie, but he was looking at the woman he loved the whole time and the amused expression on her face made him antsy.
“She just wanted a photo,” Derelie said, watching Ginny leave.
“That’s what you took from that fiasco.”
“Interesting hair, needs her eyes tested. You are that good looking.”