“We’re not going to do—this outside, are we?” I open my eyes and glance around, noting the outdoor table and chairs. The chairs look comfortable, but not for both of us. And there are no lounge chairs, which is a bummer because one of those would’ve worked just fine…
“Absolutely fucking not.” He pulls away from me, grabs my hand, and we walk back into the house, both of us practically running down the stairs, our matching harsh breaths echoing. He stops at the doorway that leads into what looks like an office, pressing me against the wall, his hands cupping my cheeks just before he steals another kiss.
Oh, and it’s a good one. Lots of tongue, his hands cradling my face, his thumbs skimming my skin, making me feel…cherished.
Loved.
Ugh, I shouldn’t even think of that word when it comes to me and Jordan. That’s the past. I need to focus on the here and now.
I tilt my head back and he takes the kiss deeper. His hands fall to my hips and then he’s grabbing hold of me, his hands slipping low to cup my bare ass, and the moment he touches me there, a jolt of electricity pulses through my body, making me shudder.
“Fuck,” he groans against my lips, his hands pulling me into position so my legs are wrapped around his waist, my feet digging into his rock-hard backside. I’m snug against his front, bare and rubbing the seam of his jeans. I can feel him. He’s hard beneath the denim and I press closer, a whimper escaping me at the delicious friction.
I could probably come like this. It’s been a while since I’ve had sex. It’s been even longer since I’ve had really good sex.
And it’s been over six years since I’ve had the best sex of my life.
Ridiculous, right? That the best sex ever was with Jordan. But I think it’s because we were so much in love, sex-obsessed teenagers driven by our hormones. We learned together. We experimented. We were comfortable with each other, but not in a boring way. More in the ooh, let’s try that way.
Those times were some of the best I ever had. The memories have faded, but being with him like this, my body reacts instinctively, knowing exactly what to do and how to move in order to arouse him.
Muscle memory is an interesting thing.
Jordan pins me to the wall with his hips, his erection pressing against me, his hands gripping my bare butt. His mouth is on mine, his breath hot, his teeth tugging on my lower lip, his big body caging me in. “You’re trying to get off, aren’t you?” he asks in that growly, sexy voice of his after he ends our kiss.
“What do you mean?” I play stupid on purpose. I want to hear what he has to say. Right before I broke up with him, he started to get into dirty talk. Not too raunchy, but just raunchy enough to get my blood pumping.
“You keep rubbing against my dick.” Oh God, his voice is so rough. I lift my hips and grind on him a little as an example, and he groans. “Yeah, just like that.”
“You feel good,” I admit as I rock against him, sinking my teeth into my lower lip to keep from moaning too loud.
“So do you,” he murmurs, his fingers slipping lower, so tantalizingly close to where I want him the most. “You’re getting my jeans wet.”
Okay, that was the hottest thing ever. Clearly I have no shame, because I grind against him again, harder this time, and I can feel my orgasm hovering close. He knows it too. Probably can tell by the way I went still for that millisecond moment, can hear it in the way I sucked in a harsh breath and held it. This man knows my tells like no other.
I both want to prolong this moment and get it over with right away, because my body is tightly strung, my blood running hot, my skin buzzing. It’s urgent, my need to find release because holy crap, I must have it.
Now.
He kisses me again, his soft, hot lips melting into mine, our tongues dancing, his fingers teasing me from behind while I grind on his denim-covered erection, finding my rhythm, the rhythm I know is going to take me straight to O-Town. My brain helps along with matters—reminding me what he looks like naked—to die for—and that gleam he’d get in his eyes just before he went down on me—seductive yet mischievous. Going down on me was something Jordan liked to do often.
Something I’d like him to do ASAP, if you get what I mean.
He slips his finger inside me and that’s all it takes. Destination O-Town and it turns me into a gasping, whimpering, shuddery mess as I basically hump Jordan like a greedy, inexperienced teenager experiencing her f
irst orgasm from someone else. My face is pressed against his throat and my fingers are curled tight in the hair at his nape as I cling to him, probably stabbing his butt with my stiletto heels. He holds me tight, one large hand smoothing up and down my back as my shivers slowly subside, yet I don’t want to shift away from him. Not yet.
I like how he’s holding me. Soothing me. Oh, and there’s also the fact that I’m a little embarrassed that I just came so hard, so quickly.
“Mandy.” His voice rumbles and I can feel the vibrations. “You all right?”
I nod, but still don’t move.
“I’m going to set you down now, okay?” When I nod again, his arms loosen around me, and I slip my legs from his hips. My feet land on the floor and my knees are still weak so I wobble, but he catches me.
This tiny moment reeks of symbolism. No matter what happens, if we’re together, Jordan is always there to catch me before I fall.
Or maybe I’m just totally reaching.