Part of her was still afraid he’d try to be noble or maybe that he just didn’t want her. Even with the hard evidence of desire in front of her, that fear was still present that he’d said no all those years before and used her age, her brother, his nobility as an excuse so he didn’t have to tell her that her stomach wasn’t flat enough, her face not pretty enough...
Marcel’s face bloomed like a rancid flower in her mind. You could be so lovely if—
No. She wouldn’t do this to herself.
“It’s okay if you changed your mind.” His voice was ragged and low, as if every word cost him something vital to speak.
Betsy realized she’d stopped her caress and was leaning over him with his jeans halfway down his hips. Low enough to reveal only what he wanted to share, but would still hide what he didn’t want her to see.
He thought that was why she’d stopped. Nothing could be further from the truth—it was only her own insecurities, but she was determined to face them.
“Just a bad memory.”
“Then I’ll give you a better one.” He slipped the straps of her bra down her shoulders and made quick work of the thing, discarding it on the floor. Her panties were next and she shivered with anticipation.
When she straightened to step out of the lace, she reached into the nightstand to grab a condom but found her fingers closing over his dog tags. Betsy didn’t want him to know that she still had them, and she snapped the drawer shut as soon as she found the foil packet. They’d been there for a few years, the condoms. She’d stolen them from Caleb’s room in hope that some day, she’d be exactly in this position. Alone with Jack, and he’d want her.
Even though they were here in this room, in this tribute to days gone past, the tags belonged to the man who’d left. She knew they didn’t belong to the man in front of her, and she didn’t want him to doubt that she did.
He took it from her but dropped it on the bed next to him. “Oh no, sweetheart. Not yet. You can’t burn with only kindling.”
The expression on his face was familiar, the look he always wore when he met a challenge he was sure he’d defeat. From silly bets to when he told her he was going to be a SEAL.
To have all of that intensity focused on her made her bite her lip.
“You did say you wanted to burn, didn’t you?”
She nodded, breathless.
“Then come here.”
Betsy leaned into him, suddenly shy. When she’d been pursuing him, it gave her focus and made her forget everything but the goal. Now the goal was in sight and she was afraid to reach for it. She wanted to hide from him and her own desire.
His arms closed around her waist and he dragged his stubbled cheek across her skin. She shivered again and pushed her fingers through his close-cropped hair. He turned his face into her and kissed the soft curve of her stomach.
“I haven’t been able to taste anything, Bets. Not for so long.” His tongue darted out against her flesh. “Except your skin. Your mouth. You taste as good as you smell.” Jack’s hands wandered the curve of her hip, the dip at the base of her spine, the round globes of her bottom. “And I can’t help wondering if you taste as good everywhere.”
His words sent shudders through her body and she clenched, imagining what it would be like to be tasted everywhere.
“Show me,” he said as he leaned back on the bed and dragged her with him. Jack splayed his hands on the backs of her thighs and pulled her forward.
She obliged him, sliding up his body until her knees were positioned on the outside of his shoulders. Betsy felt vulnerable, exposed, and she kept waiting for him to say something about needing to adjust their position because of her weight, but he didn’t.
He didn’t say anything at all.
Jack tightened his grip and anchored her against him, his mouth too busy to form words.
At the first caress, Betsy cried out and fisted the duvet. A myriad of sensations bombarded her. The intimacy of their position, the feel of his tongue curving around her swollen nub, and the sure knowledge that all of her fears had been for naught because he loved this. If there was one thing Betsy understood, it was the palate. No one could use their mouth so diligently if it wasn’t the most decadent of delights.
His touch sent her spiraling higher and higher until she was up in the stratosphere with no way down and begging for more anyway. She fought the sensation he wrought in her until she was mindless with bliss. Something hot and sharp exploded into thunder and lightning through her veins, and that ecstasy shot through her body.
But he wasn’t done. While she shuddered and quaked, the rip of the foil was a distant sound. He maneuvered her easily with his great strength, shifting her down his torso until she was positioned over him, his erection poised at her channel.
Jack pulled her down so that his lips were a breath from hers. “You were sweeter than I ever could’ve imagined. And believe me, Betsy, I imagined it time and time again.” He kissed her hard and gave her no time to process his words, his actions.
All she could do was feel.
Then he was inside her, and even though she was on top of him, he was still very much in charge of their encounter. He set the pace by rolling her hips to meet his thrusts, moving her as he would.
Nothing had ever felt this good. Not getting accepted to the institute, not getting out of this town, and not even her first time with Marcel. Only this.
The aftershocks of her orgasm still ricocheted through her even as he continued.
How he’d ever thought this thing between them could be anything but magic, she’d never know. He hit the core of her with every tilt of his hips.
It was heaven, but it was hell, too, because Betsy knew no one else could ever make her feel this way. Jack wasn’t looking for forever, and he’d as much as told her that he didn’t have it to give.
When his body tensed and he found his culmination, it was bittersweet for Betsy.
She knew the spell that had led them here had been broken.
Betsy buried her face in his shoulder because she didn’t want their idyll to be over. Part of her wondered if she could just hide inside him, inside this moment, and make it last forever.
He stroked her hair, fingers tangling in the mess of curls almost lazily, as if maybe he wanted to stay in the moment, too.
Or maybe because now that it was over, they’d have to come up with something to say, some action to take that was both the same as it had been before they’d done this, but different, too.
The only action she wanted to take was to do this again—be touched by him, utterly consumed by the fire. Burning once just wasn’t enough.
“WHY DID YOU come back here?” he asked as he continued to comb through her hair.
“Who says I left?”
“The pictures on your mirror.”
“Maybe it was a vacation.” Betsy didn’t want to talk about this now. Anything she could say would make him feel guiltier for not reading her letters, and this wasn’t supposed to be about guilt or duty, only passion.
“Betsy, if you’re still pissed I didn’t read your letters and you don’t want to tell me, it’s okay. I get it. But that guy you’re with, the body language between you speaks of more than a vacation. There’s intimacy there.”
“Is this really the best time to be asking about other men?” Betsy giggled.
“Yeah,