23

Ain’t a Gazebo

“Ain’t a gazebo!” Jack groused at the TV screen. “Any asshole with eyes can see it’s a pergola. Idiot Realtor.”

“So you know a lot of assholes with eyes, then?” Mari looked gently amused.

“You know what I mean.” He subsided, but a moment later the offending structure came on-screen again and he couldn’t help muttering, “Pergola.”

Mari burst out laughing, and then leaned in and kissed him. Her lips were still shaped by her smile, and the kiss tasted sunny and bright, like her laughter melting into him.

His dick thickened in his pants. He focused on holding her, trying to ignore it. He never used to be so sensitive in that area, but everything about Mari went straight to his head. And not the thinking one, either.

Her scent: so smooth and rich, like a crisp fall breeze with a hint of vanilla lifting it.

Her hair: so shiny and soft, usually swept back and leaving her face open in all its delicate beauty.

The curve of her waist: how his arm always seemed to slip into the nook of it when they were lying together.

She could never kiss him for long without it getting more urgent, little gasps huffing out between kisses. Even now, her body squeezed closer to him as if it had goals of its own while Mari was distracted by his mouth.

Jack had no idea what always got her worked up so quickly, but it didn’t do a whole lot to help the situation in his pants. When her hips began to curl against him, he pulled back just enough to speak, their foreheads still tilted together.

“The other day, when you . . . I liked it. Sexy as hell. Wanted to try . . .” His fingers trailed along the waistband of her jeans, his heart pounding almost painfully at how soft the skin was right there. At how his hand was already beneath the hem of her shirt and she didn’t seem to care for him to move it. “If you think you might want.”

It’d probably have been easier to just try to touch her instead of thinking of how to describe what he’d like to do and forcing himself to say it out loud. Except if she didn’t want to, he didn’t want her to have to push him away.

“Yes. I’m not exactly sure what you’re asking, but yes.” Mari smiled, cupping his cheek as she stole another kiss.

He huffed out a self-conscious chuckle, his head whirling at her answer. He thumbed the button of her jeans, not undoing it but just tugging at it a little. “You know. If I could get you to . . .”

“Yes.” The word came out breathier this time. She started kissing him again, urgently enough that he had trouble keeping his thoughts straight, much less managing the button and zipper on her jeans without looking.

He tilted her, laying her down on the bed next to him and smoothing his thumb down the side of her face. His other hand flattened on her belly, his fingertips just brushing the elastic of her panties. His cock snapped fully erect in a surge that left him light-headed, and he had to brace an elbow against the mattress. She made a tiny throaty sound, and he realized she was waiting on him, that she wanted more, crazy a thought as that was.

He edged his hand into her panties, little by little. He wasn’t breathing. There wasn’t a lot of room in there for him—his hand was too big. The zipper of her jeans scratched at the back of his wrist as she arched up against him. She was so wet. Slippery and warm and not lying still at all. Probably it’d been a long time since she’d gotten much relief in this department, except for the other night. The thought gave him new purpose.

He might be no more good in the sack than he was on a dance floor, but if she was deprived enough to get there without even taking her pants off, he figured he might be able to muddle through.

At first, he didn’t try anything fancy, just cupped his palm gently between her legs and kissed her mouth for all he was worth. That got her quaking and straining against the heel of his hand, which did terrible things to his oversensitive dick.

His fingers kept dipping into where she was slick and warm, and so he let them stroke her just a little bit. When her breathing started coming in fits and starts, he relinquished her lips and lay his head on her chest. Cuddled in just under her chin, his cheek against her breastbone, he could hear her heartbeat and he followed it like he was hot on a trail, shifting his hand here or there to get it to speed while she clutched his shoulders.

When she started pushing up against his hand, he followed a hunch and held firm for her to pleasure herself, petting her down below. Before he could believe it was happening, her whole body clenched taut and her fingernails dug into him through his shirt. Just like last time, she stopped breathing for so long he started to worry before she went slack against the bed.

Damn, that had almost been . . . easy.

Something in his chest lifted, and he fought against the unfamiliar twist of hope. He took his hand away, carefully untangling the band of her underwear and smoothing it flat again, zipping up her jeans even though he couldn’t quite manage the button while he was on his side, his other arm out of commission.

Maybe that was something he could do for her again. Say, every single night for the rest of his life.

“You good?” he murmured, laying a small kiss on her neck. Even all the way up here, her skin was flushed and warm to the touch.

“What are you buttoning my pants for?” She rolled his way, and kissed his lips searingly. “We don’t have to stop. Not if you don’t want to.”

Hold on, she’d thought they were going to—his train of thought crumbled apart when her hand landed on his thigh and climbed up to the thick ridge of his erection. When she rubbed her palm over him, he felt the coarse texture of the denim clear through his boxers, and it was the best damn thing in the world. He’d been studiously ignoring his own reactions but that . . . felt too good to pass up.

Vaguely, he was aware that she’d asked him a question. Or said something, or . . . something. She stroked him in long, firm strokes, his cock flexing eagerly against her hand. His jeans were so fucking tight at this point that he might need to cut them off. Then, miraculously, they loosened and his erection leapt to fill the gap, throbbing from the pressure it’d been under for so long now. Heat was the next thing he registered. Heat and smooth skin as her bare hand stroked over his bare—

Jack bolted upright, nailing his head on the headboard.

“Whoa, are you all right? Did I hurt you?”

“No, nah.” He shoved an agitated hand at his hair, but it was mostly gone, the shorter style just a soft brush against his palm. “Felt . . . Fuck,” he said, because she was still wide-eyed and startled. “Good. Real good.”

She smiled at that, scooting back up and curling against him as her hand descended back into his boxers. His jeans were flapping open where she’d unzipped them and halfway down his ass thanks to his idiot jumping move. He gulped, his head thick with arousal. It was hard to think, and then she grasped his erection. Except her fingers were too small and they couldn’t fit all the way around him, and she made a quiet, very female sound.

“Well. You’re ah—well. Goodness.”

At that, his erection flagged. “Yeah, uh, sorry.” He scooted back, her hand coming out of his boxers. “Know it’s big. But it’s all right. You ain’t gotta—it’s okay.”

Mari blinked. “Did you just apologize . . . for your dick being too big?”

He attempted a smile, because he knew she was trying to joke, but it slumped miserably off his face. Girls pretended sometimes that it didn’t hurt, but he could tell. It was all over the way they shifted or squirmed or got all tense but while making lots of noise so he’d think they were done so he would finish. He couldn’t stand the thought of Mari pretending he wasn’t hurting her when he was. He jerked his jeans up, buttoning them fast so he didn’t have to see the humiliating flash of his underwear.

“I like just—” He gestured toward the still-open button on her pants. “I like messing around with you. We can just do that. None of that other stuff. That’d be fine with me.”

She sat up next to him. “Are you saying, never . . . ?” She looked puzzled. “Jack, you’re big, yeah, but you’re not . . . I don’t think it’s too big.” She laid a hand on his leg. All gentle, not like she was trying to get his pants open again. “We can take it slow the first couple of times.” She ducked her head, trying to catch his eyes. “I trust you not to hurt me.”

He looked away, at the TV that was still playing. “Yeah, uh.”

Didn’t she get it? He was trying not to hurt her. They could mess around and he could take care of his business after she left, like he had been. But she was looking at him like she wanted to talk him out of it. And he wanted to let her, but on the other hand . . . he hated it. The way he could tell when they were ready for him to be done and just get off.

He cleared his throat, staring down at the ugly pattern of the bedspread. “Might not be so easy as all that. Wanted you to know so if . . . Don’t want you to think it’s you. It ain’t. It’s me.”

He’d always been messed up about that stuff, even as a kid. In a flash, he remembered the slash of pain across his back from his dad’s belt, the wet streaks on his thigh from what he’d been doing when his father walked into his room. Don’t you ever let anybody see you diddling your dick again. Jesus, boy, what’s wrong with you?

“Jack, it’s okay.” Her voice was quiet, soothing. “We don’t have to do anything like that if you’re not comfortable. Did you like it when I was just touching you?”

He frowned at her. Couldn’t she tell? “Yeah, of course. Feels great. Just, the rest of all that usually doesn’t turn out so good, so you don’t gotta try. That’s all.”

“What about . . .” She bit her lip, color flushing over her cheekbones. “I never used to like it, but lately I keep thinking about . . .” She huffed out a breath, laughing at herself. “Listen to me, I’m shy as a teenager.” She leaned forward and whispered something in his ear.

Jack nearly went cross-eyed. Heat rushed into his pants so quickly that his cock got all twisted up, and he had to jerk a quick adjustment to his britches. “Yeah, uh, course I’d like that, but it’s not something you have to . . . but I guess if you wanted to . . .” He stared at her, curious, but the blush on her cheeks was pretty and excited, and she did not at all look like a woman who was doing him a favor. “You can do whatever you want,” he declared.

She wet her lips. “Really?”

“You don’t . . .” He could not believe they were having this conversation. “I mean, you wouldn’t ever maybe want . . . have you ever thought about doing that . . . in a car?”

Her eyes widened. “How did you know that?”

Jack shoved a hand over his face. He was starting to sweat. Jesus Christ, the woman was into blow jobs in cars and she wanted him and he was telling her no. Hell, maybe his whole too-slow problem wouldn’t be a problem with her. Seemed like he spent half of the time he was with her trying to hold back from shooting off with his pants still zipped.

But he still didn’t want to hurt her. It had probably been a long time for her, and he knew Mari. Even if it hurt, she’d be so worried about his feelings she might pretend that it didn’t, and he didn’t like that one tiny bit. Then again, if she was already having fantasies about blow jobs, that kinda thing would be safe enough. Except . . .

He shook his head. “No. Nah. Better not try the car thing. Ain’t no place private enough, and no way am I risking somebody seeing us.”

She smiled wickedly. “Jack. I’m a biologist. I know lots of places people never go. You just give me a couple of days to pick out a spot.”