Besides, at the moment I’m more interested in being in Jackson’s arms than being on my island. And it is Sunday, after all. A girl has a right to enjoy her weekend.
I am in Jackson’s cabin, wrapped up tight in his bathrobe as all those thoughts run through my head. And, frankly, the only thing I want right now is Jackson.
As if my wish conjured him, he appears in the doorway. His grin is a little crooked and his eyes a little mischievous, and all I can think is how happy I am that we have reached the island and the boat is tied off and we don’t have to be concerned about the autopilot putting us in the path of a cruise liner.
In other words, time for the evening’s fun.
“I like seeing you in my robe.” He leans against the doorjamb. “I like it a lot.”
“You might like it even better when I’m out of the robe.”
“I might at that.” The room is small, so he is at my side in only three long strides. “Why don’t you take it off and get under the covers?”
“I could do that,” I agree.
I start to undo the tie, when his words still my hands: “We should get some sleep.”
I cinch the robe tight again and look up at him. “Sleep?”
He brushes my lips with a butterfly soft kiss. “After everything you told me—”
I grab his hand. “After everything I told you, I need this. Please, Jackson, don’t make me sleep with those memories in my head. I want you. I want what you promised me.”
He studies me for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then he points to the bed. “Take off the robe.”
“Jackson—”
“No.” He holds up a finger in a gesture of silence. “No argument. No objection. Are we clear?”
We are. Very. And I have to fight my smile of victory. Instead, I look up at him, my face bland, as I take the robe off and let it drop to the floor. I don’t move, waiting for him to tell me what to do next.
He says nothing, though. He simply stands there, right beside me, the heat he is emitting so intense I fear it will burn us. His eyes rake over me, and I see the bulge of his erection beneath the denim of his jeans. “Christ, you’re beautiful. I could spend the rest of my life looking at you and still not have my fill.”
He moves closer, then traces my lip with his fingertip before ordering me to suck. I do, and with every tug I feel the heat between my legs grow more and more demanding.
“That’s right, baby.” He uses his free hand to take one of mine, then slides it between my legs. He guides me, so that I am touching myself, my fingers sliding over my slick heat, and that would be erotic enough, but the combination of his hand, mine, the sucking, is all building up inside of me, growing and growing until I am so close that all I want to do is thrust our joint hands inside myself as I come.
But just as I am on the verge of doing exactly that, he tugs his finger free of my mouth, then gently pulls my hand away from my sex. I breathe hard, mourning the loss, but I don’t protest. I know enough to know that would be against the rules.
“On the bed. Spread your legs.”
I do, albeit with more than a little shyness. But I am rewarded with a look of pure passion, and that emboldens me. I bite my lower lip and spread them even wider. And then, with my eyes on his, I reach down and slide my fingers into my sex, then arch up at the unexpected intensity of this touch, all the more powerful now that he is watching.
“Good girl,” he says. “Touch yourself. Stroke yourself. I need a minute, and when I get back, I want you hot and ready for me, so don’t stop. But don’t come. If you do, we’re done for the night, sweetheart.”
Games. But I like them, and I do what he asks, stroking and teasing, and letting the pleasure build. And then, because I am determined to make him just as wild as he is making me, I bring my other hand up and play with my breast, teasing my nipple, and knowing that I cannot get too carried away because Jackson is a man who means what he says—and I am not ready for this night to be over any more than I want it to end without him inside of me.
He said nothing about being quiet, and so I call to him. He is in the small closet area just inside the bedroom, and he is on the floor in front of the open closet door. There is a trunk open in front of him, but I cannot see what is in it. Not until he stands and I see a length of rope and something black and silky. He hesitates, then drops the rope.
I don’t have to ask to understand why. I’d run that first night in the hotel. He’d bound me and blindfolded me, and now Jackson fears that combination is too much.
