Her taste in underwear had always been simple. No leopard-print thongs or diamond-studded demi-bras for his Jenna. But her demure choices still managed to turn him on… probably more than any Frederick ’s of Hollywood get-up would have.
Something about Jenna’s own inherent innocence wrapped up in the trappings of an angel, knowing what she was about to do with him-and allow him to do to her-was hotter than all the decked-out Playboy bunnies in Hef’s Playboy Mansion put together.
Slipping his arms around her back, he unhooked the clasp of her bra, letting it fall away to reveal the pristine perfection of her breasts. The small, round globes wouldn’t be winning her any wet T-shirt contests, which was fine and dandy with him, since he didn’t want her entering any to begin with. But he’d always been plenty happy with her chest… and every other inch of her, for that matter.
Pitching the flimsy garment across the room to join the rest of her clothes, he buried his lips against one small raspberry nipple, then rolled it under his tongue. Jenna mewled in pleasure, her body arching beneath him.
Her every movement, every purr and whisper, sparked along his skin and coiled deep in his gut. Chest heaving, he jackknifed into a sitting position and jerked his T-shirt off over his head. He made equally short work of his boots and jeans, pausing only long enough to retrieve a condom packet from his rear pocket, before returning to hover above her.
While he was at it, he relieved her of her panties so that they were both blessedly naked, not a stitch between them-at least from the ankles up-except a thin layer of latex. Even that was more than he would have wished, and they both knew it might already be too late, but damned if he was willing to take the chance.
So he’d stick with the condom, play it safe, and thank his lucky stars that was the only barrier-the only physical barrier, anyway-keeping them apart.
He stroked her soft, supple skin, the textures of her body coming alive beneath his fingertips. Her arms, her throat, the narrow line of her back and curve of her abdomen. All came together to form a perfection of womanhood.
Jenna might not think so; like most women, he knew she had a few hang-ups about her appearance. But there was nothing wrong with his eyesight. He knew sexy when he saw it, and his wife… or ex-wife, rather… happened to be smokin’.
His gaze zeroed in on the neat triangle of dark curls below her navel, and even as she sighed his name, trying to draw him up for another kiss, he was sliding down. Charlotte ’s old-fashioned sofa wasn’t exactly the most comfortable place to make out, but finding a better spot would take too long, and he didn’t want to do anything that pulled his attention from her, not even for a minute.
Hitching her legs over his shoulders, shoes and all, he inhaled the warm, spicy scent of her arousal before nuzzling her folds and beginning a long, slow barrage of licks and kisses that had her wiggling and whimpering beneath him. He drove her up, up, up, taking no prisoners and giving her not even a second of respite before going straight for her hot button and sending her careening over the edge.
She screamed-his name, thank you very much, he thought with no small amount of smug male satisfaction-and her fingers clutched at what little there was of his short hair.
Shifting back up and over her, Gage pushed his aching cock into her warm, welcoming center while the thick, engorged tissue surrounding him still pulsed with her orgasm. That sensation alone nearly did him in.
For a minute, he remained perfectly still, afraid that if he moved, if she moved, if anything in the house or surrounding county moved, he’d lose it and not only embarrass himself, but miss the chance to finish what they’d started in a way that wouldn’t have him banging his head against the wall the rest of the night.
Breath slowing, Jenna’s eyes fluttered open and she met his gaze, lifting her arms to drape them almost negligently about his neck. The legs she wrapped around his hips, however, weren’t nearly as slack. They hugged him tight and drew him in to the hilt.
“That was nice,” she murmured, still looking sleepy and content, though he could feel her renewed interest in the tiny ripples stirring where he was buried deep.
One corner of his mouth quirked up in a cocky half-smile. “We aim to please.”
She canted her hips, pulled his head down until his lips hovered mere centimeters above her own, and whispered, “Then aim higher.”
He barely had time to release a strangled chuckle before their mouths locked and their lower bodies began an X-rated imitation of what they were doing with their lips and tongues.
With his fingers digging into the flesh of her hips, he pumped. In and out. Harder and faster. A little side to side that nearly made his head explode. It was too much and not enough all at once, sending the blood coursing through his veins.
He clenched his teeth, puffing short breaths through his nose in an effort to hang on just a minute longer, just a second longer, just a nano-
But Jenna wasn’t helping matters, writhing and mewling and doing a million little things that urged him toward a speedy finish. And when she reached up to cup his buttocks and gave a squeeze, she might as well have touched a lit match to the tip of a stick of dynamite.
Fuck it, he thought, thrusting once, twice, and again, before letting out a shout of completion. Clutching at him, Jenna let out a cry of her own, spasming beneath and around him, and making him glad to be a man.
Damn, life was good. Or at least-with the exception of not being able to stay with this woman forever-it sure as hell could be.
Hours later… hours and hours later, after he’d made love to her on the sofa, halfway up the stairs, then again when they’d reached the guest room bed.
It was far better than playing around with yarn and pointy plastic sticks any day of the week.
And between bouts of going at it like meerkats, they’d rested, pressed against each other like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle.
She was curled around him now, head on his shoulder, arm around his chest, leg thrown over his thigh. But he didn’t think she was any more asleep than he was. Drowsy, maybe. Sated and comfortable, definitely, but not sleeping.
He was thinking about rolling over, kissing her from brow to ankle and back again, though he wasn’t quite sure where he was supposed to get the energy.
Jenna shifted slightly, her breath warming him as she sighed.
“Gage?”
“Hmm?” he responded without opening his eyes, his arm tightening automatically at her waist.
“You never answered my question.”
“What question?” he asked after a second. He tried to think back, but his brain was apparently so sex-zapped he had no recollection of a question left unanswered or a conversation left unfinished.
“From earlier, in the car,” she continued softly.
It came back to him with all the subtlety of a baby grand falling on his head from twenty stories above. The car. Her tears. Her watery voice asking why he gave up on them so easily, why he hadn’t fought to keep their marriage together.
The pain he’d felt then, seeing and hearing her pain, clutched him again, raking across the inside of his gut like razor blades, leaving him raw and bleeding.
How could it still hurt this much, for both of them, so long after the fact? The old adage that time heals all wounds was apparently a load of crap.
Time certainly hadn’t healed anything for him. He’d missed Jenna every day since the split. Wished things could have been different every day since she’d asked for a divorce. Hated and came close to strangling every other man he’d seen with or even near her since.
He suspected the same was true for Jenna, otherwise she wouldn’t have brought it up, wouldn’t be pressing for an answer that had the potential to be even more distressing than the question itself.