Free Spark by Jennifer Ryder Page A

spins a little when I lay back down.
    The skinny jeans pose the next problem. There’s no way I’m sleeping in these.
    Jon watches me as he gets undressed. I watch him. He gets down to boxers and his dress shirt. He slowly unbuttons it and drops it on the floor, revealing more of him than I’ve ever seen before. Nice . So this is what he looks like under there—toned, muscular, but not over the top like he works out every day. He would drive girls wild if he flaunted it a bit more. He pulls a T-shirt from a drawer and slips it on. What? Is he embarrassed? Shy? I don’t get it.
    “I tell you what, Jon. I’ll make you a deal.” Another hiccup erupts from my throat. “You take off your shirt, and I’ll take off mine.” I bat my eyelashes, surprised at how forward I am. It must be the punch.
    In record speed, his shirt hits the floor. Jon bites down on his bottom lip, as if trying to hold in his smile.
    I sit up, and peel my jumper off. Jon is frozen, watching me. I unzip my jeans, lift my hips off the bed, and slowly wriggle out of them. I’m not teasing him—they’re just so bloody tight. His jaw hits the floor. How can this affect him so much?
    I pull back the covers, and Jon slips in beside me. I rest my head on the soft pillow and he leans over me and kisses me. Softly. Slowly .
    I don’t think he knows what to do with his hands—he seems uncomfortable. One minute they’re either side of my head, the next he moves around my collarbone, brushing over my bra straps. It’s like he can’t make up his mind. Goose bumps surface all over his smooth skin when I run my curious fingers over his toned chest.
    His hands fumble as they find somewhere to rest. Looped under my back, his fingers run down my spine, and he pulls me onto my side. His fingers trail down my ribcage, tickling me as they do, and rest on my lace boy-leg panties. Is he going to touch me, or what? And by touch me, I mean really touch me? I’m in his bed, practically naked. Do something, Jon! Is he still hung up on last time?
    I’m just not feeling it. It’s like we’re going through the motions. Where’s the passion? We’ve got the friendship and the trust, he’s attractive, but where’s the heat? I have to take matters into my own hands. It’s gotta be there somewhere, I just need to try harder. I move his hand off my hip, and put it on my arse cheek. A low moan grumbles at the back of his throat, as he squeezes my flesh. Do I have to coach him every step of the way? Is it because I’m a virgin? He should know me well enough to know that I’ll tell him if we go too far.
    “It’s okay, you can touch me,” I say.
    My hand glides over his satin boxers, squeezing his firm arse so our bodies are flush against each other. I kiss him harder, my tongue circling against his.
    Come on, Jon. Where’s your big move?
    More kissing.
    His hands don’t wander as they should. As I want them to. In a bold move, I push him onto his back and sit astride him. I position myself just below his hips so I don’t land on the arousal that his boxers fail to hide. I move his hand to the clasp on my bra.
    He brings his other hand behind me, and undoes it. His eyes widen as they glance over my hardened nipples. He swallows. I lean in closer, my hair dangling on his face.
    He plucks up the courage, and grabs my breasts. My breath hitches as I push my chest into his warm hands. Okay, now we’re getting somewhere . I shift on top of him, and slowly move my hips so I rub against him. Jon moves his hips at the same pace, his hands roaming free over my upper body. His chest labours as he breathes. I move quicker, and push harder, needing the friction between us. Needing to feel something .
    “Oh, Eevie,” he says.
    I lean down, and bite his bottom lip, teasing his mouth with my tongue. He takes in a sharp breath.
    “Stop,” he says. His body stills.
    “Stop?” I whisper. Did I do something wrong? I move off him, and lie beside him, resting my hand on his