Free Jackson: A Sexy Bastard Novel by Eve Jagger Page A
Authors: Eve Jagger
discomfort.
“Do you play sports?” I offer. “Take yourself to new restaurants? Go on any sort of adventures at all?”
“Now that you mention it, I do happen to recall taking this strange girl to a hygienically questionable Korean BBQ place. That was pretty fun.”
“Oh my god you are hopeless.” I push away from him and swim toward the center of the pool. “C’mon, let’s play a game, then. Relive your childhood a little.”
“What kind of game?” He swims after me.
“Marco Polo. Do you know that one?”
“Yeah.” He frowns. “But there’s only two of us.”
“Then it won’t be very hard for you to catch me, will it?” I float back a few feet. “Go under and start counting.”
“How long should I count for?”
“Do you know how to play this game or not?”
He smiles, closes his eyes, and submerges.
The night is so quiet, and the pool so still; the only ripples are from my movements, and the bubbles rising from where he is submerged. The moment the water has flattened itself completely, his head breaks the surface.
“Marco!”
“Polo,” I call and then dive underwater.
We circle one another, him darting forward unexpectedly, me springing away just in the nick of time. I pinch his butt. He splashes blindly. If I were “it,” I’d have cheated by now, but his eyes are squeezed tight—clearly a rule follower. I should have known.
Eventually, I swim up behind him, until I’m no more than a foot away. In the dim light of the house sconces, I can see the muscles of his back rippling and flexing beneath the water. I am dying to touch him.
“Marco.” His voice is soft, as though he can sense my closeness. The word hovers in the damp air.
Ever so carefully, I stand on my tiptoes and lean in so that my lips just barely brush his ear.
“Polo.”
His eyes pop open, and he spins, catching me around the waist. We stare at each other for a split second, eyelashes glistening, and then our mouths meet, tongues twisting, devouring as much of each other as we can consume. Chlorine has seeped into my every pore, and yet I can still taste him on my tongue. I can’t get enough of it.
His hands cup my ass as I clutch at his back, pressing my fingers into every plane of muscle. We are locked together, slipping and sliding against each other in our urgency. Yet the way he touches me: it’s as though I’m made of pure gold—hot, glittering, beautiful, and precious. He’s licking my neck, nibbling my earlobe, and I feel his erection press insistently against my leg. I take his hard cock in one hand.
“No.” He turns us so that now my back is up against the gritty concrete wall of the pool. Then he lifts me, gently, as if I weigh nothing. Only in this moment do I realize that my “pinning” him to the couch was a hoax, a joke played on me. He could have taken control any moment he wanted.
But he let me have it. And now he’s taking it back.
He sets me on the edge of the pool so my knees hook over the side, my legs dangling in the water. Then, carefully, with his palms pressing against the insides of my thighs, he spreads my legs.
My heart is racing with the thought of what he is about to do. No man has looked at me, has pressed his lips down there since . . . I stop the thought before it can complete itself. Instead I lie back and peer at the night sky. It’s a gray-black blanket covered in swirls of hazy clouds, lit silver by the moonlight. I can make out a star or two, but most of them have closed their eyes, leaving just the bulb of the moon illuminating us.
His tongue traces up the inside of one thigh as his thumb mirrors the movement on the other. My legs are so slick with pool water and my own desire that the sensation feels nearly identical. Then he is prying open my lips, and my breath shortens as he pushes his tongue inside.
Tendrils of hair have draped themselves over my face, but I don’t push them back. I can’t. The sensation of his tongue moving over me is almost too
“Do you play sports?” I offer. “Take yourself to new restaurants? Go on any sort of adventures at all?”
“Now that you mention it, I do happen to recall taking this strange girl to a hygienically questionable Korean BBQ place. That was pretty fun.”
“Oh my god you are hopeless.” I push away from him and swim toward the center of the pool. “C’mon, let’s play a game, then. Relive your childhood a little.”
“What kind of game?” He swims after me.
“Marco Polo. Do you know that one?”
“Yeah.” He frowns. “But there’s only two of us.”
“Then it won’t be very hard for you to catch me, will it?” I float back a few feet. “Go under and start counting.”
“How long should I count for?”
“Do you know how to play this game or not?”
He smiles, closes his eyes, and submerges.
The night is so quiet, and the pool so still; the only ripples are from my movements, and the bubbles rising from where he is submerged. The moment the water has flattened itself completely, his head breaks the surface.
“Marco!”
“Polo,” I call and then dive underwater.
We circle one another, him darting forward unexpectedly, me springing away just in the nick of time. I pinch his butt. He splashes blindly. If I were “it,” I’d have cheated by now, but his eyes are squeezed tight—clearly a rule follower. I should have known.
Eventually, I swim up behind him, until I’m no more than a foot away. In the dim light of the house sconces, I can see the muscles of his back rippling and flexing beneath the water. I am dying to touch him.
“Marco.” His voice is soft, as though he can sense my closeness. The word hovers in the damp air.
Ever so carefully, I stand on my tiptoes and lean in so that my lips just barely brush his ear.
“Polo.”
His eyes pop open, and he spins, catching me around the waist. We stare at each other for a split second, eyelashes glistening, and then our mouths meet, tongues twisting, devouring as much of each other as we can consume. Chlorine has seeped into my every pore, and yet I can still taste him on my tongue. I can’t get enough of it.
His hands cup my ass as I clutch at his back, pressing my fingers into every plane of muscle. We are locked together, slipping and sliding against each other in our urgency. Yet the way he touches me: it’s as though I’m made of pure gold—hot, glittering, beautiful, and precious. He’s licking my neck, nibbling my earlobe, and I feel his erection press insistently against my leg. I take his hard cock in one hand.
“No.” He turns us so that now my back is up against the gritty concrete wall of the pool. Then he lifts me, gently, as if I weigh nothing. Only in this moment do I realize that my “pinning” him to the couch was a hoax, a joke played on me. He could have taken control any moment he wanted.
But he let me have it. And now he’s taking it back.
He sets me on the edge of the pool so my knees hook over the side, my legs dangling in the water. Then, carefully, with his palms pressing against the insides of my thighs, he spreads my legs.
My heart is racing with the thought of what he is about to do. No man has looked at me, has pressed his lips down there since . . . I stop the thought before it can complete itself. Instead I lie back and peer at the night sky. It’s a gray-black blanket covered in swirls of hazy clouds, lit silver by the moonlight. I can make out a star or two, but most of them have closed their eyes, leaving just the bulb of the moon illuminating us.
His tongue traces up the inside of one thigh as his thumb mirrors the movement on the other. My legs are so slick with pool water and my own desire that the sensation feels nearly identical. Then he is prying open my lips, and my breath shortens as he pushes his tongue inside.
Tendrils of hair have draped themselves over my face, but I don’t push them back. I can’t. The sensation of his tongue moving over me is almost too