I splay my hand over his bare chest. “I’ll have you know I hate sleeping in pants. Much as you seem to hate sleeping in a shirt.”

His fingers dance up my thigh. “You probably wouldn’t believe how many times I’ve dreamed of having these legs wrapped around me.” His strong fingers grasp behind my knee, pulling me closer to him.

“I’m guessing about as many times as I’ve dreamed of those fingers doing . . . things . . . to me.” I tilt my head up, placing a soft line of kisses along his jaw. Where it was smooth this morning, it’s now stubbled and rough.

He brings his mouth down to mine. This kiss is long and slow, Jack deliberately exploring the dips and curves of my lips. He kisses me with the attention to detail I would expect of an artist, taking everything in, noticing when his movements make me gasp, make me moan. His mouth eventually trails down the curve of my neck. He nibbles along my collarbone, slipping the wide neck of my T-shirt off my shoulder.

I want to rip my shirt off and beg him to move his ministrations lower, but I said slowly and I meant it. Even if my hips seem to involuntarily be rolling against Jack’s thigh, firmly planted in between my legs. My core is aching for touch, for pressure. I’ve never been so turned on by a kiss before, and I want more. I need more.

“Jack,” I gasp when his mouth moves back to my neck, biting me softly before licking the light imprint of his teeth on my skin.

He pulls away, and I get my first good look at his eyes, his pupils black and wide, the green almost as dark. “Do you want me to stop?”

I shake my head, any and all words merely an incoherent jumble in my brain.

He puts even more space between us. “I’m sorry, Sade. You asked for slowly, and this is clearly not slowly.”

I grab his hip, pulling him back into my space, intertwining our limbs as close as they can be. “I still want to go slowly, but I also want you to touch me.”

His already stiff cock, pressed up against my belly, hardens noticeably. Jack reaches down to adjust his pants.

I place my hand lightly over his. “Is this okay?”

He nods, removing his hand and setting it on top of mine, guiding my pressure as I stroke his thick length, just a layer of flannel separating us from skin-to-skin contact. But after a second, he picks up my hand, kissing my palm and placing it back on his hip. He brings his mouth back to mine, his lips searing and demanding. “You first,” he mutters into my neck.

“You’ll find I’m never one to argue with that command.” I roll my hips, producing a spine-tingling growl from Jack.