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“Jack?” Samira asks, looking up. He’s fresh out of the shower with a towel situated around his hips, sitting on the edge of the bed with a massage gun, working his residual limb through the different levels of vibrations. Samira watches him from her side of the bed, hair mussed with sleep and a book settled in her lap. He looks over at her questioningly.
“When are you going to sleep?” she decides on asking instead of cutting to the point. She wants to approach it the right way. The PG way, so he isn’t scared off immediately.
It’s not that they’re not sexually compatible. They’re plenty sexual with each other. They have sex three times a week. If they weren’t so sexually compatible, they wouldn’t have moved in together after a month of dating. But Samira’s hesitant to introduce new things nonetheless. Jack’s last serious relationship was with his wife, and they were fairly vanilla, if what he’s told her is any indicator. Samira doesn’t consider herself kinky, per se, but she’s always willing to try new things. For the sake of science. Research. And if research means tying Jack to the bedposts or making him call her “ma’am” in bed, then so be it.
“Maybe within the next hour,” Jack answers after thinking on it for a second. “I still need to eat dinner,” he adds, turning off the massage gun and rubbing easy circles against his leg. “Why?” he asks, looking up. “You want me to make you something?”
“I’m okay,” she replies, putting her book back on the nightstand. She shifts to face him, staring at him head-on now. “I have a question.”
“I have an answer,” he replies amusedly, pulling himself to his side of the bed and shifting to face her. His hands automatically go to her hips, shifting with her as she climbs onto his lap, straddling him. Her hands go to his shoulders, holding on easily as she settles back into place. He peers up at her with that look in his eyes, the one he always looks at her with. Jack doesn’t look at her like that for fun, or for reciprocation, but he still can’t stop the blaze of happiness that appears in his chest when she looks back.
“What’s on your mind, baby?” he asks simply, rubbing circles into her hips with his thumbs. He’s gotten past the point in their relationship where he got hard every time she sat on his lap, but it’s still a battle with her looking all soft and sun-kissed, with a barely-there indent of the sheets pressed into her arms.
“I was wondering,” she starts, not looking at his eyes but instead somewhere by his mouth. He smirks. “I was wondering if you’d ever let me…” she trails off.
“Yes?” he encourages, lifting a hand up to brush an errant curl away from her face. It bounces back a few seconds later and he huffs quietly. He reaches up again but she grabs his wrist, guiding it instead to her chest. He takes a slow inhale as his hand grasps onto her breast through her white sleep shirt, cupping her easily through the fabric. Now he knows what she wants, vaguely. His mouth goes to her neck to encourage her a bit more, kissing and biting and licking idly as she makes her way to a conclusion in that meandering, lazy way she thinks in the morning.
“Well,” she says, slightly breathy. He bites down on her collarbone. “I wanted to… well, I wanted to try something with you,” she manages and he hums, intrigued. They don’t usually have sex in the morning, not when she’s still soft and sleepy from sleep and he’s tired and achy from the shift, but sometimes they make exceptions.
“What did you want to try?” her murmurs against her skin, sliding his hands down underneath her shirt to slide right back up, fondling her as a smile starts to form on his face.
“We don’t have to do it now,” she starts, but he scoffs out a little laugh, pulling back to make a face at her.
“I can do it now.” He’s not tired. In fact, his cock is already hardening beneath her, underneath the towel and her ass, and she adjusts to make room for it. “What is it?”
She ducks her head down into his neck, obviously embarrassed. He strokes a hand through her hair, trying, to no avail, to tame some of the frizzy curls sticking out. He waits for her to find the thought, verbalize it, put it out into the open.
“Do you know what edging is?” she asks, muffled. He pauses. Thinks on it.
“I can imagine,” he says wryly, pushing her back to look at her. She’s biting her lip, her eyes flickering back up to meet his gaze, searching for rejection.
“Well,” she says, “I’ll explain it anyways.” If he reached up and cupped her cheeks, he’s sure they’d be fever-grade. She pushes through, and he’s very proud of how clear and concise she is coming off, despite her obvious discomfort. “It’s a sexual act,” she starts, very clinical, “where you stimulate someone nearly to the point of orgasm, and then end the stimulation. Then you start again, from the beginning, bringing them to the edge of orgasm, hence the name,” she fixes him with a pointed look, “and edge them over and over again until they finally come.”
He can’t help the grin on his face. “So you want me to edge you,” he says, already hard at the concept.
“No,” she says, flushing and looking away. “I want to edge you.”
Jack takes a second to comprehend that.
Samira Mohan, her hand on his cock. So far so good. Samira Mohan, jerking his cock, blowjob on the table. So far really good. And then Samira Mohan, pulling away right before he’s about to come and making him sit in his discomfort before she gets to do it again.
Yeesh.
“I can’t lie, I don’t know if I’ll like that,” he admits, and Samira starts to climb off of him immediately. “Woah, hold on, cowgirl,” he says, pulling her back into place. He tilts his head at her. “I didn’t say no.”
“I just--” she starts, cutting herself off. “It’s-- it’s weird, I get it if you don’t-- want to.”
“No, I want to,” he says earnestly. She blinks. “I’ve just… never done it before.” He shifts her a little bit closer by lifting his knees up so she falls down slightly, yelping. “You’d be my first,” he says with a crooked grin.
She exhales, shaking her head with a slight smile. “I don’t want to force you into it. If you don’t want to.”
“I want to,” he says simply.
She pauses. “There are health risks, you know. Are you sure your heart would be able to handle--”
“I can handle a few missed orgasms,” he interrupts, offended at the concept. “I’m not going to pass out. How old do you think I am?”
“59,” Samira tries and he grabs her by the shoulders, flipping them over and climbing on top of her, cocking his head. She grins at him. He grins back.
“Could a 59-year-old do that?” he asks, shifting to straddle her. She’s laughing now, swatting at him, telling him to get off of her and he does, rolling onto his back with an oof to settle next to her. He ditches the towel on the way and props himself up on an elbow, looking at her now. She smiles over at him, curls frizzy and smile wide.
“Are you sure?” she says again. She shifts onto her side herself to meet his gaze. His hand goes to her sweatpants as he replies, tracing the waistband.
“I’m sure,” he says, a bit softer. His hand moves back up to her curls, pushing that one strand out of the way. It bounces back and he huffs.
“Right now?” she checks and he nods.
“Unless you don’t want to. We can do it some other time.”
“I wouldn’t have brought it up if I didn’t want to right now,” she says honestly, moving to straddle him again. He smiles up at her.
“Well, you gotta talk me through it, baby. I don’t know how this works.” His hands move to her shirt and she lets him pull it off. “Tell me what you’re gonna do to me,” he murmurs, his voice getting lower, gruffer.
She sighs softly as she shifts backward, eyeing his cock. “I want you to give me a safeword,” she murmurs in response, lifting her chin but keeping her eyes on what’s between his legs. “Either a safeword or we do the traffic light system.”
“The traffic light system? What’s that?”
“Green means good, yellow means change something or use caution, red means stop,” she explains. She looks up at him. “Would you want to do that?”
“I can do that,” he replies simply. He doesn’t see a world where he would need to use red, especially if he knows he’s going to get an orgasm eventually, but who knows? If it makes her more comfortable, he’ll do it.
“So what color are you right now?” she presses, wrapping a hand around the base of his cock. He hisses and closes his eyes.
“Green, Jesus.” She brings her hand back up and licks the length of it before wrapping it around him again, stroking up and down slowly. He manages to wrench his eyes back open to watch, breaths puffing out as she ups her speed. He’s fairly familiar with the silent orgasm at this point, gritting his teeth as he tries to shift his hips upward into her hand. But he’s also well aware that Samira likes listening to him, likes it when he makes noise, so he grunts quietly as she starts to move her hand faster and faster.
She leans in, bending her hand at a slightly awkward angle as she kisses him, but he doesn’t mind, moaning softly as he dips his tongue into her mouth. He keeps kissing her, finding it increasingly harder to breathe, until she pulls back, panting slightly against his mouth.
“I need you to tell me when you’re going to come,” she breathes and he groans softly.
“Yeah, okay, yeah. I can do that,” he manages, trying desperately not to make a fool out of himself already.
“And be honest,” she says as she twists her hand slightly. He gasps. Then her other hand comes down to fondle at his balls and he practically chokes, white-knuckling the sheets.
He’s barely through saying “I’m about to come,” when she pulls her hands back, making him groan. He slams a fist down into the bed and drops his head back against the pillow, panting at the ceiling. She moves to say something but he shakes his head, taking a second.
“...You okay?” she finally asks and he nods, clenching his jaw. She gently grabs his chin and guides him to look at her. “What’s your colour?” she asks. “Green,” he says, resisting rolling his eyes. “Is it gonna be like that every time?”
“Not every time,” she says, slipping off of his lap. He makes a sad sound and tries to pull her back but she wiggles away, jumping off the bed.
“What are you doing?” he asks when she moves around the bed, searching through her nightstand. She kicks off her sweatpants as she does it, then tosses a bottle of lube and a condom on the bed. His eyes widen. “Wait, I thought you were edging me.” He looks up at her, confused.
“I am,” she says, pulling her hair up in a clip. She tugs her panties down and his mouth waters.
“Wait, I wanna--” he starts, reaching for her, but she shakes her head with a wicked grin.
“Nope.” She moves back onto the bed, climbing on top of him again. His hands go to her hips automatically. She wraps a hand around him again and he breathes out a harsh sigh, but instead of stroking him, she runs a finger up and down the sides, the vein on the underside, swirls around the tip. He grunts quietly. “Colour?” she murmurs.
“Green,” he grunts. She slowly starts to inch her body down the bed, dropping her head slowly, arching her back. He sucks in a slow inhale, eyes darting between her back, her ass, her hair, her hand, and her mouth. She licks her lips before settling her head over his cock and letting her tongue flick out to lick his tip. He cusses. “‘Mira--”
“Shh,” she mumbles, slowly leaning down so she can wrap her lips around him.
“Fuck,” he breathes, dropping his head back again so he can pant at the ceiling. Again. “Fuck, 'Mira.”
She teases him for a bit, focusing on the head with her tongue, licking at it like an ice cream cone just to get under his skin. Then she circles it with her tongue, taking slow, cat-like motions to tease. “Fuck,” he manages again. She moves down to the base, then all the way back up, then back down. She licks her hand and starts to fondle his balls, wrenching a choked moan from him. She takes that as a sign that it’s time to take him into her mouth.
She hums around his cock, forcing another moan out of him, and starts to take him into her mouth, gagging only slightly as she exhales through her nose to calm her gag reflex. She takes him as far down as she can and wraps her hand around the rest, stroking the length easily as she starts to bob. Her tongue explores, licking, applying pressure onto the head before licking at the sides. He can barely breathe, face turning rapidly redder, flush starting to spread down to his chest. When Samira gets him like this, his hands usually go to her hair, pressing her down further, chasing an orgasm. But now he’s digging his fingers into the sheets, gasping and heaving deep breaths as he tries not to come.
“‘Mira,” he gasps. “Fuck! 'Mira, 'Mira, 'Mira, I’m gon--”
She pulls off immediately, wiping her mouth. Her hand disappears. The sensation disappears. He’s still burning like a bonfire, chest moving up and down, up and down, up and down.
“Colour?” she manages after catching her breath.
“Green,” he says, sounding pained. “How many more times are we going to do this?”
“As many times as I think you can take,” she admits, crawling up his body again to kiss him. He moans into her mouth, welcoming the kiss, growing hungrier as her tongue slides against his. He moans softly, rutting his hips slightly up into the space between them, and just as he thinks he’s about to come just from this, she pulls back.
“Fuuuck,” he hisses, his hands fisting in the sheets. “Fuck, you’re serious. Fuck you.” She laughs, carding a hand through his hair. She leans in to kiss him again, pausing just before their lips touch.
“You okay?”
“Yeah,” he mumbles. “Burning up and about to explode, but yeah, I’m okay.”
“Mm,” she says, then kisses him. He cups her head this time, trying to pull her closer, but she pulls back, shaking her head.
“Okay. I want you to lay back now.”
“Lay back?” he says, adjusting. One of his hands reaches back to the pillow propping him up and he pulls it away, tossing it onto her side of the bed. She grabs the other pillows, some of the throw pillows that she bought on a whim in Homegoods, and throws them away. Then she takes his shoulders and shoves him down, catching him by surprise.
He raises an eyebrow at her. “You gonna tie me up too?”
“Do you want me to?” she asks, grabbing the lube and the condom she pulled out earlier. They have a bondage set in the closet. He chuckles darkly. “Next time,” she promises, leaning down to kiss his nose. He nips at her as she pulls back. She grins.
“Wait, 'Mira, I want to,” Jack says, trying to sit up. She pushes him back down with a hand flat on his chest.
“I want to,” she says. “And I want you to watch.” He swallows, Adam’s apple bobbing, and nods, eyes fixated on where she slowly starts to dip a finger into herself. She probably won’t need the lube with how wet she is, dripping onto the sheets. She moans quietly as she starts to piston her fingers in and out, in and out. Jack manages to lift himself up onto his arms, craning his neck to get a better view, biting his lip as he does.
“You sound so good,” he manages, eyes locked on where her fingers are disappearing into herself. “You look so good, ‘Mira. You look so fucking good, I can’t believe I get to have you.”
“Patience,” she murmurs and he nods.
“I know. I just… fuck, I can’t believe I… what did I do to deserve you?” He balances himself on one arm and reaches up with his other, cupping her breast and kneading it as she fingers herself. “God, does that feel good?” he asks huskily.
“Yeah,” she breathes. “Here,” she says, handing him a condom. He tears it open with his teeth and rolls it on easily, then brings his free hand between her legs.
“Let me rub your clit, baby, let me make you come,” he says, reaching for her sensitive bundle of nerves, but she shakes her head, pushing his hand away.
“No,” she manages. “Don’t wanna come before you.”
“Baby,” he starts, but she shakes her head again.
“No,” she says firmly. “And it’s ma’am, understand?”
“Yes, ma’am,” he breathes. She nods. She removes her hand from her entrance and presses her fingers to his lips with the soft instruction of “Open.” He follows her lead, taking her fingers deep into his mouth and sucking her juices clean off. “Good,” she breathes. He sucks on her fingers for a few more seconds until she pulls them away, making him whine.
“I wasn’t done,” he mutters and she laughs softly.
“You’re done when I say you are.” She reaches down and teases at his cockhead before stroking him a few more times, lining her entrance up with his tip. “What colour?” she checks in once more.
“Green,” he says breathily.
“Green, what?” she asks, cocking her head.
“Green, ma’am,” he says earnestly, meeting her gaze. She nods, satisfied, and sinks down onto his cock. “Shit,” he breathes, closing his eyes before immediately opening them again to watch how she rocks against him, finding the right angle to force pressure against her G-spot.
“Talk to me,” she instructs breathlessly, a hand rubbing at her clit. He swallows again.
“You look… so good,” he starts, just as breathless. “Fuck, 'Mira. Ma’am,” he corrects immediately, and she nods for him to go on. “You just… fuck, you look so pretty when you’re riding me like that. God, you’re so pretty. Fuck. I-- I-- nngh,” he cuts himself off, biting his lip to stop himself from saying something she’s not ready for. Instead, he grabs her shoulders and pulls her close to kiss her, dipping his tongue into her mouth, swallowing the moan she lets out.
“You feel so good,” she breathes, holding onto his shoulders to steady herself as she moves in whatever pattern feels good to her. (She read somewhere that spelling COCONUT with your hips makes it feel better. She tries it out. C… O… C… yeah, that feels good.) “Tell me your colour,” she pants against his mouth and he groans.
“I’m green, I’m green… fuck.” He’s getting louder and louder, which ignites a selfish kind of satisfaction deep in Samira’s gut.
“Okay,” she says as she grinds her hips down, moaning into his ear. “Keep, keep talking.”
“You feel amazing,” he whines. “You feel so good, ‘Mira, I can’t, I’m so close, fuck, keep…” He cuts himself off with a whine as she wrenches herself away from him without a second thought, lifting her hips and sliding him out of her. He groans and grabs her hips, trying to pull her back down, but she shakes her head.
“No, no, baby, no coming yet, no…” she says.
“Let me, ‘Mira,” he whines, pulling her hips in, trying to push them down.
“What was that?” she cuts in sharply. “What did you call me?”
“Ma’am,” he corrects himself desperately. She sighs softly and guides his hands to her hips as she settles back down.
“Very good,” she murmurs against the shell of his ear, nipping at him. He moans loudly. She grins and starts grinding down against him again, lifting her hips up in a way that makes her thighs burn but also makes him increasingly more dizzy and delirious. He’s letting out sounds that she’s never heard from him before.
“Fuck,” he gasps, high-pitched and breathy. “Jesus, Samira-- ma’am, I wanna come so bad, God, fuck, keep moving, keep--”
She pulls off of him again. He slams his fist into the bedding and practically growls at her. His face, ears, and chest are all red, spreading down underneath the silver chest hair she likes to run her fingers through.
“Colour,” she reminds him.
“Green,” he practically spits out. “But I-- ‘Mira, let me--”
“Ma’am,” she corrects again and he repeats it immediately.
“Ma’am,” he says, panting. “Ma’am, you gotta-- c’mon, just…” He nudges her hips back down and she lets him. She settles back down onto him and rolls her hips in a quick movement as she does, forcing a choked sound out of the deepest corner of his throat. “Shit,” he gruffs out, closing his eyes. He’s shaking now, trying desperately not to come. Samira starts moving again.
“Ma’am,” he whimpers, his hands pressing little tan crescents into her skin. “Ma’am… I want to come so badly, let me come, I’m--”
“What was that?” she murmurs into his ear as she ups her speed.
“Oh, God,” he breathes, barely audible. “I’ve been so good,” he manages, legs shaking. “I’ve been so good.” His hips jerk up without him meaning them to. “I’ve been good, and-- and I’ve called you ma’am, and-- I’ve-- God, I’ve been so good, you gotta let me--”
She shoves her hips down and then up, changing her pace and making him gasp.
“I’m so close,” he gasps. She doesn’t pull away and he seems to know that she’ll let him come this time, his hips jerking up and down erratically with her rhythm. “God, Mira, ma’am, Mira, Samira, I’m so--”
“Say the magic words,” she breathes, pressing her forehead against his.
His eyes are closed but hers are open, watching him grit his teeth and scrunch his face up as he gasps out, “Fuck-- I love you.”
Her hips stutter and she loses her focus because his mouth is suddenly on hers, stopping either of them from saying anything, her from asking him if he meant it and him from repeating it again. His hands hold onto her hips as he thrusts up into her one last time, whining and whimpering into her mouth as he finally-- fucking finally-- comes.
He shudders through the entirety of it, hands flexing and toes curling as he rides out the waves, hips making pathetic little thrusts before slumping back down. Samira’s hands are still on his shoulders, holding herself firmly on top of him. His eyes are closed but she nudges her forehead against his, causing his eyes to open.
“Hey,” he breathes, giving her a quick kiss. He doesn’t seem to realize that he said it. “Oh, shit,” he mutters, sitting up a little straighter. She goes rigid, thinking he’s going to acknowledge it, or worse, take it back, but he doesn’t. Instead, one hand moves to steady her by her waist and the other goes to her clit, rubbing in slow circles around it. “Here, baby, let me help.”
Samira moans, following his lead and rocking her hips into his hand, his fingers, his perfect fingers putting the perfect pressure on her clit that he knows she likes. She comes with little fanfare, dropping her head to his shoulder and gasping his name against his neck, shaking with little tremors that travel from her rigid middle down to her toes, like a whip snapping through her spinal column. She moans softly as she comes down, riding his cock slowly despite the soft little hisses he lets out at the overstimulation.
When she pulls back he follows her mouth with his. She lets him in easily, sliding their tongues together and smiling when he flicks his against hers. When she pulls back, he cards a hand through her hair, unclipping the claw clip to watch, enamoured, as her curls bounce back into place. He brushes the curl away. It flops back. He laughs softly.
She gently pushes herself off of him, flopping down onto the bed and stretching, thinking. Her mind is turning over rapidly, trying to comprehend if she really heard him correctly.
Fuck. I love you.
The thing is, she believes him. She believes him because Jack Abbot doesn’t like lying, and he certainly doesn’t lie to her. Instead, he presses kisses to her neck and asks her to change the subject, or skirt around it, but she always gets her way and makes him spit it out in the end. That’s why she has such a hard time thinking she imagined it or that he didn’t mean it. Of course he meant it. Jack means everything he says to her.
He tugs the condom off and ties it at the top, tossing it into the trash can next to their bed before shifting onto his side, trapping her underneath his right arm and what’s left of his right leg. He kisses her shoulder.
“Hey,” he murmurs. “You okay?” It’s not like her to ignore him after sex. Not that that’s what she’s doing. She’s thinking. But to him, it looks like she orgasmed and disappeared into her own little island, which isn’t ideal. (He won’t admit this to anyone, but he likes the after. He likes the aftercare, the pillow talk, and the cuddling, and the second or third or fourth orgasm if he can wring another one out of her. He likes all of the after.)
“Hm?” she says distractedly, turning her head to face him. He’s pressed his face into her shoulder, kissing a line up to the tip of it. “Oh, yeah. I’m fine.” Her left hand comes up to swipe at his hair, pushing the curls out of his face. Some of them bounce right back. Now she knows how he feels.
“You sure?” he murmurs against her skin. “You seem off.” He sits up slightly to look at her, more serious now. “Was it good for you?”
“It was great for me,” she assures him, not wanting him to think he did something wrong. She did orgasm, it was great. She doesn’t regret it at all. She’s just wondering if he will. “It’s just…”
“What?” he presses. She huffs softly, hands coming up to her face. She covers her eyes, her nose, her mouth, maybe she’ll disappear if he can’t see her.
Unfortunately, like most men nearing 50, Jack Abbot has an excellent grasp on object permanence and pulls one of her hands away to raise an eyebrow at her. “What’s wrong?” he asks. She purses her lips as she tries to find the words.
“It’s just-- well, it’s nothing. It’s nothing, really. You just-- I thought-- I mean-- it’s okay if you didn’t mean, well, I guess I just--”
“‘Mira,” he says firmly. “Spit it out.”
“You said you loved me,” she blurts.
Silence.
They both look at each other for a second. Samira tries to cover her face with her hands again but Jack grabs them both, pulling them away so he can stare down at her. She doesn’t know what to say.
“...I did,” he finally says and she thinks she’s going to explode. So he does remember. So he does know. “...Is that okay?” he finally asks, voice smaller than it was before.
“Yes!” she practically shouts, bolting upright. He grabs her shoulders to steady her, alarmed, and she huffs softly as she remembers to not act like a totally crazy person. “I mean, yeah, it’s okay. I-- I thought you-- I mean-- did you mean it?” she finally says, and she wants to smack a hand over her mouth with how fucking immature she sounds right now.
He stares at her for a bit, confusion etched into the lines on the corners of his eyes. He scoffs out a quiet laugh, a slight smile on his face. “I did,” he starts. “Is that… is that okay?”
“Yes,” she says immediately with a nod.
“Okay,” he says then. “I… you’re not… mad?” He seems more confused than hurt or disappointed, which is a good sign.
“No!” she exclaims. She calms down, holding onto his arms carefully. “No, I’m not mad. I-- I was just… I was caught off guard, I guess. I’m not mad,” she reiterates.
“No, I-- I get it,” he says softly. “It was too soon.”
“No, Jack, it wasn’t,” she says firmly, shaking her head. “I-- I get it.”
There’s a quick bout of silence again.
“...You get it?” he asks wryly, a smile starting to form on his face and she can feel the flush creeping up her cheeks now.
“I mean-- I meant,” she says and he’s full on grinning now, holding onto her hands, tugging her a closer.
“No, what did you mean? You get it? You get that I love you? How, Dr. Mohan? Tell me how.”
“Shut up,” she says, face burning as she looks away. He laughs softly as he wraps his arms around her, pulling her on top of him as they both tumble down onto the bed. She struggles to no avail as he pulls her closer, keeping her stuck when his incredibly thick biceps lock down on her middle.
“No, really, Dr. Mohan,” he murmurs directly into her ear. “Tell me what you get.”
“I just meant,” she starts, somewhere between flustered and exasperated, “that I… I feel a very similar way. About you.”
He hums, extremely satisfied, edging on cocky, and runs a hand up and down her hip.
“You mean to say that you… love me, too?”
She reaches up with what little room she has, covering her face as she reaches volcanic temperature levels. “Jack,” she manages.
“Samira,” he murmurs fondly. She sighs very, very loudly through her hands before pulling them back down and steeling herself.
“Let me go.” He does, unwrapping his arms from around her, and she rolls off of him before sitting up and running her fingers through her hair. She looks over at him, at where he’s looking up at her, amused and fond and in love, apparently.
“I…” she starts, leaning in and tipping his chin up to face her. “I mean to say that I love you too,” she finally says. She doesn’t let him say anything else, smiling into his mouth as their lips finally meet. Jack’s arms wrap around her hips and pull her back down and she yelps out a laugh as he kisses her with so much energy, so much love that she can’t help but start giggling.
“Say it again,” he breathes.
“Say what?” she asks, just as breathless. He rolls his eyes and moves his mouth right by her ear.
“Say the magic words,” he murmurs.
“I love you.”