And he’d take nothing for himself. Because there was nothing on earth that could compare with the softest flutter of Violet’s eyelashes in response to his touch. Nothing he could do that would bring him half as much pleasure as making her quiver.
He wanted to do more than just kiss her on her face and neck. An image of him burying his face between her legs surged into his mind and he had to bite back his response. If this was about Violet, she had to want it, too. He’d have to kiss her and caress her until she was begging for it.
And he remembered that his Violet loved to be touched more than anything.
Jonathan brushed a hand up and down her arm, enjoying the feel of her small frame under his. She was wearing a long-sleeved knit top that he wanted to rip off so he could feel the soft skin underneath, but he’d follow her lead. His hand smoothed over her shoulder and brushed over her nape, caressing.
She moaned in response, her head tilting back even as she pressed her body closer in his arms. “Jonathan,” she breathed.
God, he loved the sound of his name on her lips. “I’m here,” he murmured softly, gliding his hands over her clothed form, stroking down her back and then smoothing over her hip.
“Your hands feel unbelievable,” she told him. “Why do you feel so incredible?”
“Because I know just how you like to be touched,” he told her, nipping at her ear. “Your body remembers how good I can be to you.”
She shuddered against him. For a moment, he worried he’d pushed her too hard, but then her mouth pressed against his neck and she practically crawled into his lap. “Touch me.”
“Take off your top,” he told her. “Then I can touch you everywhere.”
She hesitated for a moment, and his heart thudded a warning. Had he lost her? But she only opened her eyes and gave him a dazed look. “What . . . what about . . .” She licked her lips. “Will someone see?”
“Violet, love, we’re at thirty thousand feet. There’s no one on this jet but you and me and the pilot, and he’s not coming out of the cockpit. We’re completely alone.” For the first time that evening, he was thankful they’d elected to fly without an attendant hovering. It truly was just him and Violet in the back of the small jet, and he intended to take full advantage of the situation.
She licked her lips again, sitting back in her chair, indecision on her lovely face. “If you’re sure . . .”
“I won’t do anything you don’t want,” he told her, brushing the back of his knuckles along the sweetly stubborn curve of her jaw. “Never.”
“I want you to keep touching me,” she admitted, reaching for him.
He dragged her into his lap this time, pushing the armrest between them up into the chair. She went into his arms eagerly, her hands on his shoulders and her thighs straddling his. His c**k nestled between the part of her legs and he was unable to stop the groan from escaping his throat. He had to remain in control; this was about her, not him.
But she gave a little wiggle in his lap at his response, as if she enjoyed hearing it. Her hand slid down the front of his shirt, pressing against his muscles. “Will you take this off for me? I want to look at you.”
She wanted to look at him? “If it’d give you pleasure,” Jonathan said.
She nodded, the expression in her eyes eager, hungry.
He sat upright in the chair and Violet clung to him as he carefully maneuvered and pulled the T-shirt over his head without dumping her off of his lap. Then he sat back again, drawing her against him.
Her hands went to his chest, pressing against his muscles, and she gave a sigh of pleasure. “You sure did turn out pretty,” she breathed, her fingers tracing along his pectorals. “Oh, man.”
He let her explore him, remaining silent lest he interrupt her and distract her from her focus.
“And so warm, too,” she murmured, her fingers trailing along his skin. She looked pale against his tan, a sharp contrast reminding him of the different paths their lives had taken. Violet should be as tanned as he was, Jonathan thought fiercely. She should be at his side on his adventures, not trapped in a classroom.
Grasping her hand in his, he brought the palm to his mouth and kissed the center. “I’d be even warmer if your bare skin was pressed to mine.”
She shivered, her dark lashes fluttering again. He watched her bite her lip, deciding, and then to his intense joy, she reached for the hem of her body-masking tunic top that hid her lush curves. “I haven’t been exercising as much as you in the last ten years.”
“I don’t care,” he told her. He didn’t give a f**k. If she was fat and lumpy—and she wasn’t—she’d still be gorgeous to him because she was his Violet. “I want to see you. All of you. I want to press you against my skin.”
Her eyes went wide at his words, and he mentally cursed himself for losing his cool. Maybe he’d been a bit too vehement in that statement.
But she leaned in and kissed him again, and then she slowly tugged her top over her head, her messy hair fluttering against her jaw and curving there.
And then she was straddling him in nothing but a bra and her yoga pants.
Her bra was plain white. Boring, she probably thought. But he liked that boring bra. He f**king loved it, because it told him that she wasn’t a woman with a closet full of lingerie designed to torment lovers. He wanted to be her only lover. He wanted to be the only one to touch her soft skin, to feel the press of her curves against him. So he tugged at one serviceable strap and then ran a finger along the seam of the bra cup. “Take this off.”
She shivered again, and he watched her skin break out in goose bumps, her ni**les erect. Her breath was coming in sharp, short little gasps. Slowly, her hands reached behind her back and he heard the pop of the clasp, watched the tight fabric over her full br**sts loosen and then fall forward.
And then she shrugged it off her shoulders and cast it aside. Violet tossed her head back and sat on his lap, half na**d and defiant, as if daring him to say something about the changes in her body.
Violet had never been lean. Even back when they were teenagers, her figure had tended to ripeness. That hadn’t changed; her br**sts were fuller than before, her stomach slightly more rounded, her h*ps a little plumper, her ass less of a tight apple and more of a juicy bouncing pair of curves that taunted him when she walked. But she was utterly and completely gorgeous. Her ni**les were that dark pink he remembered, still upthrust and tight little circles that begged for his mouth and fingers. Her br**sts were full and heavy, shifting with every rapid rise and fall of her chest, and her waist tapered in before spreading to her hips.