8. Chapter 8
Chapter 8
H ayley should’ve turned around. Walked back out the front door. Called a cab. Drenched her face in cold water until the heat simmering under her skin finally cooled.
But her body wouldn’t listen.
He looked like something out of a fever dream—half-propped on his elbows, sheets bunched low on his hips, muscles carved by moonlight, watching her like she was the ghost he hadn’t been able to outrun.
Like he wasn’t sure she was real.
She wasn’t sure either.
Her heart thudded painfully in her chest. Her breath came too fast. She could still taste the gin on her tongue, feel the pulse of band practice echoing in her bloodstream.
And then—
He reached for her.
Rough hands on her waist. A sudden yank.
A gasp broke from her lips as her body collided with his, chest to chest, heat to heat, all tangled limbs and unfinished business.
The air left her lungs.
The room spun sideways.
He smelled like mint and heat and the faint echo of him that still haunted her pillows, and she hated how familiar it all felt.
Her hands landed flat against his chest. Solid. Warm. Real.
His heartbeat thudded against her palm.
Steady.
Hard.
As wrecked as hers.
He didn’t say anything. Just stared at her like he’d never stopped. Like he couldn’t.
His jaw clenched. His fingers dug in tighter at her hips, and she felt the tension ripple through him.
Like he was trying to hold something back.
Like he was losing.
“Jesse…”
Her voice broke on his name.
Too soft. Too raw. Too full of everything she didn’t want to feel.
She should’ve pulled away.
Should’ve reminded him that this was a mistake. That he had pushed her away—over and over and over.
But instead—
His mouth crashed against hers.
And she let it.
God help her, she let it.
It was raw.
Wild.
A collision more than a kiss.
His hands were already in her hair, fisting tight, tilting her head back like he needed to own every inch of her mouth. His lips devoured hers, hot and punishing, all tongue and teeth, all memory and want and fuck, I missed you.
Hayley gasped into him, her hands scrambling for his shoulders, her thighs bracketing his hips like her body remembered this even better than her heart did.
His fingers dug into the back of her thigh, dragging her closer, grinding her down against the hard, aching length of his cock through thin cotton and nothing else.
She moaned—shocked at the sound of it, at how quick he unraveled her—and he growled like an animal finally off leash, flipping her beneath him in one brutal, fluid motion.
The mattress groaned under their weight.
Her back hit the sheets.
His body covered hers.
Jesse kissed like he fought—with force, with heat, with zero apology. Like he knew her mouth better than she did. Like he’d been memorizing the exact pressure and angle it took to make her fall apart in his hands.
She gasped when his hand slid up under her dress—rough, calloused, familiar. She barely remembered dragging it on. He clearly didn’t care, because he shoved the thin fabric up her hips and swore under his breath when he realized how little she had on underneath.
“Fucking hell, Fox…”
She bit her lip, dragging him down by the front of his shirt until his weight pressed into her chest, her thighs tight around his waist.
He cursed again—lower this time—like the contact physically hurt.
“You still know how to fuck me up,” he growled against her neck, voice broken, like it was half hate and half worship.
“And you still let me.”
That did it.
He gripped her wrists, pinning them over her head, every muscle in his body vibrating like he was seconds away from breaking something—or begging for something.
“You really want this?” he asked, voice hoarse, mouth hovering so close to hers she could taste the heat of it.
“No,” she breathed.
“Liar.”
And then he kissed her again, full of everything he hadn’t said in three years.
It wasn’t romantic.
It wasn’t slow.
It was a goddamn reckoning.
She kissed him back like it would break her not to.
Her fingers twisted in his shirt when he let her hands go, dragging it up, desperate for skin, for contact, for something that felt like control in a moment that was all surrender.
When their bare skin touched, they both froze.
His chest against hers.
His forehead resting against hers.
His breath trembling.
Her eyes burning.
“This is a mistake,” she whispered.
“No shit.”
Her hands fisted in his hair, pulling him closer, gasping into his mouth as his tongue tangled with hers—hot and rough and needy. His body was all around her, above her, between her thighs, hard muscle pressing her into the mattress until she couldn’t tell where she ended and he began. His hard cock thumped against her pussy, only separated by her panties.
He groaned low in his throat, lips trailing fire across her jaw, her cheek, the shell of her ear.
“I used to get high to forget what I hated about myself,” he breathed, voice cracked and wrecked, “but with you…”
His mouth returned to hers. Kissed her like he’d never stopped. Like he couldn’t.
“…I got high to forget how much I fucking loved you.”
Her whole body stilled.
Her heart cracked wide open.
And still—still—his mouth was moving on hers, coaxing her deeper, dragging her under. She was drowning in him, in heat, in hunger, in heartbreak that hadn’t healed.
He pulled back just an inch—just enough for his eyes to burn into hers.
Amber. Blazing. Bare.
“You want me to stop?” he rasped.
Hayley shook her head, too far gone to lie. Her throat burned. Her chest ached. Her mouth found his again, searching, giving, desperate.
“Then tell me,” he said against her lips, his voice gravel and sin, “to keep going.”
His hands slid up her thighs, rough palms grazing bare skin, hiking her dress higher until it was bunched around her hips. Her breath caught. Her hips lifted toward him on instinct.
“I fucking hate you,” she whispered, breathless, broken, lying through her teeth.
“Again.” Jesse let out a dark, ruined laugh. “Liar.”
And then he kissed her again.
Deeper. Hotter. More dangerous.
Like he could remind her who she belonged to with just his mouth.
Like he already knew she was his.
Her hands clawed at his back, nails dragging over the ridges of hard muscle, anchoring herself to him as the world spun out.
“Don’t stop,” she breathed.
That was all it took.
His mouth devoured hers, his hands everywhere—gripping, claiming, trembling with restraint that was seconds from snapping.
He yanked her bra down with a growl, the straps slipping off her shoulders, the fabric gone in a blink. His palms covered her breasts, thumbs dragging over her nipples, slow and rough and reverent. He pinched and squeezed, giving her exactly what she wanted. Enough hurt to feel it.
She moaned—sharp and ragged.
Jesse swallowed the sound with another kiss, his tongue plunging into her mouth like he wanted to taste every broken piece of her. He knew how to kiss her just rough enough.
Then—her panties were gone. Ripped down her thighs with one impatient tug, discarded like everything else that wasn’t him.
The air hit her bare skin just as he settled between her legs, heat and weight and body, so much body. His hips pressed to hers, teasing, torturing, his cock hard against her slick center, and still—still—he kissed her.
Every kiss like a confession.
Every breath like a promise he’d never made before now.
Her fingers twisted in his curls, her body arching as his mouth dragged lower—down her throat, her chest, her stomach—each kiss branding her in a way no one else ever had. He settled between her thighs, kissing her pussy and licking open her slit.
She gasped, spine arching off the mattress. “This isn’t a dream… is it?”
Jesse stilled. Looked up at her. His eyes locked with hers, amber and molten and so goddamn real.
“No,” he said, voice low and rough. “This is real. This is fucking happening.”
And when his mouth dipped down—when she felt his breath hot and focused against the softest, most vulnerable part of her—
Her body went tight.
Her breath caught.
This was happening.
She barely had time to brace herself before his tongue slid over her clit, slow and devastating, a deliberate stroke that stole the air from her lungs and replaced it with fire. A cry broke free from her lips, raw and aching, her hands flying to his hair like she could anchor herself to something, anything, before she flew apart.
“Jesse—” It was more plea than name.
He didn’t answer.
Didn’t pause.
Didn’t show her mercy.
Jesse Navarro had never been the kind of man who asked permission—especially not with her. He’d always taken his time. Always made her feel everything. And now, with one strong arm locked around her thigh, holding her open, holding her down, licking her clit with that same intensity, he reminded her exactly who he was.
Exactly who she belonged to.
His mouth moved with ruthless precision over her clit, tongue circling, teasing, licking, then pressing exactly where she needed it most. She gasped, spine arching, thighs twitching against his hold—but he held her fast, a low growl rumbling from his throat as his grip on her tightened. Then he pumped two fingers inside her soaked pussy, curling them just right.
“Stay still.”
His voice was rough silk, command threaded with heat, dragging straight through her like lightning down a wire.
She whimpered.
Bit her lip.
Tried to obey.
Because God, that voice—that man—could undo her with a single word.
He slowed down, pulled back until she stilled.
“Good girl,” he said, lips brushing against the inside of her thigh, deliberately soft, achingly slow, the barest kiss against trembling skin. Her fingers clenched the sheets, nails digging in, her chest heaving.
He was toying with her.
Testing her.
She could feel his smirk against her skin.
That cocky, infuriating bastard.
But two could play at that game.
Her hand shot down, tangling in his curls, giving a sharp tug that made his breath hitch, made him groan low in his throat.
“Jesse,” she ground out, her voice trembling with need. “I swear to God—”
His chuckle was dark, full of wicked promise. “Impatient wench.”
And then—he stopped playing.
His grip shifted, firmer, dragging her closer, spreading her wider, and his mouth devoured her like he was starving. Like she was the only thing that had ever fed him. His tongue moved in slow, merciless circles over her clit, then faster, harder, dragging her toward the edge like he needed to feel her come apart.
“Jesse—” Her voice broke on his name, her body coiling tighter and tighter, everything inside her unraveling too fast.
He hummed low against her, the vibration sending sparks through her core, and she shattered.
The orgasm slammed into her, ripped through her—white-hot, bone-deep, mindless.
She cried out, hands in his hair, back arched off the bed, and Jesse didn’t stop. Didn’t let up. He held her right there, right in it, licking and groaning and owning every second of her release until she was trembling, breathless, ruined beneath him.
And still—still—he didn’t let her go.
He kissed his way back up her body, dragging his lips over her stomach, her ribs, his hands skimming up her sides. His teeth grazed her nipple, his tongue soothing the bite, and she moaned, her fingers tightening in his hair.
Then he was above her again, pressing her into the mattress, his weight heavy, solid, safe.
Their eyes met.
Her chest heaved. His did too.
She reached up, tracing her fingers over his lips, swollen from kissing her, from owning her.
The way he looked at her then—wrecked, desperate, hungry but holding back—God, it did something to her.
He brushed her hair from her face, his touch surprisingly gentle now. A contrast. The way it always was with them.
“Tell me you want more,” he said.
She swallowed hard, staring into his golden eyes, unable to look away.
“Always.”
And just like that, Jesse lost his last thread of control. He grabbed her wrists, pinning them above her head, and kissed her like he was drowning in her.
And maybe—just maybe—he was.
Jesse pressed his cock against her wet, stated pussy. His thick, hard length slowly pushed up inside her—met by the sound of her whimpering. Fuck, it had been too long.
He thrusted into her pussy, moving in slow, deliberate strokes. He tightened his grip on her wrists, holding them above her head, pinning her down like he knew exactly what it did to her. Like he could feel the way her body reacted to him, the way she melted, the way her breath hitched in anticipation.
She had always loved this—his strength, his control, the way he handled her like he had every right to. Like she was his.
And Jesse? He knew.
“You still like this, don’t you?” His voice was rough, wrecked, hovering just above her mouth. “Still like getting ridden hard?”
She nodded, panting beneath him, her pulse hammering in her ears.
His lips brushed hers—just enough to tease, just enough to drive her crazy.
“Say it.”
A shudder rolled through her.
He still needed to hear it. Still needed to know she was right there with him, that they were perfectly in sync, just like they had always been.
“Yeah,” she whispered, voice breaking. “I like it.”
Jesse made a sound in the back of his throat—something dark, satisfied.
“Yeah, you do.”
Then he was gone—pulling away, flipping her effortlessly onto her stomach.
A gasp left her lips, her cheek pressing into the sheets. She felt the bed dip behind her, felt the warmth of his body behind her.
His cock found her pussy again—thrusting up to the hilt in one motion.
Then—his hands. Rough. Strong. Exploring her like she was something to be worshipped. Pushing the small of her back down, arching her pussy to his cock. Fucking her hard but slow, he dragged his hands down her sides, across her stomach, over her thighs.
Teasing.
Drawing it out. Driving her wild.
Every pass of his hands down her body, every shift of his weight above her, was designed to unravel her—slowly, ruthlessly.
She bit her lip, fists clenching in the sheets, breath hitching. “Jesse…”
Her voice cracked—needy, raw, ruined.
That was all it took.
He surged into her, hard and deep, and she cried out, her back arching, her body folding around the force of him.
God.
Every inch of him slammed into her like a promise, like a claim, like he’d waited three years to remind her who she belonged to. And he didn’t hold back. Not anymore. Jesse moved with a rhythm that was rough and relentless, his grip bruising her hips, his mouth dragging fire down her spine.
She met every thrust, desperate for more, for everything, and still—still—it wasn’t enough.
Because she wanted all of him.
Wanted to be split wide open by the only man who had ever truly known her—her body, her needs, her soul.
And Jesse knew.
He knew every sound she made, every breath she held, every tell. He didn’t have to ask what she wanted—he was what she wanted. He had always been.
“Mine,” he growled, teeth grazing her shoulder. “You always were.”
Her moan was answer enough.
The pressure built fast, too fast. Her legs trembled, her vision blurred. She tried to hang on, to breathe, but it was no use—he drove her straight into the fire, and she burned.
Pleasure crashed over her like a wave, tearing through her so hard she forgot how to breathe, forgot her name, forgot anything but him. Her hands clawed at the sheets as she came apart beneath him, the sound of his name ripped from her throat.
And Jesse—God, Jesse—followed right behind her, his body shuddering, his grip iron-tight, his voice a low, guttural curse against her neck.
They fell together.
A perfect storm.