Chapter 28 Rhys
Rhys
Ididn’t plan on feeling homicidal tonight.
But I do.
Daniel Cole, Jayne’s boss, has a firm handshake, an expensive watch, and a smile that’s just…a bit too genuine.
He’s also spent the past fifteen minutes telling me how “extraordinary” my wife is.
And okay, she is. But something about hearing it from him—the tall, polished, clearly-smitten-in-that-respectable-mentor-way son of a bitch—makes my molars grind.
We’re at an event for the firm, one of those semi-charitable, semi-PR dinners with too much champagne and not enough food. Jayne looks stunning in a black dress, hair swept up, confident in a way that’s half corporate, half goddess.
I should be proud. I am. I am also quietly losing my mind.
I’m fucking jealous.
“We couldn’t have pulled off the Harper case without her.” Daniel’s hand brushes her elbow as he laughs. “She’s the backbone of the entire operation.”
Jayne smiles modestly, but I see the sparkle in her eyes when she’s seen.
And damn it, I get it. She deserves this. She deserves to be admired. I just don’t like him, the good-looking bastard gazing at my wife like she stepped out of a catalog.
She did. But she’s my wife.
When we finally leave, the cool night air hits my overheated temper.
September is here, and the temperatures have gone from summer to fall.
I go back to the hospital in a month, and a part of me is looking forward to it, and another is going to miss the time I’ve spent at home.
I’ve enjoyed my sabbatical. I’ve learned a lot about myself and how to make a chicken marsala.
“You and Daniel seem…close,” I say, trying for casual and landing somewhere between suspicious and deranged.
She glances at me. “He’s my boss, Rhys. Of course, we’re close.”
“Right. Your boss who talks about you like you walk on water.”
She smirks. “Maybe I do. You never know.”
“Whatever.”
“What’s going on, Rhys?”
I half laugh, half stew. “Was there ever…anything?”
“Anything?” She stops at the car and gapes at me. “You mean with Daniel?”
I shrug, shoving my hands into my pockets like a teenage idiot. “I’m just…asking.”
She bursts out laughing. The sound bounces off the parking garage walls. “Oh my God. You’re jealous!”
“Wouldn’t you be?”
“Of Daniel?” She opens the car door, incredulous. “Rhys, please. I’ve known him since he was Finn’s age.”
I open my mouth, but she cuts me off with a grin. “He has grown into quite a good-looking man. Iris thinks he has a crush on me.”
“The son of a bitch,” I mutter, sliding into the driver’s seat.
She turns to me, one brow arched. “Oh, you’re adorable when you sulk.”
I look at her and the way the garage lights catch the curve of her neck, the half-smile on her lips, makes all the irritation, the jealousy, the ridiculousness burn away into something else entirely.
I lean closer. “Keep laughing, Mrs. Prescott.”
“Or what?”
I kiss her. Hard.
She gasps, then kisses me back, matching every ounce of frustration, love, and heat that’s been building between us for months. It’s messy, clumsy, urgent.
When we break apart, she’s breathless. “We’re in a parking lot.”
“I’m aware.”
“This is ridiculous.”
“Probably.” I kiss her again.
She’s laughing against my mouth now, hands gripping my jacket. “You’re insane.”
“Completely.”
We tumble into the kind of kiss that erases everything. The jealousy, the fear, the exhaustion.
Just us.
Always us.
Her fingers move up my thigh, slow and deliberate.
“Jayne,” I growl, but it’s weak.
She knows she’s won before I’ve even surrendered. Her lips curl into a siren’s smile. She leans across the console, her breasts pressing against my arm, her breath hot on my neck.
“I love that you’re jealous.” Her hand is on my zipper now, and she’s pulling it down. “You’re jealous because you think he wants me. But he’ll never have me. Not like you do.”
Her fingers are inside my pants now, wrapping around my cock, and I’m done.
Done arguing.
Done thinking.
All I can do is groan, my head falling back against the seat as she starts stroking me, her hand slick with the pre-cum already leaking from my tip. She’s using it against me, lubing me up with it. I can hardly breathe.
“Fuck, Jayne.” My voice is rough, broken.
She lets go of me for a second, just long enough to climb over the center console and straddle me, her dress riding up her thighs. She grinds against me, her pussy is wet and hot even through her panties.
I cup her breasts, pull the dress down. She’s wearing a lacy bra. I suckle her nipples through the fabric.
She moans, her head thrown back, her hands tangled in my hair.
“You’re mine,” she whispers, her voice shaky but confident. “Say it, Rhys. Say you’re mine.”
“I’m yours.” I cup her ass, squeezing hard.
She pulls my cock out now, rubs it against her, teasing me, torturing me. And then, finally, she pushes the gusset of her panties aside and sinks onto me, taking me all the way in one smooth motion, her tight cunt clenching around me like a vice.
I groan her name, my hands gripping her tighter as she starts to move, riding me hard and fast, her tits bouncing in my face.
She’s wild, her nails digging into my shoulders, her moans filling the car.
I grab her hips, thrusting up into her, meeting her rhythm.
She cries out when her orgasm hits her.
But I’m not done. I hold her still and pound up into her.
I’m close now, so close, and I pull her hair, forcing her head back as I slam into her one last time, my cum erupting inside her, filling her up.
Her body convulses around me.
We’re both wrecked, panting and sweaty and completely spent.
She collapses against me, her legs trembling.
I kiss her forehead, her cheeks, her lips.
She looks at me, smiles, soft and sweet.
She’s mine.
Always has been.
Always will be.
“I love you,” I whisper.
She laughs, low and throaty.
“I know,” she says, curling into me. “Now, I need to get off of you, clean up, and then we need to go home.”
“And do that again.”
“On a bed, please.”
“Yes, Jayne, on a bed,” I say, laughing because life has never been this good.