Chapter 16 Unwanted Answers #2
Dietz couldn’t contain his laughter. “Roll that back. Warrant Officer Johnson has a designated girl? ‘Scuse me, ma’am, can I get your name—”
“Thanks for the info, Deets,” Jon said, reaching for the phone. “Let me know if you learn anything about PJ.” He tapped the red button to the sound of full-bellied laughter. Fucker.
“Sorry,” Jenna whispered into the sudden quiet.
Jon laid his hand palm up over the console between them and waited, not speaking a word or taking his eyes from the road until Jenna laid her hand over his. He curled his fingers around her softer skin and cut her a brief look as he said, “You don’t have anything to apologize for, Jen.”
He saw her nod out of the corner of his eye.
“Do you think,” she said after a moment, “the cartel your friend mentioned … is responsible for Steph’s disappearance?”
He really wished she hadn’t asked him that. Jon slowed as the intersection for Misty Glades came into view. “Very few things in life are true coincidence,” he said. “If I were to place a bet, I’d say all these recent disappearances lead back to the cartel.”
She held tighter to his hand, her arm shaking. But her voice was reassuringly steady when she spoke. “We can’t tell Martha that. At least not until we know for sure. It’ll break her.”
Jon gave another squeeze. “I’m not giving up, baby.
When you talk to Martha tomorrow, you tell her we won’t give up.
” He stopped at the first red light and leaned sideways enough to bring her knuckles to his lips.
“I’ll rip this cartel out of our community by the fucking root.
If they think they can take the whole west coast, they’re in for a big goddamn surprise. ”
A smile seeped into Jenna’s voice. “You curse way more than I remember, you know.”
Jon couldn’t help the chuckle. “Really? Thought I was editing pretty well.”
“How’s your leg?”
Jenna smiled at her overprotective second-time boyfriend. We might be a little too old for those words, though. “My leg is fine,” she said, wiggling her bare toes for emphasis. “You heard Nurse Lynnette, the cut was shallow. It won’t even scar.”
Jon hooked his hand around her ankle and swung her leg into his lap, then swiftly—but gently—pushed up her ruined pantleg until it bunched below her knee. His fingers brushed over her skin and Jenna fought to hold still.
“What are you doing?”
He leaned to the side, rolled her leg only slightly, and replied, “Inspecting.”
“You’re impossible.” But it warmed her heart that he did it, that he was so insistent on it.
Jon released a quiet breath and settled one hand over the top of her foot. “Kick me out.”
Jenna blinked. “What?”
He locked his dark stare on her. “Kick me out, Jen. Tell me to sleep in my truck, or on the roof, or any-damn-where that isn’t here.”
She had watched him say all the words, and still they made no sense. She shook her head. “Why would I do that?” On the roof? He wouldn’t… “Jon—”
He moved her foot from his thigh and twisted himself around so his knees were balanced between her extended leg and the edge of the couch.
In that one move, he was leaning over her, well inside her personal space, and her heart rate tripled with a dangerous anticipation as he reached out to latch onto the back and armrest on either side of her.
His voice was rougher than she could remember hearing it when he spoke again, his stare unwavering.
“Because I’m not gentlemanly enough to sleep anywhere other than in bed with you if I stay. ”
Sweet Jesus. It was a damn good thing she was already sitting, but she hadn’t realized they’d jumped straight into the heart of summer. She was wearing far too much fabric.
Jenna licked her lips as she attempted to wrangle her own response.
He’d called her his multiple times that day, and each time, it had sent her heart racing. She was well past denying that she was invested in giving them another shot, but she hadn’t been with a man in years. She hadn’t dated in even longer. She didn’t know the rules anymore. Was it too soon?
Did that matter if she’d technically done most everything with him before?
Does it matter if I just really want to?
Jon was her safe place. He’d always been her safe place. And he was home, alive, and still looking at her with a hunger she could feel in her soul. That was what mattered.
Jenna smoothed her hands up his chest, her fingers brushing over what she assumed to be the dog tags she’d not actually seen, attached to the chain she had glimpsed around his neck.
When she had hold of his jaw, his warm skin and a day’s worth of stubble scraping her palms, she said, “Maybe I want you to stay.”
His chest heaved and he released the arm of the couch, bringing that hand up to the nape of her neck as he dropped down and crushed his lips to hers.
His tongue pushed into her mouth as her arms curled around his neck, her fingers stretching into his short-cut hair.
He pulled a sound of appreciation out of her chest as he sucked on her tongue.
His kiss was hard, demanding and devouring all at once, and then he tore his lips away and moved down her jaw.
Jenna gasped, feeling flushed and increasingly needy. “Jon,” she said on a moan as he licked a path down her neck.
He nipped at her skin. “That’s right, baby. I’m home now, and I’m all yours.” He pushed up abruptly, reached back, and peeled his shirt off.
It fell somewhere to the floor, but Jenna hardly cared.
She was far too busy drinking in the way his body had matured.
The lean, respectable form she’d found appealing as a teenager had been replaced with a grown man’s hard, defined muscle that had her mouth watering.
The slanted lettering of the tattoo she’d seen before wound around his bicep, a pair of silver dog tags hung on a silver chain from his neck, and a faint dusting of dark hair covered the center portion of his chest, trailing down to the suddenly visible V at his hips.
Over his left pec, in broken block lettering, the initials USMC were inked into his skin, followed by the numbers 0321 in the same lettering.
Directly underneath that, in smaller, slanted ink were more numbers—numbers Jenna recognized as the years Jon had joined, and the current year. His length of service.
Without thought, she moved a hand to trace her fingers over the numbers. The skin surrounding the ink representing the current year wasn’t red or swollen, so he’d obviously gotten that tattoo before returning to town.
Jon cupped the back of her hand, holding her palm to his chest. “I’m home now,” he repeated, his tone softer. He dragged her hand over his heart. “And I’m gonna make us work. I won’t let you go this time.”
Jenna swallowed hard, confused emotion rushing through her. She couldn’t think about sex and romance at the same time, dammit. Not while he was shirtless and still kneeling between her legs. “Jon.” She licked her lips. “Less talking, more kissing.”
His grin seared her. “Yes, ma’am.” He released her hand, slipped his beneath her shirt, and swept hers over her head before she could second-guess the angle of her body. Which was not nearly the most flattering. Her belly rolls would absolutely be emphasized in their current position.
She opened her mouth to suggest he turn the lights off, or that they move to the bedroom, and Jon let out a low groan.
“Goddamn,” he muttered as his hands slid up her sides, lighting her nerves on fire and drawing a gasp from her lips.
He bent forward and pressed his lips to the base of her throat, then began trailing open-mouthed kisses over her collar bone and down toward her breasts.
He teased her skin with his tongue every few seconds, until he reached her cleavage and licked down between her breasts.
Then he promptly buried his nose there and reached up to hold her bra-covered boobs in both hands.
Jenna flushed even as another pulse of arousal shot through her.
Jon let out a groan and lifted off her chest, his calloused hands dragging back down her body.
He went straight for the snap on her jeans as his eyes locked with hers.
“Am I gonna find you wet for me, baby?” He dipped his fingers beneath the waistband of both her pants and panties and swept his hands out to her hips.
“Is your pretty pussy aching for some attention?”
Jenna gasped out a breath. “Yes.” It was surreal, even laughable, to think their idea of dirty talk had once been limited to describing sex as ‘fucking’ and use of the word ‘dick.’ But she would do her laughing later, when she wasn’t about to combust. She raised her hips when he tugged and he only moved away long enough to pull her pants entirely off her legs.
She thought she caught a glimpse of colored ink on his back when he twisted partly around to toss the material aside.
Then he was leaning over her again, hands hot on her bare thighs, the metal of his tags cool on her chest as he kissed her.
Her arms came around his shoulders, her fingers digging into his taut skin while their tongues slid together.
He reached lower, setting her left foot on the floor and raising her right leg up until her body slid down the couch a bit to accommodate.
He sucked her lower lip into his mouth and bit down just firmly enough to make her whimper, and then he retreated.
Jenna sucked in a shaky breath, only then realizing he’d rested her leg on the back of the sofa. She managed to turn a deeper shade of red with the resulting understanding of how splayed open she was, and she automatically moved to push upright.
Jon laid a palm on her abdomen and pressed down. “You’re not getting off this couch until you’ve had at least one orgasm.” He leaned in and kissed her stomach, and his hands moved again to her hips as his mouth trailed lower.
Her breath faltered. Is he…? She hadn’t exactly kept herself waxed.
Jon let out a low groan and ran a finger up her slit. “Fuck me. Your pretty pussy’s soaked.” He rolled his thumb over her clit and her eyes threatened to roll back in her head. “Just relax, baby,” he said, pausing to press a kiss to her inner thigh. “Let me take care of you.”
She had a single second to wonder if she was supposed to respond to that, and what she might say, before Jon dropped his whole damn face between her legs and started licking.
He moved his hands to her thighs, holding her open, and all she could do was fall back against the arm of the sofa and take it.
He was everywhere, licking and sucking, making shameless lewd noises as a toe-curling pleasure built higher and higher inside her.
His tongue swirled around her clit, then swept down and dove inside her, curling up against her inner walls.
When he withdrew, making his way again up toward her clit, he released one leg and plunged two fingers into her aching core.
He pumped his fingers and Jenna clawed at the couch beneath her, her hips undulating against his face.
She was so close.
Then he took her clit in his mouth again, sucking and licking at the same time as his fingers pressed against her. And she exploded.
Her vision went white and she lost time until she was slumping into the couch again, breathless and tingly in the best of ways.
“Goddamn,” Jon groaned, a wet smacking sound emphasizing his exclamation. He leaned over her as she blinked her vision clear. “You’re fucking delicious, baby,” he murmured against her lips. Then he plunged his tongue back into her mouth, kissing her the way he’d tongue-fucked her.
She tasted herself on him, and the idea of it sparked a fresh heat in her blood. Her arms curled around his torso. “Jon,” she mumbled, barely breaking the kiss. Her fingers dug into the muscles of his back. “I need you. Please.”
He groaned again and broke the kiss, pushing up and out of her reach. “I’m not fucking you on the couch, Jen. Not tonight.”
Her brows pulled together. Surely, he wasn’t retreating now, after all that?
As if reading her mind, he chuckled, gently pulled her raised leg down to the cushions, and stood. “Get that sweet ass up, lose the bra, and let’s take this to the bedroom.”