Chapter 32
CARI
“Thank you, for standing up for me.” As I settle into the SUV, I’m still blown away by what Jett did back there.
“I couldn't let them talk to you like that.”
“I just didn’t expect it. They’re your friends—”
“Some friends.”
Jett's face is tight, and I wonder if he regrets confronting the party hosts. I know he's not too fond of the man, but even so, standing up for me in that crowd can't have been easy.
The journey back is filled with silence, and Brooke—bless her—falls asleep, her tiny body tilting against Jett. He puts a comforting arm around her shoulder, and his hands brush my arm. I jolt as a zap of electricity zings through me. He moves Brooke towards him, so that there’s no chance of him accidentally touching me.
I stare out the window, needing time to reflect because so much happened this evening. The argument with the two sisters has soured the mood, and I wonder if Jett even wants to go ahead with our midnight meetup.
So much has changed.
If anything, it's only highlighted the difference between us.
Those people saw me as the help, and even though Jett defended me, his family would treat me the same. If I meet him at midnight, what am I doing? Walking into more heartache? The whole point of me resigning was to get away from him, from the torture of what I feel for him.
But this is different, my heart says, dismissing my brain. He told you he has feelings for you, too.
It’s not a one-sided crush. I need to see what he has to say at midnight.
We get back and Jett carries a sleeping Brooke to her bedroom. I tell him that I’ll get her into pajamas and tuck her in, and he leaves without a word. Brooke is tired, but she’s such a good little girl that when I gently rouse her she doesn’t complain. She gets up and brushes her teeth with no fuss.
I’ll never go without panties again. I’m so wet down there and it feels uncomfortable. I’m about to hop into the shower because I need to cool down, but before I do that, I decide to go down to the library. Having finished my thriller, I’m in need of something new to read. I still have a few hours before I go to the gazebo.
My nerves are frazzled thinking about what midnight will bring, but reading will help to settle my mind. It used to help when I was with my mom in the hospital, or when I’d keep her company after her chemo sessions. She’d be out like a light, but I would sit by her bedside, crying and falling apart, willing her to get better again and imagining our lives going back to normal. The only reprieve I had from real life was to lose myself in books and stories.
But she didn’t make it, and it broke me.
I tiptoe down to the library, feeling anxious and on edge, already wound up like a coil. I dread to think how I'll feel as the hours pass. I open the door and walk in, instantly feeling calmer. There’s something about books, and a hallowed space just for reading and quiet solitude. This place calms me. I walk around, inhaling the scent of old books. It takes me back to another era—one I never even lived through.
The sections are clearly labelled, and I easily find the old-world literature classics, picking up a copy of Jane Eyre and Wuthering Heights .
I run my fingers across a bookcase and there’s not a speck of dust to be found. I marvel at how well this house is kept. At the Knight family’s lavish lifestyle, how everything is taken care of. How this family has everything they want, and it’s still not enough.
I doubt Jett reads much—only the financial newspapers, or memoirs and autobiographies of rich businessmen. He prefers to spend his time at the bar.
“You needed to kill the time, too, huh?” His voice rumbles through my body. I turn around to find him closing the door. He walks towards me. Being alone in a room with him again unnerves me, and the quiet grandeur of the library does nothing to still my beating heart.
“Are you up drinking?” I ask. He’s not holding a whiskey glass, which is unusual.
“I haven’t touched a drop. I need to clear my head.”
“What are you doing here?” Thud, thud, thud . My heart beats like a drum as he stands before me. So close that the spicy scent of his aftershave wafts over me, making my nipples harden. I’m such a mess around this man. My body reacts in a way I can’t control.
“I was restless.” He stares down at me, his eyes dark now, in the dimly lit room.
I hold the books to my chest as a shield. “A-Are we still meeting at midnight?”
“You tell me. Are we?”
I frantically note that I haven't showered, and I'm not prepared, mentally or physically, for whatever is going to happen at midnight. “Thank you for standing up for me.”
“You already thanked me.”
“But I’m so grateful that you did. I felt so … alone in that crowd, and you surprised me.”
“You didn't think I would?”
“I ... uh ... I wasn’t sure. I wanted you to, but these are your people. Your crowd. I hope this doesn't mess your friendship up.”
“Friendship?” he snorts. “Bryce Richards is no friend of mine. He stole from me, backstabbed me in a business deal, and he's a shady piece of shit.”
“I could tell you didn't like him.”
“How?”
“I can read your body language, Jett. I can tell just by looking at you—what you feel, what you’re thinking.”
“You see more than you let on,” he murmurs, his gaze settling on my lips. A light, giddy feeling stirs inside me. I notice that he’s showered and changed into his comfy loungewear.
“A lot of those women think of me like I’m the help. It was just like that time I took Brooke for lunch at one of their houses.”
“I’m sorry.” He sounds weary. “You're not the help, and I despise them for the way they treated you, for the way they made you feel. You are much more to me.”
This quick and direct jump in conversation startles me. I thought we'd do our usual verbal dancing around, talking about anything but the real reason we're meeting at midnight.
“I am?” I muster a smile, because I really am in awe. What he did for me speaks volumes about who he is, and how he sees me.
“You should know that by now. After everything I said to you,”
“Sometimes it feels like a dream,” I whisper.
“And this ...” He takes a step, invading my personal space, making me lean further back against the bookcase behind me. “Does this feel like a dream?” I smell his lemon body wash, and I hate that I’m still hot and sweaty. I really need to shower before we meet, but he catches me off guard, deftly swiping the books I’m holding and sliding them onto a bookshelf.
I can’t even breathe. When his fingers gently stroke my cheek, I swear my heart sinks into my belly. Is this really happening? His breath caresses my cheeks, and if I move my face a little, our lips will brush.
“I’ve dreamed of moments like this,” I confess, because with him almost flush against me, his overpowering presence intoxicating me, there is no space left to think. Or to lie. There is only the truth.
“As have I, my little red-headed shortcake.”
I’m his little red-headed shortcake.
I want to burst with happiness.
“You have?”
“Oh, yes.” His voice is thick, and reverberates deep in my chest. When he cups my face, his thumb trailing down my cheek, I almost mewl with desire. I am so consumed by need for this man, I’m going to do something silly if I’m not careful.
“I-if you don't like that man why did you go to his party?” I ask, my curiosity getting the better of me. “Was it for the ponies? For Brooke?”
His lips purse together, as if he's grinding his teeth. “I'd forgotten about the ponies. I went ...” He pauses, his dark eyes blazing into mine. “I went because I wanted to ruin your plans to see the boy-man.”
“The boy-man?” I’m confused. It takes a while for it to sink in. He’s name-calling Jacques. This thirty-three-year-old man is as jealous as I thought. He hates the guy he thinks I'm interested in. “Why do you hate him so much?” I ask, all innocence.
“Because you like him. Because he likes you. Because he’s young. Because you're seeing him tomorrow.”
“I'm not. I lied.”
Tension seeps out of his face and his features soften, as he rests his forehead against mine. “You lied to me?” His lips brush so lightly, like a feather over mine, that I’m not sure if it happened or if I’ve imagined it.
“I wanted to get back at you for you telling me to leave that night, after I’d worn the dress for you.”
Another brush of his lips against mine. I gasp, and we inhale each other’s breath. It’s sexy and intimate. The throbbing between my legs intensifies. I could orgasm just by standing and talking to him like this. “You looked so beautiful and sexy. So desirable. I couldn’t look at you a moment longer and do nothing.”
“Even after I told you how I felt about you?”
“You’re not hearing me. I was trying to restrain myself. To exercise self-control while I could.”
“You hurt me.”
“That wasn’t my intention.”
“You made me feel less than.”
He moves his head away. “You are never less than, Cari.”
I nibble my lower lip as he places his hands on either side of the bookcase, caging me in.
“I'm not with Jacques. I’m not interested in him and never have been. I wanted to tease you. I wanted you to think of me naked under this dress.”
His eyes widen. “You most certainly fucking did that.”
I’m so wound up with desire for this man that he only has to touch me somewhere intimate and I would spontaneously combust. I was already full of need for him, but the way he stood up for me at the party makes me want him with unbridled desperation. I’ve never felt this way about anyone, and what I felt before is nothing compared to the hunger I have for him now.
I would do anything he asked me. Anything.
“I just needed to know that I could drive you crazy, Mr. Knight.”
“You do, shortcake. You fucking do,” he growls. His eyes assess my lips like he wants to fuck me with his tongue. He presses against me and I feel his steel-hard cock against my stomach. “Feel that?” he hisses.
I’d have to be a bookcase myself to not feel that. My chest rises and falls. To be caged by Jett Knight, to have him say these things to me, while his hardness pokes me … oh sweet Jesus.
“Yes,” I murmur, feeling on the edge of something.
He thumbs my lower lip. “I already told you, but I’ll say it again because I need you to believe me, I’ve had feelings for you for a long time. You’re smart, and you stand up to me. I’ve been a bully, and an ass to you, but it was to keep you at bay. In a world of liars and cheats, you’re honest and real. You sparkle like a diamond, Cari. I’d have to be blind not to see you.”
My jaw drops open in shock and his eyes fall to my lips again. He wants to kiss me. And I so badly want to kiss him. Instead, I slide my hand between us and rest it on his hardness.
Holy hellfire. The man is carrying enough wood to light a bonfire. He moves an inch, giving me space to feel him up.
“You do this to me every day, every fucking hour lately,” he bites out, like I’m the one who is problematic, and not his dick.
I stroke him gingerly over his joggers, even over the thin fabric I can feel everything. The ridges and hardness. It’s so big, my heart pitter-patters inside my ribcage in excitement. I feel a wetness at the tip and my eyes widen. Is he not wearing any boxers? “Have you gone commando ?”
“Why don’t you find out for yourself?” he dares.
Not one to back down, I slip my hand inside the elastic waistband and … I let out a choke. He’s not wearing boxers.
“Two can play that game.” His voice is gravelly with need. I close my hand around him, and stroke his thick, long length.. I don’t know if I can handle it—him—inside me. I slide my thumb over his wet tip, and he groans. Emboldened, I smear his wetness over him. He closes his eyes as I gently squeeze. “Fuck, Cari. What are you doing?”
“Something you like, evidently.”
I continue to stroke him gently, and his tip leaks some more pre-cum which I smear over him, making him groan low and feral. His eyelids fly wide open. “My turn.” He moves my hand away.
“May I?” he asks. I lean back against the bookcase and lick my lips.
“Touch me,” I beg.
He doesn’t need to be told twice. Bending slightly, he reaches the hem of my dress then slides his hand up my leg. I groan, then bite my lip as the anticipation builds. His fingers skate along my bare skin, making the dress ride up. Soon I’m completely exposed as the dress hitches on one side at my waist. His fingers reach my hip and his eyes pop open when he discovers that I am indeed not wearing any panties.
“Fuck,” he growls.
“You thought I was just teasing you?”
“You tease me even when you don’t mean to.” His hand stays on my hip, his fingers splayed. If he moved them a few inches back, he’d be cupping my bare cheeks.
His thumb lightly rests along the crease of my hip and he groans as he gently strokes me there. I recognize the pent-up frustration in that sound, hear his breathing slow down. He rests his forehead against mine again.
“Fuck, Cari.”
I wish he would.
I breathe, and wait with bated breath, desperate for him to feel me between my legs, where I’ve had a dull ache for weeks. My heart jackhammers in my chest and my knees threaten to collapse.
We both hiss, swallowing each other’s breaths. My lips part, I feel as if I’m going to come already and he hasn’t even touched me in my most intimate place.
“May I—” he rasps.
“Yes … do it… please .” It’s a tortured plea. I don’t even know what he wants, but I’m all for it. I sigh when his hand moves and he cups me between my legs. I sigh with relief. To be touched there, by him, feels like a small release.
“Fuck. You’re soaking.”
My breaths come fast and short. He tilts his head away, watching my reaction as he thumbs my clit. I groan in ecstasy as he slips in a finger, then another, turning me into a boneless, writhing wreck. I sink against the bookcase, throwing my head back, lost in the feeling. “Oh, oh, oh,” I moan.
His fingers piston in and out.
“You’re so wet,” he murmurs.
“For you.”
It’s like I’ve poured gasoline over a fire, and his other hand slips below the hem of my dress, hitching it up and folding it entirely around my waist. He rubs my clit with his thumb and with his other hand slips in a third finger. I finally feel the fullness I’ve been craving.
Inside, I unravel.
Just when I can’t take it anymore, he kisses me, lifting his hands to cup my face. I smell my arousal on him. His tongue sweeps into my mouth and he takes control, kissing me hard and feverishly, like a feral beast who can’t be satiated.
My body jerks to his touch. I want his hands down below, not on my face. When I shake my head, hoping he’ll get the message, he falls to his knees and plants his face between my legs. He nudges my knees wider with his elbows, and feasts on me like a man who hasn’t eaten in days. His mouth, tongue, lips, and fingers explore my swollen folds, making me shudder with an intensity I can’t contain.
“I’m going to … I’m going to … come …” I pant out, so close to the edge.
“No.” He stands up, his face shiny. He kisses me again, and I taste myself. For a fleeting moment I recoil, but he’s so masterful, so in control, that I lose myself in another hungry kiss. He pulls away, wags his finger at me. “Don’t you dare come yet.”
“But I can’t—”
Before I can say anything, he grabs me gently by the wrist and pulls me along with him to go up the stairs.
“We can’t … we can’t ... Brooke is sleeping,” I protest, thinking he’s heading toward my room. But at the top of the stairs he takes a different turn.
He pushes the door open, and I stumble inside. Into his bedroom. All I see is a supersize bed, black-and-gray silk sheets, and warm light from a bedside lamp. He pushes me up against the door and presses his hardness against me, caging me in again.
“Do you want this?” he rasps, gazing at me like an animal.
I want this more than anything. “Y-yes.”
That’s all it takes. His mouth crushes against mine. Every cell in my body sizzles. We kiss as though we’ve been starved for one another for years. This is certainly true for me. Jett growls as he explores my mouth with his tongue.
He swiftly turns me around and unzips me, pulling the dress down my shoulders and yanking it to the floor. Then he unhooks my bra, and I instinctively cover my breasts with my hands.
“Don’t be shy,” he husks, dropping a sloppy wet kiss on my shoulder. He sucks my skin and I bite back a moan. This is heavenly. He’s up to something, and as I’m about to turn around to look, his hands lift mine off my breasts and I feel the wet tip of his cock against my back. He holds my breasts, tweaking and kneading, then moves one hand below, using it to slide his shaft along my butt cheeks.
“Fucking Christ. You feel so fucking good.” He doesn’t even sound like the man I work for. He sounds like a dirty, sexy monster. I buck against him, wishing he would fill me. Wishing he would fuck me hard. But he promptly stops, and holding my hand, leads me to the bed.
I sit on the edge and scoot back a little before lying propped up on my elbows, blinking furiously when my gaze dips to his engorged penis.
Feeling it was one thing. Seeing it is another. My mouth falls open in awe. In shock. I had an inkling about his size, but looking at it is something else. It’s the biggest one I’ve ever seen. Its bulbous tip is purple and glistening.
“I don’t think I can …” Fit you in.
I scoot back more towards the headboard, feeling a little scared. He’ll rip me apart. And to make things worse, I haven’t had sex for a while.
He moves over to his dresser, then takes out a foil packet, ripping it open with his teeth. He strokes himself as he walks towards me. Just seeing him do that turns me on. “This is how I’ve had to fix myself most nights. Because of what you do to me, Cari.”
If this isn’t one of the hottest things I’ve seen. Pre-cum glistens on his tip, and he smears it on himself, the angry vein in his forehead throbbing as if it’s about to burst.
“You’re so … incredibly … huge .” I gulp, watching him roll the condom on.
“We can take it slow.” He lies over me, supporting himself on his elbow, as one hand dips between my legs. “You’re slick enough to take it.” His finger hooks inside me, and I whimper as he hits the spot. But, just as quickly, he pulls it out.
His eyes are so dark now, filled with need. I sense the urgency for release. “Do you trust me?”
This man will never hurt me. That much I know. “Yes,” I whisper, feeling safe with him. His mouth lifts to mine and we melt into another kiss, this one gentler, but full of need. Then he moves lower, his lips nuzzling my breasts. He takes one into his mouth and sucks hard, the sensation so overwhelming that I arch my back, savoring every moment.
I let out a deep groan, then sigh when he pays careful attention to the other breast. All the while, his fingers stroke my clit. I’m so wet and fully aroused, I can’t hold it off much longer.
“Ready?” he murmurs, looking down at me as he shifts his body over mine.
I nod.
I feel his tip at my opening. He slides in a little, and … my head sinks into the pillow, feeling a thousand sensations all over my body. He slowly slides in further and I feel the stretch. Oh, this is … beautiful. He fills that dull ache and the emptiness so magnificently. I sigh, feeling every stretch as he slowly begins to fill me. The delicious friction has an edge of pain. Our bodies are slippery with sweat. In the heat of the night, so close to my release, I start to pant quickly. He stills, kissing me deeply, his lips sucking my mouth, his tongue painting my lips.
“Are you all in,” I murmur, feeling full.
“Just a little bit more, shortcake.” He dips his head and sucks my nipple hard, tweaking the other one between his finger and thumb. “Ready?”
I groan, loving the way he worships my breasts.
He sucks harder, gliding in some more, before slamming all the way in. I cry out feeling pain and pleasure. I’ve never felt so full before. He holds, not moving, letting me adjust to his length, his girth. The pain doesn’t last long because he kisses me again, claiming my mouth and my breast, alternating with each as if he can’t get enough. Then he stops and stares at me. It’s so intimate, him inside me, looking at me beneath him.
“You feel so good,” I whisper.
“ You feel so good.” He pulls out slowly, then slaps back into me, making me jolt.
“Ahhhh.” I let out a noise. “Don’t stop,” I beg, and he obeys, setting up a nice rhythm. I can feel the crescendo within reach, and I want to stay in this glorious moment forever. Every cell in my body is bracing for the peak, where I’ll crumble completely.
I’m almost there, but he lifts my leg, widening my angle. Part kneeling now, he slides out slowly and slaps back in hard and fast. Each time he does it, I feel loose and trippy. Like I’m coming apart.
This man is a master. I’ve been with guys, but now I’m being taken care of by a sex god.
He’s right. There’s a difference. A big one.
He pumps into me hard and fast, the liquid heat setting my insides on fire. I’m already so close to coming, and when he bends down and kisses me, slamming into me, my head turns light as pleasure spreads over me. It’s pleasure and pressure, my orgasm building to a wild crescendo. I cry his name out between gasps. He grabs my arms and pins them above my head, his eyes watching me as he fucks me ferociously. I like this roughness. This edge to his sweet softness.
“You like this?” he growls.
“I ... love … this,” I manage to get out. He pounds away, and then I fall apart, filthy moans falling from my lips. He grunts as he pushes in deeper, then holds, and I feel every beautiful inch of him filling me as I come undone.