6. Jacklyn
6
JACKLYN
T he room is quiet except for the soft hum of the bass, its pulse faint through the walls of the club. Lucky stands a few steps away, his dark eyes locked on me, the kind of gaze that strips away at the layers I’ve carefully constructed around myself. The air between us is charged, thick with something we’ve been circling around all night.
Every time I’ve tried to leave, he’s pulled me back, refusing to let me go without taking me again. My phone rings in the background, but I ignore it. His phone rings and he throws it across the room.
Lucky Gatti was made for me. I was made for him. This is never more evident than the electricity that buzzes through the room at our proximity. We complement each other so neatly that it’s hard to find anything we dislike about each other.
I don’t delude myself into thinking that this will be anything more than one blissful night of pleasure. For me, Lucky is everything I’ve ever wanted in a man, everything I would be seeking if I were looking for something long term. But I’m nowhere near interested in a long-term relationship or even seeing him again past tonight, no matter how talented he is with his hands and his mouth and his dick.
A lock of his hair falls dangerously over one beautiful brown eye as he stalks towards me. He is such a beautifully ruthless monster, and he’s shattering every last nerve ending in me.
He stops, leaving the ball in my court. Push, pull. One gives, the other takes. Then the roles are reversed. He was in control, and now he’s handed control over to me.
I step toward him, slowly, deliberately, feeling the shift in power as his shoulders tense. He doesn’t move, doesn’t speak. He’s waiting—always so damn composed, always in control. Not tonight. Tonight, I’ve seen just how far Lucky can fall when he loses control. When he can no longer restrain his desires.
He waits for me to make the next move.
Right now, here in this moment, I’m the one holding the reins. I’m the one in control.
When I reach him, I slide my fingers up his chest, trailing over the taut muscles, his rock-hard abdomen, feeling every inch of him beneath my fingers. He doesn’t stop me when I grip his neck and pull him to me until I’m whispering against his lips.
“You were saying something about control,” I murmur, tilting my head as I look up at him. My voice is low, teasing. “What happens when Lucky’s not the one in control?”
His lips curve into a faint smile, but there’s heat in his eyes, a flicker of desire that surges in the air between us. “I’d be interested to find out,” he says, his voice rough, eyes hooded.
“Good,” I reply, stepping closer until there’s nothing between us but the rapid rise and fall of his chest. “Because we have work to do.”
His breath catches, and I feel the faintest tremor in his hands as they skim my waist, testing my resolve. I catch his wrists and push them down to his sides. Tonight, I plan to push him to his limits.
“No,” I whisper, leaning in until my lips brush his ear. “Not until I say so.”
The sharp intake of his breath is a victory in itself, but I’m not done. I press a kiss to his jaw, soft at first, then harder, letting my teeth graze his skin. His head tilts back slightly, giving me access, surrendering just enough to stoke the fire in my veins.
“You’re dangerous,” he says, his voice strained, barely audible. “Very, very dangerous.”
“You like it,” I counter, slipping my hand lower until I’m cupping his balls. My other hand glides over the hard lines of his chest, savoring the warmth of his skin, the way his muscles tense under my touch.
I don’t give him a chance to respond, capturing his lips with mine. It’s not soft, not gentle. It’s hungry, demanding, and when his arms wrap around me, pulling me flush against him, it feels like the world tilts on its axis.
This is what we’ve been circling around since we met—this pull, this fire that refuses to burn out no matter how hard we fight it. I’m the shadow to his light, the Bonnie to his Clyde. I’m the chaos to his control.
His hands find my hips, gripping hard enough to leave marks, but I don’t care. I press against him, forcing him back until the edge of the couch catches the back of his legs and he falls into it.
“Jacklyn,” he breathes, but it’s not a plea—it’s a challenge, one I’m more than willing to meet.
I sink to my knees, sitting between his spread legs, my hands moving slowly up his legs, caressing his thighs. Strong, footballer’s thighs, tight enough to squeeze the life out of me. I move further up, licking my lips as his dick slaps angrily against his stomach, a red ball of hot, angry fury begging to be waited on. My hand clamps around him, squeezing up until his pre-cum beads at the head. I move my fingers gently up and down, before I lift on my knees and lower my head over the tip.
Lucky lets out a grunt as I swallow him into my mouth, my saliva coating every inch of his skin. My mouth glides up and down, even as my hand massages his balls. I feel the skin of his sac tightening, the impending explosion as it spirals through him and he lifts and arches into my mouth with one heady thrust, exploding down my throat with a moan.
I don’t move until I’ve swallowed every last drop of his come and licked him dry. I climb into his lap, my knees pressing into the cushions on either side of him. His hands slide up my thighs, but I grab his wrists again, pinning them against the back of the couch.
“I said, not until I say so,” I remind him, my lips brushing against his, my words a whisper of heat and promise.
His dark eyes meet mine, blazing with a mix of frustration and desire, and it’s intoxicating. For once, Lucky Gatti isn’t in control. He’s mine, and I have all the control over him. The realization sends a jolt of energy through me.
I move against him, slow and deliberate, my fingers tangling in his hair as his breath hitches, his control fraying with every passing second.
We fit together like a hand and glove, every movement, every touch igniting something deeper, something raw and primal. It’s not just lust—it’s a yearning, a need that’s been simmering beneath the surface of our aching hearts, finally breaking free.
When I finally let go of his wrists, his hands are on me in an instant, pulling me closer, his lips trailing fire down my neck. I gasp, my nails digging into his shoulders as the tension between us reaches a fever pitch.
In this moment, there’s no pretense, no walls, no games. Just us—bare, unguarded, and burning for each other.
And when he whispers my name, low and reverent, it feels like a promise, one I didn’t realize I’d been waiting for.
I fucked Lucky Gatti.
I don’t know if that makes me some kind of superstar or just stupid.
Maybe some of my decisions lately haven’t been the best, but sleeping with him is one I refuse to regret.
I meet Marco’s glare with an arched brow, sliding into the backseat and smoothing my skirt over my thighs. “You’re in a mood tonight,” I say, my tone cool, unbothered.
“It took you damn long enough. You look like you’ve been thoroughly fucked,” Marco snaps, his hands tightening on the steering wheel. He turns to face me, his jaw clenched tight enough to crack a tooth. “Do you understand how dangerous it was for you to come out tonight?”
“Dangerous?” I echo, feigning surprise as I fasten my seatbelt with deliberate slowness. “I was probably in the safest place on earth tonight. You know the sort of patronage the club collects.”
“This isn’t a joke, Jacklyn,” Marco growls, his knuckles whitening. “You can’t just disappear into a place like this on your own. Especially not one owned by the Gattis. You don’t know what they’re capable of.”
I lean back, letting my head rest against the seat. The leather is cool against my overheated skin, and I close my eyes for a moment, smiling to myself. “I know exactly what they’re capable of, Marco.” Especially the third brother. Damn, he can fuck.
His silence is louder than any scream.
I crack one eye open to look at him. His face is a storm cloud, the veins in his neck straining, his mouth pressed into a grim line.
“You’re being dramatic,” I say, waving a hand dismissively. “I went into a club. I had a drink. I danced. I’m still alive. The world didn’t end.”
“You didn’t just have a drink,” he spits. “And you didn’t just dance.”
“Oh?” I ask, tilting my head. “Do enlighten me, Marco. What exactly did I do?”
His eyes flicker to the rearview mirror, meeting mine for a brief, furious second before he looks away. “You’re smarter than this, Jacklyn. At least, I thought you were.”
The words hit harder than I want to admit, but I refuse to let it show. Instead, I lean forward, crossing my elbows on the back of the passenger seat as I look at him. “Let me ask you something, Marco,” I say, my voice low, steady. “Do you trust me?”
He scoffs, shaking his head. “This isn’t about trust?—”
“ Do you trust me ?” I repeat, cutting him off.
His jaw works, his hands flexing on the wheel. “Of course, I trust you,” he says finally, through gritted teeth. “But that doesn’t mean I trust him .”
I sigh, leaning back again. “ He isn’t the problem, Marco. The problem is that you can’t accept that I know what I’m doing.”
“What you’re doing ,” he snaps, turning in his seat to glare at me, “is walking a razor’s edge with that family. They will chew you up and spit you out the first chance they get. You think you’re untouchable because you’ve got me and the others watching your back? You’re wrong, Jacklyn. Dead wrong.”
“Noted,” I say dryly, turning to look out the window. The city lights blur past, neon streaks against the darkened sky. “Get me home.”
“Reckless,” he mutters under his breath.
“Relax, Marco,” I say, my voice softening, though my patience is wearing thin. “I’ve handled worse men than Lucky Gatti. You know that.”
He doesn’t answer, but his silence is thick with disapproval.
I press my fingers to my temple, closing my eyes. I don’t need this right now—the judgment, the lecture, the constant reminder that every choice I make is scrutinized.
But as much as Marco’s anger grates on me, I know it comes from a place of loyalty, even love, in his gruff, exasperated way.
“I’m not asking you to like my choices,” I say finally, my tone softer. “I’m asking you to respect that they’re mine to make.”
His jaw tightens, but he doesn’t argue. The rest of the ride is silent, save for the low hum of the engine.
I lean my head against the window, the cool glass a welcome relief against my flushed skin. My body is still humming with the aftermath of Lucky’s touch, a heat that lingers in my core.
I don’t regret what happened tonight—not one bit. But I can already feel the ripple effects stirring, the delicate balance I’ve worked so hard to maintain shifting under my feet.
And as much as I’d like to believe I’m in control, Marco’s words linger in my mind, planting a seed of doubt I can’t quite shake. For the first time, I wonder if the control I cling to so tightly is nothing more than a figment of my own imagination.