Chapter 60
Chapter sixty
Izzy
The moment my eyes shoot open, I’m met with a splitting headache and confusion. I toss around in the unfamiliar bed, which I don’t remember getting into.
“Ugh,” I groan, clearing my dry throat.
Peering around the room with hazy eyes, I’m instantly met with the fact that this is not my room. This is not the room in the cabin I’m staying in, either.
What the actual fuck happened last night? I don’t remember anything and don’t know where the hell I am.
Confusion and discomfort rush through me, and I quickly sit up in the bed, blinking a few times to clear my vision and take in my surroundings, trying to piece together what I’m missing.
The walls are painted a beautiful shade of dark green, the bedding is light gray and cozy, and the large room oozes masculinity. I’ve been in all of the rooms in the main house, and this isn’t one of them.
Where am I? Why the hell can’t I remember anything?
What I do recall is my panic attack. Jett consoling me. Maverick showing up and… leaving. Then me, marching into the house and reaching for the whiskey.
Fuck, the whiskey. My stomach churns thinking of the booze, so I push on for more memories. But everything after that is a blur.
Throwing the covers to the side, I push to stand. Looking down, I realize I’m wearing a white oversized t-shirt and boxer briefs, nothing else. The shirt smells just like him.
“What the fuck?” I murmur under my breath, trying to work through my thoughts.
It’s then that everything clicks. I still have no idea how the fuck I got here or why, but at least I know where the hell I am. Progress.
Three doors are connected to the room, all of which are closed and look exactly the same. Not knowing which leads to where, I pick one and storm through it with purpose.
“Jettson!” I yell, my voice coated with anger, confusion, and the worst hangover in existence. The door flies open, and I come face-to-face with a giant walk-in closet. A fucking closet. Okay, wrong door. Let’s see what’s behind door number two, shall we?
Storming out of the closet, I turn back into the room and stride toward another door. This is the right door. I know it. I can feel his presence before seeing him.
“Jett, what the fuck? Why am I in your house?” I ask abrasively in a tone that demands answers. Just as the door swings open, words fail me, and I’m instantly stunned speechless.
There he is. Oh yeah, this is the correct door. He’s in here, and so is his fully naked body and perfectly thick, semi-hard cock. It’s his fucking bathroom. Steam from his shower wafts through the air between us, standing there, motionless and staring.
The corners of his mouth curve up in delight at the sight of me taking him in like this. Not that my eyes are worried about his mouth with his growing erection on full display.
“Like what you see?” he asks in a low murmur, turning to face me and giving me an even better view. Holy fuck, the man is blessed in every which way.
Not able to think of anything creative, with my muddled brain currently melting at the sight of him, I roll my eyes and whisper, “Shut up.”
I should look away.
I don’t.
Rather, I continue to stare and watch as he runs the washcloth along his perfectly toned body.
I can see every defined muscle flexing as he moves.
My lady bits are screaming for me to undress, join him, and beg him to impale me with his wonderfully perfect cock. I refuse to listen to that needy bitch.
“Okay, hot cock–FUCK! I mean, hotshot. Hotshot.” Brain, if you could work correctly right about now, that would be fucking wonderful.
Jett snorts and laughs hysterically, enjoying this way too much, which only pisses me off further.
“Okay, let’s try this... Asshole, why am I here? Why am I wearing your clothes? Why am I in your bed? Why are you so naked?” My tone grows more irritated with each passing question.
He shuts the water off, grabs a towel, and steps out, coming face to face with me without giving me a single response. He doesn’t wrap the towel around himself. No. Instead, he steps toward me, forcing me backward until my back meets the wall.
Leaning to my ear, he whispers, “Don’t forget, Beauty, I like it when you’re fired up.” His tone is rough, and my core instantly clenches.
Sporting a devilish grin, he leans in further.
Before my brain has the chance to stop me, I push onto my tiptoes, wrap my hand around his neck, and without a second thought, our mouths collide.
But he doesn’t kiss me back; his mouth remains still against mine as he reaches next to me and opens the door.
“Get the hell out, Iz. As nice as it is having you watch me—and trust me, it’s hot—we need to talk after I get out.
” I open my mouth to tell him to fuck off, but he brings a hand to my chin, running his thumb over my lips.
“Before you tell me to fuck off, just know you said a lot last night. You owe me an explanation, and I intend to get it.”
Next thing I know, he gently picks me up and places me on the other side of the door, audibly locking it behind him when it shuts in my face.
“What the fuck!?” is all I can think to shout. Huffing, I stomp over to the bed and plop down.
What the hell did I say to him?