Chapter 16
Daisy
The door slams behind us, and neither of us lets up—we’re too far gone to care.
My ass lands on the kitchen island and I clutch fistfuls of his shirt, wanting it gone.
He groans into the shell of my ear and it’s like gasoline on fire.
Every inch of my skin explodes with want. I want him, now, in me.
His fingers tug at my hair, tilting my head back, fucking my mouth with his tongue.
My hips rock, seeking him, needing friction.
His calloused, rough hands climb my spine.
My shirt stretches, taut at my arms. He breaks the kiss, lips glistening, eyes manic, and he lifts the shirt over my arms and head. It flies somewhere.
He licks his lips, panting. He stares at my chest like he’s planning to devour me. There’s an edge of pain as he tweaks the sensitized nipple, pain that carries all the way to my core. My hips flex in response, wanting him closer, needing him to soothe a very different ache.
“Fuck. Do you know I fucking dream about these tits?”
And then his head dips and hot, wet warmth envelopes my nipple and my fingers cling to his hair. It feels good…great even, but that is not what I want right now.
“Jake,” I pant.
“Yeah, keep saying my name.” He moves to my other breast, grazing his teeth over the peak.
“Condom,” I say through a moan.
He lifts his head, his grin wicked.
He cups my crotch, and I curl into him.
“You need something, baby?”
“Jake.” This time there’s an edge to his name, a warning. I need him now and I’m not into teasing.
He takes a step back and my body revolts, muscles tensing, until he forces my knees together. With a quick movement, he tugs at my skirt’s side zipper and it falls slack around my waist.
Understanding, I lean back, lifting to help him slide the skirt off.
He grips both the skirt and my panties, removing them both in the same swift movement.
The skirt falls to my ankles and I set about pushing off his suit jacket and working on his shirt, but he brushes my hands out of the way and proves himself far faster.
He sets the button-down on the counter and props my feet up on his muscular midriff.
My gaze falls to the toned, corded muscle and my fingertips itch to touch him, to explore every divot, to twist the scattering of dark golden curly strands.
He undoes my boots, letting them drop with a thud to the floor, along with my socks and skirt until I’m completely naked. I rest back on my arms, palms flat against the cool quartz countertop. He’s looking at me like he wants to fuck my brains out, and there’s nothing I want more.
“Hot damn, you are sexy.”
I reach for him, my vision centering on his happy trail and his belt buckle. He spreads my knees, stepping between my legs.
He finds my earlobe, a nip that mirrors the hard press of his fingers against my center. A single finger enters me, stretching, and I swear, I’m so fucking horny and needy I feel myself quiver.
I shift my hips, guiding him, and it’s not long before his fingers are sliding in and out of me and his thumb finds that bundle of nerves that’s going haywire.
“Ah.” Yes, that’s what I’ve needed. Where I’ve needed him.
“That’s it. Lean back.”
I hesitate, knowing what he wants, and that’s nice and all, but I want a hard, fast fuck right now.
“You are so fucking wet,” he says, his gaze on his finger, sliding in and out, and his thumb pressing right where I like to press.
Something shifts in his expression as he watches me respond to his touch—his cocky grin falters for just a moment, replaced by something more intense, more real.
Like he’s as affected by this as I am, even if he’s better at hiding it.
“Just fuck me. Where’s your condom?”
I reach for him, and he brushes my hand back with a tsk.
He trails kisses down my throat, his beard simultaneously rough and soft, all the way down my chest. He cups both my breasts, pressing his fingers over my nipples and presses his lips between my breasts, then continues his descent.
His lips press on my mound, over the trimmed hair. Humor glints in his eyes because he knows I’m about to freaking detonate.
“Why?” I whine.
“Patience.” He pulls out a barstool and positions it away from the counter, so he has room to comfortably partake. “I’m going to make sure you come.”
The tip of his tongue licks my slit, and he thrusts two fingers in. Then he smiles up at me.
“Besides, I’m so fucking hard, when I finally get to nail you, I’m not sure how long I’ll last.” He centers his focus on his fingers sliding in and out. “Of course, that’ll be the first time. Hard and fast. The second time, we’ll take our time.”
Of course, it would turn out Jake’s a conversationalist. With a groan, I shove his head down.
“Less talk. Show me what you’ve got.”
He chuckles against me and his coarse beard tickles, but then he goes deep, finally putting that tongue to work, and absolutely nothing tickles.
As his thick fingers plunge inside me, I revel in the heat of his mouth.
It’s not exactly what I wanted, but it feels fucking amazing and he’s finally, finally soothing the ache.
He finds that hidden, perfect spot and sucks hard, and my back curls and my thighs squeeze, gripping his head as the orgasm finally breaks through with uncontrollable quivers.
“Oh, Jesus,” I gasp.
“No, Jake,” he corrects, lifting his head but replacing his tongue with his thumb, pressing it firmly against my clit, milking the orgasm.
He rises until he’s over me, dips his head, lowering his lips, and I welcome him, tasting myself. The kiss is slow, the heat of the moment simmering between us. But my core tightens, insistent that the first orgasm was more of an appetizer.
Finally, he fumbles with his pants, a sure sign he’s on the same page.
His belt buckle clangs against the countertop and I shift to assist, but once again, he brushes away my advances, pulling out a slim wallet to retrieve a condom wrapper that he slips between his teeth.
His pants fall to the floor, and my muscles tense at the sight of his extremely erect, thick cock.
He’s big, but not so huge I think he’ll hurt.
No, if anything, he’s got the goldilocks of dicks. Just the right size.
I snatch the condom wrapper from his mouth and rip the foil between my teeth.
I reach for him, smearing the pre-cum over his tip, the movement earning a groan.
But he’s impatient too and takes the condom back from me, rolling it on with practiced ease.
Then he grips my thighs, pulling me to the edge of the counter.
The bar stool tumbles backwards, crashing.
He drags his tip through my folds, slipping it in and out. My breath catches, watching. His eyelids flutter as he pushes forward, stretching me. I tilt my head back. The counter’s hard on my ass, and I want to rest on my elbows, but the granite’s too hard for that.
He hauls me upright, and the movement sends him deeper inside me, stretching.
“Fuck you’re tight.”
It’s been a while for me. Like the kind of while where you wonder if your veejay’s going to close up the way an ear piercing does.
But instead of oversharing, I cling to him, rocking my hips, my nails digging into the back of his neck and shoulder, one foot slapping his ass as he finally, finally sets about fucking me hard.
He’s almost right where I want him when he suddenly stops, his grip on my hips tightening.
“Not like this.” His voice is rougher now, more commanding. “I want you spread out for me.”
The authoritative tone might normally annoy me, but instead it sends heat spiraling through my core. He lifts me easily, and I have no choice but to wrap my legs around him as he moves us toward the living room. Each step presses him against me in a way that makes coherent thought impossible.
When he lowers me onto the sofa, there’s something almost reverent in the way he looks down at me. Then he’s kicking off his trousers that were somewhere down around his ankles, and that reverence shifts back to pure hunger.
“On your hands and knees.”
I scramble to comply, digging his command.
If he tried that on any other day, I’d probably hand him a verbal lashing, but I’m too turned on to care.
Strong, calloused hands grip my hips, and with one forceful thrust he fills me.
The soft cushions are a world more comfortable than the counter, and I rock back, matching his pace.
The scent of sex fills the room, as does the rhythmic slap of skin on skin.
He reaches forward, tweaking a nipple, and my sex clenches.
His breathing has changed—rougher, less controlled—and when I glance back, tightness rims his eyes, proof he’s fighting for control.
“That’s it.”
He reaches for me, but then the next thing I know he pulls out, and I’m lying on my side, him behind me.
He lifts my leg, sliding in from behind.
I’m a little unsure about this position until he releases my leg and heat covers my mound.
As he slides in and out, he manipulates my clit, and I close my eyes.
In this position, there’s little I can do other than lie here and let him fuck me.
With his fingers working me, it doesn’t take long until white specks dot the back of my eyelids.
“That’s it, let it go, let me have it.”
He keeps going as I pant out his name like a prayer.
“Say it again. Say my name.”
I’m not sure anything intelligible exits my mouth, but his rhythm grows erratic as I feel him thicken and pulse deep within me.
His head drops to the cushion behind me and he relaxes into the sofa.
My ankle dangles off the edge, but the sofa is deep and surprisingly accommodating for both of us lying like this side by side.
His hand wanders up my body until it cups a breast. He nips at my shoulder and lets out a “Hoo-wee. I needed that.”
He slips out of me, and I push up, needing a little space from his suddenly cuddly arms.
“I hope you’re game for a repeat,” he says.
“Did you know your eyes are green?”
“Sage,” he answers. “That’s what my—” He cuts himself off abruptly, his hand stilling on my hip. For a split second, his cocky facade cracks, revealing something raw underneath before he clears his throat and looks away.
“When we first met, I didn’t notice.”
“Didn’t really look then, did ya’?” He grins and pushes up, settling beside me, feet flat on the floor.
We’re both naked, sitting on the sofa…and it’s awkward.
The air feels suddenly too warm, too intimate.
I can’t quite meet his eyes, so I focus on a spot just past his shoulder.
My skin’s hypersensitive, every nerve ending aware of his proximity.
I hop up quickly, one arm covering my breasts, scanning the cushions for a stain—anything to avoid the weight of his gaze.
“You do not need to cover up. I love those tits.” He shuffles off, hand on the base of his dick, the condom still in place.
“Please. I know you love big ones.” And blondes, because he basically admitted it, but I’d never expose my insecurities by commenting on his type.
When he glances back over his shoulder, there’s something almost vulnerable in his expression—like he wants to say more but doesn’t know how so I set about finding my clothes.
“Baby, there’s absolutely nothing I would change about that body of yours.
” And with that, he closes the bathroom door.
Through the thin door, I hear him pause—no sound of running water yet.
Just silence. When the faucet finally turns on, it’s followed by what sounds suspiciously like his palm smacking against the wall.
Baby. I’m not sure how I feel about that descriptor. Typically, a comment like that would land in ick territory. But as I set about getting dressed, there’s no trace of ick…only consternation. We need to lay some ground rules. Sex is fun and there’s no reason we can’t do more of this, but…but what?
Jake Ryder is going to want a relationship?
Please. That’s not happening. There’s no need for ground rules.
He’s not a relationship guy; the only reason he’s tossing that baby word around is because he’s a good ol’ Southern-boy Neanderthal.
Which isn’t a bad thing in and of itself.
Because it’ll eventually give me the ick—and that’s exactly what I want.
The last thing I need is to be lovesick for a player.
I’ve read about SEALs and how women fall at their feet.
He might not be in the military anymore, but he’s still one of them.
But, said womanizer really knows his way around a woman’s body, so I can enjoy this little bit of play while it lasts.
At least until he does something that lessens his appeal.
Or until we figure out who killed Jocelyn and what laws Sterling has been breaking that warranted murder—and then Jake and I go our separate ways. Whichever happens first.