24. Chapter 24
Chapter twenty-four
~DOMINIC~
By the time the sun starts bleeding into the water, we’ve killed a bottle of champagne and most of a bottle of Clase Azul that I dug out of the kitchen.
Jessica’s tipsy.
It’s evident in the flush on her cheeks, the lazy way she licks sugar off her thumb, and the faint glaze in her eyes when she laughs. She’s loosened up, talking with her hands like she’s trying to sculpt the air.
I like the sober version of her, too. She’s sharp, snaps back, negotiates, tests every boundary I put in front of her. But this one? This soft, uncaged version who isn’t watching herself every second? I could watch her for hours .
Apparently, I already have.
I haven’t talked this much with anyone who isn’t Jace in… I don’t even know how long. It’s easy with her, which is unexpected.
“…and that’s when he said it,” she declares, scooping another chocolate-covered strawberry and pointing it at me like a weapon.
I drag my eyes from her mouth to her face. “Hm?”
“You females. I know what you like.” She drops into an imitation of that asshole’s voice.
“He said that to you?” I raise my brows.
She nods, eyes bright with tequila and vindication. “Yup. You females. Like we’re a separate species he read about in a textbook once.”
I already hated that prick when I saw him crowding her with his hand on her wrist. Hearing the actual words he used? I want his neck under my skate blade.
She shifts to face me, legs folded under her, hair a little wild from the wind. “So. I’m at the bar. You’re in your testosterone castle behind your little velvet rope—”
“It’s called VIP,” I correct with a chuckle.
“It’s called insecure,” she corrects sweetly. “Anyway. This guy keeps throwing lines at me. I say no and he hears ‘try harder.’”
She’s recalling the first time we met, which I didn’t think would put me in a murderous state, but here we are.
“And then,” she continues, “the crowd starts doing that thing…” She wiggles her fingers to mimic the way people parted. “Everyone’s eyes go in one direction,” she says, swooping her hand to the side, “so obviously, I look too. And there you are.”
“Tragic for you.”
“Catastrophic,” she says dramatically.
I remember walking out of VIP, already half-annoyed at the noise, at the women rubbing their tits on me, at the idiots recording everything. I wanted air and space.
Then I saw her.
“So, big scary man appears,” she narrates, eyes on mine. “You’re walking toward us and I’m like, you know what? If I’m going to lie, I might as well lie big. So I grab your arm and say—”
“There you are, babe. Took you long enough,” I finish for her.
I remember every detail. I remember the feel of her hand on my forearm, how she looked up at me like she’d die if I didn’t play along. That flicker in her eyes that said please, even while her mouth smiled.
“And you,” she points at me, “look down at your arm like I’ve just tried to stab you. I thought you were going to peel my fingers off and hand them back.”
“I was deciding if I should,” I admit. “You grabbed me without warning.”
I saw his body angled toward her—the crowding, the entitlement. I didn’t need to hear him to know what kind of man he was.
And I wanted him gone.
“That night at the club… I don’t think I’d ever felt that many things at once up until that point.”
She exhales slowly, eyes on the ocean. “And when you invited me upstairs,” she continues, “it felt like my brain split in half. One side was like, absolutely not, you’re not going to be one of the girls orbiting his bottle service. The other side was like, say yes, say yes, say yes! ”
She lets out a self-conscious laugh.
“I was pretty surprised you said no,” I lie. I was disappointed. I thought I would never see her again after, and I remember talking myself out of asking her again, maybe even saying please—just so I could get more time with her.
“Would’ve been easier if you’d just said yes, batted your lashes, and let me forget your name by morning.”
“Sorry to disappoint.” She rolls her eyes with a smile.
“You didn’t.”
She looks at me, her soft skin painted golden by the setting sun. Her blonde hair has already soaked up some of the humid sea breeze and curled slightly. She looks so, so beautiful.
“So,” she says, licking chocolate off her thumb, “what did you think the first time you saw me?”
“I thought,” I say slowly, “you were going to be a problem.”
“And?” She grins, tipsy and smug.
“And I was right.”
“You regret it?” Her smile widens.
I take my time answering, letting my gaze drag down her body and back up, letting her feel all of it.
“Not even a little,” I say. “I just wish I’d known that night I’d end up here. On a beach,” I say, “half drunk, listening to you retell the story of how we met while I’m trying to decide if I want to fuck you on the sand or wait until we get back to the house.”
Color blooms high on her cheeks.
“Wow,” she mutters. “Subtle.”
“I’ve been subtle all afternoon,” I say. “You’ve been talking and smiling and eating strawberries and I’ve been hard for three hours trying to be a gentleman. I think I’ve hit my quota.”
Her eyes drop, just once, to my lap.
“Well,” she says lightly, “if you’ve been hard for three hours, that sounds like a you problem, Captain.”
“That right?” I murmur.
She nods, lips curving. “Maybe you should’ve thought of that before inviting me on a beach date with alcohol and strawberries. That’s on you.”
“Come here.” I set my glass down .
She raises a brow, yet shifts on her knees, closes the distance herself, and swings one leg over my thighs.
Suddenly she’s in my lap, skirt hiked up, warm weight settling right where I’ve been needing it all afternoon.
I rest my hands on her hips, fingers splayed. She sucks in air when she feels me.
“Wow,” she whispers. “You weren’t kidding.” She deliberately rolls her hips once, slow, testing how much she can get away with.
My jaw tightens at the spark of heat that movement sends through me.
“And now?” I ask.
“Now I think you’re,” she rocks again, a little more this time, “suffering.”
I let her grind herself along my cock through layers of flimsy fabric, her fingers curling in the front of my shirt, her breath starting to go shallow.
“You enjoying yourself up there?” I ask with a tilt of my head.
“A little,” she says, breathy. “Feels so nice.”
“Nice,” I repeat flatly. “That’s all you’ve got for me? ”
She bites back a smile. “I’ve been thinking about this the entire time.”
She pushes down even more, aligning her pussy with my cock. Heat punches straight through my spine and my hands tighten on her hips.
She leans in, bringing her mouth a breath from mine. I can smell strawberries, sugar, champagne.
“Have you?” she whispers.
I fist a hand in the back of her hair and pull her the last inch, crushing my mouth to hers.
She opens for me instantly with a soft sound caught between us.
I take her in slow at first, my tongue lightly dragging over hers.
She rolls her hips again, desperate now, trying to drag more friction out of me.
I let her set her own pace. Then I break the kiss and drag my mouth to her ear.
“Gonna use me to get off?” I murmur, breath hot against her skin. “You wanna be on top?”
“Maybe.”
“Yeah?” I slide one hand up her spine, under the back of her top, fingers dragging over bare skin. “You gonna bounce on my cock and tell me what to do? ”
Her eyes light up at that, her wet lips curling into a coy smile. Before she can answer, I grip her hips and pull her forward, grinding her down against me with enough pressure to drag a broken little sound from her throat.
Her hands fly to my shoulders with a gasp.
“Do it,” I murmur.
I shift and start guiding her hips myself, slow, punishing drags of her pussy over the length of me through her panties. Every pass hits exactly where she needs it. I can feel the way her thighs tremble.
“God,” she gasps.
“Three hours of being subtle for you. That what you wanted, little tease?” I murmur against her jaw.
“I wasn’t teasing.” She whimpers, nails biting into my shoulders.
“You climbed into my lap,” I remind her.
“Maybe a little.” A tiny laugh slips out of her.
I give her a sharper roll of my hips, angling her just right. Her head drops to my shoulder, breath hot against my neck.
For a few more moments, I let her ride it. Let her press down, chasing it, let her grind on me until she’s panting, until her rhythm starts to fall apart, until I can feel exactly how soaked she is even through both our clothes.
“Just like that,” I murmur, sliding a hand between us, fingers skimming the waistband of her skirt.
She tries to press herself closer, to get my hand where she wants it faster, and that’s when I take it back completely.
I catch her wrists, pin them lightly behind her back with one hand, and pull my mouth back just enough to see her face.
“Here’s what’s going to happen,” I say while she squirms in my lap. “You’re going to stop grinding on me like a heathen for two seconds, you’re going to breathe, and then you’re going to tell me what you want.”
“You know what I want.” Her eyes flare.
“I do,” I agree. “I still want to hear you say it.”
Her throat works. She tests my grip on her wrists; I tighten it just enough to remind her how strong my hands are.
“You’re awful,” she mutters, cheeks pink.
“Try again. ”
She looks straight at me, cheeks flushed, hair a little wild, lips kiss-swollen, sitting on my cock with her hands pinned behind her back.
“I want you,” she finally whispers.
“Specifics,” I say. “I’ve waited too long for you to half-ass this part.”
Her tongue darts out to wet her already wet lips. She glances down between us, then back up.
“I want you to fuck me,” she says, voice shaking but clear. “I want you to stop being a gentleman. I want…” she breathes in, gathers herself, “…everything.”
Heat lances through me.
“That’s better,” I murmur.
“Do I get what I want now?” She glares weakly.
“And then some,” I chuckle.