CHAPTER NINETEEN
SEVEN
One and done was a laughable concept now. It had been my game plan—sample the forbidden fruit, get it out of my system, and move on with my life. But no. There was no “done” anymore. After finding her broken and vulnerable in the bathroom, hugging her knees to her chest, there was only “mine.”
Mine to hold. Mine to protect.
Jordan got her shift covered at the coffee shop that morning, which allowed her to sleep off the rest of her hangover. I carried her to her bed, left her with some water and ibuprofen, and got to work distracting myself via exercise. I changed into gray sweatpants and opted for weights, crunches, and push-ups, then I opened up my laptop to find the quickest interior painting company I could hire. I needed to repaint my bedroom walls ASAP. I sent inquiries to a couple of places, then switched to business management mode.
Despite Jordan’s best attempts to either haze or scare Chico off, he wanted to continue working for Silva Security. His first assignments were with the Fairchild brothers on various outings when additional security was needed, like trips back to Kentucky for Willow’s court hearings. He was doing well, which meant I needed to start looking for the second new hire.
I still wasn’t sure which protection officer would become Jordan’s full-time companion. I’d now crossed the line I swore not to cross, which would make handing over her protection even harder—and more necessary. Not to mention I still had to inform Jordan of my plans, which scared the shit out of me.
But it was a no-brainer. I had to do this, if I wanted to keep my heart and my future intact.
Around three p.m., I finished all I had to do. Jordan still hadn’t come out so I knocked gently on her door. I heard a faint mumble from inside, so I pushed the door open slightly.
“Hey. Do you need anything?” I asked, squinting into the darkened room.
“I’m good.”
“Not hungry?”
“No,” she said faintly, like she was still half asleep. I shut the door quietly and confronted my apartment. It was already clean; I had Jordan’s lunch waiting for her, whenever she woke up. My work and workout were done for the day. What remained?
Spoon carving. I went back to my bedroom, tossing on a white T-shirt before rummaging through the depths of the closet to find my supplies. It was the only alternative when I was sexually frustrated and anxiously awaiting Jordan.
Prior to my move from Kentucky to New York, I’d batch cut a bunch of utensil outlines from some spare wood I came across, mostly aspen and balsa wood. I grabbed one of the precut spoons from my big bag of woodworking materials, along with a safety glove, thumb guard and some carving tools, and retreated to the living room.
I loved the repetition and focus of spoon carving. It helped soothe my mind—or in this case, my raging sexual desire. At this point, half my kitchen collection were tools I’d carved myself. This would be a more basic spoon, just for my own personal enjoyment.
Time flew by as I shaped and carved the spoon to my liking, wood shavings tumbling to the plastic covering I used on the floor. I smoothed the curves; added extra roundness at the base. I wasn’t even sure how much time had gone by when Jordan’s voice cut through my concentration.
“Playing with your wood, huh?”
She came around the sectional, a smirk on her face. My big T-shirt hung loosely from her slight frame, a gut punch I hadn’t planned on. I’d slipped it on her last night simply so she wouldn’t have to sleep in her regular clothes. But seeing her wearing my old gym shirt, wandering around my apartment, took my fucking breath away.
She climbed onto the couch next to me, snuggling in close as she assessed my handiwork. Ranger joined us a moment later, his purring immediate as he snuggled up next to my other side.
“You’ve discovered my secret,” I told her.
She twisted to look back at the kitchen, then at the spoon in my hands. “Wait a minute. Did you make all those wooden spoons in the kitchen?”
I nodded.
“I’ve been in love with them since I moved in.” Awe shone in her voice. “Can I see this one?”
I handed it off, looking at the imperfections while she turned it over in her hands. It was about 97% ready, though I never felt any project was truly done.
“This is so cool,” she said. “And you’re good at it. I bet this is really calming.”
“It is. Though probably not as calming as climbing a pole.”
She smirked. “That is great for zeroing out any thoughts you might be having. But I can see how this would pretty much do the same. Unless you intentionally wanted to cut your thumb off, that is.”
I lifted my right hand and wiggled my thumb, which was encased in a mesh thumb protector. “That’s why I’ve got this on.”
“Looks like a tiny medieval hat.” She handed the spoon back to me.
We shared a laugh as I gathered my tools and set them on the leather mat I’d laid on the coffee table. Spoon time was over.
Now it was time for Jordan.
I slung my arm around her, pulling her onto my lap. She giggled, settling against my chest.
“You feeling better?”
She nodded, tracing invisible patterns over my T-shirt. “The sleep helped.”
“I’ve got food for you if you’re hungry.”
“Maybe later. I was still queasy a little bit ago.”
I rested my chin on the top of her head, a pleasant silence settling over us. This felt right. Her in my lap, in my arms. My pint-sized, spitfire brat.
Is she yours, though? The question seared through me, but I pushed it away. I wanted to enjoy this, even if I shouldn’t have. I squeezed my arms around her.
“Does this help?” I asked.
“Mmm.” She nodded, a smile curling at her lips. “It does.” She nestled deeper into my arms, letting out a contented sigh. “Thanks for, you know, being cool with my breakdown earlier.”
“It’s what I’m here for.” For her, at least. Emotional investment during breakdowns—not to mention the slew of other lines I’d crossed—wasn’t a standard interaction between protection officer and client, by any means. In fact, if she’d been a regular client, I’d have drawn the line that night Dustin attacked her. She wouldn’t know my real name. She wouldn’t know a damn thing about me.
But here we are.
She propped her chin against my chest, searching my face with her mesmerizing blue-gray eyes. “It kind of freaks me out how much I like you, Seven.”
I wanted to say the same to her. But I couldn’t. That reservation was the last shred of logic I possessed.
“I don’t think I’ve ever liked anyone more,” she went on. “And it scares the crap out of me, because now I’m worried you’ll just see me as broken or…whatever.”
I was shaking my head before she even finished her sentence. “That’s not how it is. Trust me, I know a thing or two about being broken. I’d never see you that way. I know some of your story. When I look at you, I see someone who has had the shittiest hand dealt to her and still somehow made magic out of it.”
A smile flickered at her lips.
“Besides, I think all you need is a little bit more attention.” Now that, I could give to her all day and all night. I shifted beneath her, which caused her back to fall against my chest, her head propped against my neck. “You need someone who actually wants to make you feel good.”
This time, when she smiled, it stayed. “Yeah, that doesn’t sound half bad.”
I pushed my palms down along the sides of her body, over her thighs. I squeezed the tight muscles there, exhaling low.
“Is it time to play with wood again?” she cracked.
“No.” I nipped at her earlobe, unable to keep myself from getting hard with her body pressed against me. “What did I just say? This is about you feeling good.”
“Oh, right. So, playing with my wood.”
I moved my hands to her inner thighs, dragging up toward her pelvis. She wore the stretchy black boy shorts she always put on before pole practice. My palms glided over the silky texture. I swirled my fingers over her covered pussy, so gently. “Hmm. Not finding any to play with here.”
She rocked her hips toward my hand. “Oh yeah? You better check again.”
I dragged my fingertips over her mons, swirling slowly downward, until I found the heated slit of her pussy. She sucked on her teeth.
“Ranger is watching.”
I elbowed the cat—gently, of course—and he rumbled low, wandering across the living room to find a new resting spot.
“Nope. Still no wood.” I nuzzled her face, dragging my lips across her cheek. I could feel the bud of her clit through the workout shorts and I pressed my middle finger back and forth across it. She inhaled sharply, her entire body jerking.
“Are you sure you shouldn’t check more?” Her voice sounded strained now, her nipples hardened to tight points beneath her sports bra. My free hand wandered up to cup a breast as she allowed her legs to splay open wider.
“I’ll check as long as you need or want.” I kissed the side of her cheek. “And tell me if you need me to stop. This is about you, Jordan. You call the shots.”
She nodded emphatically. “Okay. Yes.”
“I’m not going to do a single thing you don’t want or ask for.”
A shuddery breath slid out of her. “I like this game.”
I chuckled low, dragging my tongue against her earlobe as I pushed my fingertips across her clit again. “I assure you, this is no game.”
She whimpered as I rubbed circles around her clit, close enough to tease, but not close enough to give her what she really wanted. She bucked her hips, urging more from me, but I wanted to move slow. I didn’t intend to spook her again.
“Do you want me to keep going?” I asked.
She nodded vehemently.
“Say it, Jordan.”
“I want you to keep going.” She arched her back, clamping her legs around my hand. She had thighs of steel; I appreciated her attempt to keep my hand in the place she most wanted.
“Only if you promise not to snap my hand off first,” I teased.
She laughed, low and throaty. “I know how to keep something long and hard between my legs when I need it.”
She loosened her grip on my hand, and I rewarded her by gliding my fingertips back and forth across her clit again. She moaned low, eyes fluttering shut. I’d had my fill of teasing. I wanted more.
I inched my fingers toward the waistband of her boy shorts, pushing my hand beneath the silky, stretchy fabric. My fingers immediately found the tightly trimmed patch of hair. No undies. Just warm skin and her molten pussy.
As my hand drifted downward, my fingertips grazed her swollen clit. I pinched it, already dying to bury my face between her legs and get a taste for myself. But that would come in time. For now, I just needed to show her I was safe….and how much fun we’d have together.
I rolled her clit between my thumb and forefinger. She cried out, clutching at my forearm.
“Jesus, Seven,” she gasped out.
“I’m just getting started. Was that number one already?”
“Almost,” she said with a weak laugh. I pushed my hand deeper into the heat, finding her swollen pussy lips and the drenched core of her.
“Just need to check everything out,” I whispered, tugging at her earlobe again. She whimpered, moving against my hand. “You see, I’m not going to fuck you with my cock. Not for a while.”
Jordan groaned. “Why not?”
“Because I need to make sure you’re ready for it.” I smiled as I said it. I meant it both seriously and as a joke. I had a sneaking suspicion that she was going to be tight as fuck. And I wasn’t a small boy. She laughed weakly.
“I promise I am.”
“In the meantime, I’ll fuck you with whatever else I have on hand. Like my fingers. My tongue. And whatever else you can dream up.” I slipped my middle finger into her slick channel then, discovering the silken, juicy tightness that I’d been fantasizing about for so long. I gritted my teeth, a grunt escaping me. I pushed my finger in and out slowly. If she was this tight around one finger, I knew she’d need plenty of foreplay before my cock went anywhere near her.
Good thing I didn’t mind extensive foreplay.
“You’re so fucking tight, Jordan.” I moaned as I plunged my finger inside her, then out; slipped my fingers up to tease her clit, then back inside her. She bucked her hips against my hand, and I continued the motion. She clutched at my hand cupping her tit.
“Ohhh, Seven. Don’t stop.” She sounded so far away. Breathy, as if she might pass out. “Pleaaaase, don’t stop.”
She bucked more frantically then, my fingers growing slicker from her juices. Her clit was a hard nub when I pinched it on my next round. She swore loudly, arching against me as her nails dug into my hand. I plunged my finger back inside her, her pussy clenching around me in chaotic waves. Her whole body jolted, and then again. She’d had a hell of an orgasm.
I leaned down and kissed the tip of her nose before I slipped my finger out of her. But I left my hand stuffed beneath the fabric of her pants. Mostly because I’d been wanting to do this for too fucking long and I liked the way it looked with my hand buried in her shorts.
Mine.
Her chest lifted and fell quickly. Finally, her eyes drifted open, and she looked up at me with a lazy smile on her face.
“That was number one.”
“First of many.”
“Is it your turn now?” she asked lazily.
I shook my head. “No. Not needed.” When she looked doubtful, I added, “Do you really want to?”
She blinked a few times, her gaze drifting out across the room. “I just want to lie here and let you touch me more.”
I grinned, pressing a sloppy kiss to the side of her cheek. “Then that’s what you’ll get.”