Chapter 14
Wren
My chest heaves as silence wraps around us. I can no longer focus on the dangers swirling outside when the man who could destroy me is sitting next to me.
He has more to say, and with every piece he shares, I know I’ll forgive him. And as selfish as it sounds, I’m not ready for that. I can’t accept that he didn’t have a choice. Because if I accept that, then everything I’ve gone through was for nothing.
I should go back to the bathroom and pretend he’s not here. That’s the safest option, at least for my heart.
But safe has never gotten me anywhere. Safe got me bruised and beaten in LA. Safe got me hollow. Safe left me running until I landed back here.
And safe says that I should run again.
But I can't.
My eyes bounce back and forth as I stare at his piercing blues. They search mine, seeking something. A glimmer of approval, maybe.
I'm not sure what he sees, but before I can think about it too much, I’m leaning forward. Jett’s eyes widen slightly, mouth parting as he watches with a held breath, preparing for the worst.
My fingers curl into the front of his soaked Riggsby Cattle t-shirt, and I yank him closer. The cotton bunches under my grip. Leather, vanilla, mint, and smoke fills my lungs. It’s intoxicating, making me lust-drunk. It’s the only plausible explanation for my actions.
“Wren…” His voice is soft, cautious.
I shake my head, not wanting him to interrupt this moment. Before I can tell myself this is a horrible idea, I slam my mouth to his.
It’s not gentle or sweet. It’s a collision of lust, hate, and passion all in one.
Our one time to get each other out of our systems. To get the closure we never did.
His groan rumbles into me, low and guttural, vibrating through my chest. One hand grips the back of my head as his fingers tangle in my hair, while the other wraps tightly around my back. I’m pushing against his strong chest, demanding he fall onto his back.
“Shit, Wren,” he hisses through his teeth.
“Don’t talk,” I snap against his lips.
Tossing my legs on each side of his hips, I drop down until I’m sitting on his lap. My hands smooth over his chest—chiseled from years of working out and being in prime shape. He’s wider than I remember, and my fingertips trace every deep valley of his new physique.
His hands land on my hips before he’s running them down my thighs, across my bent knees, and reaching as far as his long arms will allow.
“These fucking legs,” he growls against my lips, punishing me with each flick of his tongue.
Since I had my growth spurt between seventh and eighth grade, Jett’s always been obsessed with my legs.
The way they seem to stretch on for miles.
The strength in my muscles comes from running mile after mile.
He always found a way to touch them, grip them, stroke them, wrap them around him.
I grab the hem of his shirt, dragging it up until we’re forced to break our kiss as I tug the cotton over his head.
My eyes track his bare skin, the smattering of blond hair that trails to his belly button before dipping below his jeans.
Black ink swirls over his chest and down his left arm.
Intricate designs and beautiful artwork paint a story over his skin.
I want to lick the ink as I re-familiarize myself with him again.
But his grip in my hair tightens as he pulls me back down to him.
His tongue licks the seam of my lips, begging for permission that I eagerly grant him.
With a flick of his tongue against mine, I taste him—whiskey with a hint of cigarettes.
The years vanish.
It’s him and me.
Us.
It’s every emotion we’ve spent the last decade burying, exploding at once.
Our teeth bash, fueling the heat between us as Jett shifts, his back landing flat against the floor. Everything about our movements is rushed, both of us afraid that the other will come to our senses.
He matches me, move for move, as I writhe against him. The two of us are dry-humping like the horny teens we used to be. Teens who were sneaking stolen kisses and letting our hands roam places we shouldn’t have been while praying our parents wouldn’t walk in on us.
I can feel him growing thicker through his jeans. The denim causes friction through my cotton shorts, hitting me in the spot I’m needy for. His hands are rough, skimming up my thighs until he’s gripping my hips.
“Fuck,” he grits out, lips leaving mine to trail kisses down my neck, and I moan.
My back arches, and I press my chest deeper into his. Jett’s callused fingers graze my flesh, fingertips teasing the skin below my silk tank top as goosebumps erupt. Reaching down, I grip the hem and tug the top over my head.
Our bare chests meet as our mouths fuse. Jett lets out a deep moan as his touch trails up my sides, over my ribs until he’s cupping my breasts.
“Mmm…where’s your bra, Wren?” he asks, his eyes searching my face.
“I wasn’t expecting company,” I mumble, grinding down on his erection, feeling the friction against my aching center. It’s been so long since I’ve had sex. Tonight, I’m simply chasing the high I’ve been craving. “This doesn’t mean anything,” I blurt out, but don’t stop my movements.
His laugh is raspy as he nips my ear. “Whatever helps you sleep at night.”
I roll my eyes, reaching down and yanking his belt open with shaking hands. I need to have him inside me. I’m furious with how desperate I’m acting.
“I mean it, Jett. One last time.” The look he gives me tells me he doesn’t believe me.
I feel my wetness pooling against his abdomen as I lean on my knees. Flicking the button of his jeans open, I slip my hands underneath the band of his boxers. He’s hard and thick beneath my touch. God, I groan internally. He’s so much bigger than I remember. A lot bigger than my ex.
Jett’s dark chuckle snaps my attention. “It’ll fit, baby.”
My eyes widen at his husky voice. The way he tells me he’s going to fit inside of me. It causes my core to clench as my arousal soaks my panties.
I make quick work of stripping out of my shorts and panties until I’m completely naked.
Hovering, I feel the thick head of his cock grazing my entrance.
Jett’s hand grips one of my breasts while his lips wrap around my nipple, sucking the peaked bud.
My back arches at every flick of his tongue as the need builds in my core.
“Still so beautiful,” he whispers against my breast. “The way your chest turns pink when you’re turned on. The way your tits fit in my hands.”
“Jett,” I warn, but it comes out more like a moan. This isn’t supposed to be for his pleasure. It’s supposed to be for mine.
With one hand on his shoulder, I prop myself up as I reach between us, wrapping my fingers around his throbbing cock. When I nudge his head against my entrance, we both let out a moan.
“Fuck, this is going to feel so good.”
I can feel his tip slowly enter me, his broad head stretching me. The anticipation of the rest of him sliding inside only makes me wetter. The fit is going to be tight. Before I take him fully, I run him up and down my slit, coating him in my essence.
“Goddamn, Wren. Are you trying to kill me?”
I flash him a devilish smirk. “Maybe.”
His chuckle rumbles against my palm. “It’s going to fit, Wren. You were made for me.”
“Don’t,” I snap, my glare shooting daggers at him. “Don’t say shit like that.”
He swallows hard. Then he thrusts against my hand where it’s guiding him inside me.
“Do that again,” I beg.
Jett thrusts up as I sink onto him. His fingers dig into my hip, and I whimper around the feel of him stretching me. It’s the kind of pain you don’t mind. Delicious and euphoric.
“Fuuuck,” he draws out. “You feel exactly how I remember.”
I blush at his honesty. “It’s better,” I mumble as his gaze snaps to mine, but I’m already looking at where we’re connected, cursing myself for the bluntness. This is our closure, our final goodbye.
“You take me so well, Wren,” he grits out, voice sounding strained.
I’m so full. I watch as my body stretches around him.
Feeling the way our bodies throb together, I can’t stop my moans.
Jett sits up, bringing us chest to chest as his hands grip the round globes of my ass. “So tight.”
My nails dig into his shoulders as our rhythm escalates and becomes rougher.
I lift and drop down, swallowing his cock in one go and hissing at the slight burn.
This shouldn’t be happening. Logically, I know that, but a part of me can’t believe I’m getting Jett Riggsby again.
For so long, I thought he’d be my first and my forever, until it was ripped away. It’s crazy where time takes you.
I don’t know what tomorrow brings.
Hell, a tornado could rip through the field right now and suck us into its orbit.
All that matters is this moment.
Right here. Right now.
His hands roam up my back, gripping my shoulders.
Our movements aren’t sweet, they’re frantic.
Both of us are chasing the high of our releases.
My legs shake as I ride him, hips jerking me forward and backward.
The way my clit brushes his pelvic bone expertly sends mini currents racing through my limbs.
No more words are said. Instead, we say everything with our bodies.
I hate you. I still want you. You fit perfectly. Your body was made for me. I’m sorry. I forgive you.
Well, maybe not the last part.
My body knows him, remembers him, even if my heart is screaming to forget him. I’m playing a dangerous game.
But I don’t care.
Right now, this feels like putting together a puzzle, and I’m one piece away from being whole for the first time in a long time.
“Jett,” I moan. “I’m so close.”
He grips my hips tighter, helping me rock against him. “That’s it, Wren.”
I gasp as he thrusts deeper, hitting the soft spot inside of me. His thumb works my clit with the perfect amount of pressure, almost as if he’s never forgotten. I cry out, the sound swallowed by thunder, his mouth reaching mine to catch it.