20. Wentworth
TWENTY
Wentworth
Of all the things I should be doing right now, standing over a chick I barely know with a hard-on the size of a sledgehammer at 3AM is definitely not one of them. I should be behaving the way I promised Damien I would when it comes to his boss’s daughter. I should be keeping my head down and my nose clean the way Conner needs me to so he can extricate me from the pile of shit I left behind in LA.
I should be doing a lot of things besides what I’m actually doing—but should be went out the window the second she walked in. Should be turned into not gonna happen the second she looked up at me with those gorgeous blue eyes of hers and as soon as I felt her soft, uneven breath against my bare chest not gonna happen turned into no fucking way.
Nothing else matters.
Not right now.
Maybe not ever again .
“I won’t laugh,” I whisper, my heart pounding so hard and loud I can feel the echoes of it against my eardrums. “It’s okay, Sunshine... you can say it out loud. I’ll give it to you—whatever it is. Whatever you want. All you have to do is ask.” I mean it. Whatever she wants. Whatever she asks for. Right now, if she asked me to fill my pockets with rocks and jump into the lake, I’d do it.
We stand here for a few seconds, my mouth hovering above her ear, our bodies so close, I can feel the brush of her tight, swollen nipples against my torso with every soft, shallow breath she takes. Every time I feel them against my bare skin, my hard cock twitches against her belly. There’s no way she doesn’t feel it. Doesn’t know what being this close to her is doing to me.
She’s not answering me.
Shit.
I’m suddenly sure that despite her body’s obvious response to mine, I’ve done exactly what Damien was afraid I’d do. Stepped over some invisible boundary meant to protect someone like her from something like me. Hands pressed hard into the counter on either side of her, I feel my arms tense, readying themselves to push away from her while a fumbling apology bubbles against the back of my throat like acid.
“I want to touch you. ”
As soon as she says it, I force myself to shift back, away from her just enough so I can see her face. Her gaze is aimed up at me, eyes popped wide like she had no intention of saying it out loud. Like it’s a secret she intended to take to her grave.
“Touch me?” The voice that says it comes out of my mouth but it’s so ragged and rough I don’t recognize it.
She nods before she clarifies. “Your tattoos... I want to know what they feel like.” Her gaze drifts away from mine to follow the lines of script inked into the side of my neck. “If they feel as beautiful as they look... is that okay?”
Somehow, I resist the urge to grab her by her wrists so I can drag her hands to my chest because suddenly, having her hands on me is all I can think about. The only thing that’ll keep me sane.
Rein it in, moron.
Don’t fuck this up.
Pressing my palms into the kitchen island I have her trapped against, I hook my thumbs around the edge of it, holding on for dear life. “Yeah...” I say in that rough and ragged tone that doesn’t belong to me. “It’s okay.”
Lush lower lip caught between her teeth, brow slightly furrowed, she hesitates like she’s still unsure. Like even though I gave her permission, touching me is still wrong somehow .
I suppose for someone like her, it is.
“Sun—”
That’s as far as I get before I feel her palms press themselves against the ink tattooed into my ribcage and begin to slide up the length of my torso and that’s all it takes. My cock immediately goes apeshit, jerking and twitching against her belly like it’s trying to fight its way out of my pants. “Shit.” I push the curse through clenched teeth, squeezing my eyes shut when I feel the tips of her fingers brush against the ink surrounding one of my nipples. The ring I have pierced through it. “Sorry.”
“You don’t have anything to be sorry about. I’m the one who—” Her hands go still, pressed against my pecks. Opening my eyes, I find her looking up at me. “This is weird, right?” Her brow puckers and the pressure of her hands shifts, telling me she’s about to pull away.
“Believe it or not—not the weirdest thing I’ve ever let a woman do to me.” Fingers gripped around the edge of the counter so hard I can feel my bones start to bend under the pressure, I shake my head on a rusty laugh. That’s how good it feels, so good that I’m practically shaking with the effort it’s taking to keep my hands and mouth off of her. “This doesn’t even make the top ten.”
“I’m not sure I believe you.” Her hands start to move again and it’s all I can do to keep from swallowing my own tongue. “I think you’re going to go home and tell all your friends about the weird girl you met in Montana who…” Her breath tickles against my chest like she’s leaning into it. Like feeling my tattoos isn’t good enough. Like maybe she wants to taste them. My dick gives another hard, spastic jerk against her belly at the thought of her mouth on me.
Fuuuck.
Before I can think about what I’m doing or who I’m doing it to, I wrap my hands around her waist and lift, setting her on the counter I have her pressed against. When her ass hits the countertop, Kaitlyn lets out a soft gasp, her fingers digging into my shoulders, breath against my chest, shallow and uneven.
“Do it.” Making the mistake of looking down at her after I say it, I’m immediately lost in the pair of wide, blue eyes staring up at me and I know what she’s about to say. Do what? “You want to put your mouth on me. Taste what you’re touching.” When all she does is stare up at me, I press forward, wedging myself into the space between her thighs hard enough to pull another soft, startled gasp up the length of her throat. Hands pressed and wrapped around the edge of the countertop again in an effort to make them behave. “Tell me you weren’t thinking about putting your mouth on me. ”
“I…” Her tongue traces along the inside of her bottom lip, brow slightly puckered like she might not understand the question. “I mean, yes, I was , but—”
“Then do it.” I cut off her protest before she talks sense into the both of us. “If you don’t , I’m gonna end up ripping this fucking countertop off its—”
Before I can finish, I watch her tongue push past her slightly parted lips, a second before I feel the soft drag of it across my pec, the tip of it grazing my nipple ring.
Jesus Christ, I’m gonna pass out…
Wrapping my hands around her waist again, I pull her even closer. Close my eyes on a deep groan and set my jaw, tipping my chin toward the ceiling. Grip my hands around her hips and hold on because my dick isn’t going apeshit anymore. It’s gone completely fucking rabid over the feel of her fingers and tongue tracing themselves over the lines and swirls of ink tattooed into my skin. Her warm, uneven breath against my chest. The throb of my stiff cock against the warm center of her when that curious tongue of hers licks its way up the side of my neck, trailing over the line of script tattooed into it, a moment before I feel the testing scrape of teeth.
Do it.
It’s on the tip of my tongue but this time, she doesn’t need direction. Doesn’t ask for permission. Kaitlyn sinks her teeth into the side of my neck, the sting and pressure of it ripping my hands away from her hips. Buries them in her hair and cranks them into fists on a deep, desperate groan that rocks my hips against hers, stroking the length of my cock against the seam of her denim covered pussy. “ Fuck —” I do it again and again, stroking and pumping myself against her while she licks and nips her way up the length of my neck, hips rocking and flexing against mine, breath panting in my ear while her fingers dig and bite into the back of my neck. “I—” She wraps her legs around my hips, locking them at the ankles under my ass, using the angle to tilt her pelvis, desperately grinding herself against me. “I want…”
Hands still fisted in her hair, I turn my head, using my grip to angle her mouth under mine. “Anything…” loosening my fingers, I slip one of my hands around her throat. Squeeze just enough to feel the soft flutter of breath against my palm. “I’ll do anything you want, Sunshine...” I brush my mouth against hers, teasing her plump lower lip with the tip of my tongue. “Anything…” I stroke the pad of my thumb against the frantic pulse that pounds under the soft skin of her throat. “All you have to do is ask.”
“Kiss me…” The fingers digging into the back of my neck pu sh themselves into my hair. Long, thick lashes fluttering against flushed cheeks. “Please—”
I drop my mouth over hers before she can finish, pushing my tongue past parted lips on a low groan, stroking and teasing it against hers, desperate to get inside her, to fuck her, any way I can.
Fuck.
The hand I have in her hair loosens its grip to streak down the length of her spine. Anchoring my forearm against the small of her back, I hold her in place, still flexing and pumping my hips against hers, every stroke matched perfectly to the lick and lave of my tongue, relentlessly fucking her mouth until she’s whimpering and moaning into mine and the need to come fists itself around the base of my spine and begins to shake, the vibrations of it spiraling its way up the length of my cock.
Naked.
I need to get her naked.
Need to pound and fuck myself into her so hard that—
“James…” Ripping her mouth away from mine, she moans my name.
No, not your name — because she doesn’t know your name. She has no idea who you really are or why you’re even here because you’ve been lying to her since the day you met her.
Shit.
Forcing myself to stop, I drop my head, resting my forehead in the crook of her neck. Breath coming is harsh, ragged bursts, I squeeze my eyes shut, wrapping my arms around her waist to keep her in place when she starts to move away from me.
“James?” She says it again. “Is there something—”
“Went.” My name— my real name —tumbles out of my mouth before I can catch it. Or maybe I didn’t even try. Maybe I just want to hear her say my name while I still have her pressed against me.
When I say it, she stiffens slightly like she doesn’t quite understand what I’m saying. “What?”
“That’s what my friends call me.” Even though it’s technically the truth, I still feel like a dirty liar. “Went.”
“So, it’s a nickname?” The corner of her mouth kicks up in a smirky little half smile while her hands start to move again, sliding out of my hair to smooth themselves across the plank of my shoulders. Skimming around their joints to move down the length of my biceps. “Like Sunshine.”
“Yeah.” I nod. Another technical truth that makes me feel even shittier. “Like Sunshine.” Forcing myself to loosen my arms from around her waist, I lift my head to look down at her. “I’m sorry.” Lifting a hand, I brush a few strands of hair away from her forehead. “You asked me to kiss you and I took it too far.” I didn’t take it too far. We both know that. We both know we should be fucking right now— would be fucking right now if I hadn’t pulled the brakes. “I—” My tongue tangles and trips over itself when she lifts a hand and takes us back to the beginning,
“You gave me what I asked for...” Her gaze drifts away from mine to watch her fingers trace along the swirls of ink that start at the inside of my elbow, tracing the tail of the Koi fish tattooed into my forearm. “Does this mean I have to model for you now?”.
Yes.
I imagine her in a dozen different positions—spread out in front of me. Spread open for me. Touching herself when I tell her to. Watching me draw her. Waiting for me to—
“No.” I don’t want her to model for me because she thinks she owes me something. I want Kait to model for me because she wants to. My answer pulls her gaze back to mine. “But it does mean you have to come back,” I tell her while her fingers slide over the hard bone of my forearms on their way to my wrists. “I want you here when I wake up tomorrow.”
Scratch that.
I want you here tonight.
In my bed.
Naked.
And riding my cock.
“I told you.” She frowns up at me, fingers pressed against the inside of my wrist for just a moment before she lets them fall away. “My circumstances have changed. There’s no reason for me to stay. I’m not going to school anymore.”
I want to see you. Spend time with you. Draw you. Fuck you. Kiss you some more.
That’s the reason.
“You quit school? Trying to pretend that her casual refusal doesn’t bother me, I shake my head. “Just like that?” It makes zero sense. A week ago, she was camped out on the front porch, waiting to ambush me and willing to do anything I asked, as long as I let her come here to study for her finals and now, she’s just up and quit school altogether.
“Yes.” She shifts against me like she’s trying to put space between us but my dumb dick doesn’t know the difference. As soon as she rubs herself against it, it starts going apeshit again. “Just like that.”
“No one quits school a week before finals, Sunshine,” I tell her with a shake of my head. “Not just like that .”
Staring up at me, I can see it ripple across her near perfect features—the answer to the puzzle she’s keeping locked away—there and gone in the space of a second.
Pressing a hand against my chest, she looks up at me. “I have to go.” When I don’t move, when all I do is stare at her, she sighs. “Please.”
I want to tell her no. I want to throw her over my shoulder and carry her upstairs. Lay her out on the bed and get her naked so I can do every dirty thing to her that I’ve been dreaming about since the day I met her.
“You don’t want to leave.” I don’t know dick about her but I know that much.
“I didn’t say I wanted to.” She shakes her head, letting her hand fall away from my chest because she knows it’s useless. She’s not moving me unless I want to be moved. “I said I have to.”
Shit.
“Then I changed my mind—” Forcing myself back, I watch, helplessly while she slides off the edge of the counter to land on her feet. “you owe me a modeling session. I expect you here when I come downstairs tomorrow morning to pay up.”
For a second, she just stands there and stares at me like I shouted at her in a foreign language. Finally, she moves.
“Enjoy the blondies.” She turns away from me to drag her backpack off the counter behind her. “They’re my favorite.” She’s out the door and gone before I can think of a way to stop her.
Damien’s been here for a few hours now. he showed up, same as the first night, with another package of steaks—T-bones this time.
After dinner, we settled on the front porch in a couple of deep-seated gliders and started working on the second half of the Bullet Rye he brought over last night. It takes me three drinks before I finally give in and ask him.
“What’s going on with Kait?” Last time I asked, he basically told me to mind my fucking business but I’m asking again anyway because I can still feel her hands on me and for some reason, I think that gives me the right to know.
When I say her name, Damien cuts me a long sideways look like he’s trying to decide between answering my question or just saying fuck it and punching me in the face. Finally decided, he looks away from me and takes a slow sip of his whiskey.
“There’s a lot going on with Kait,” he tells me, gaze aimed at the lake in front of us. “You’ll have to be more specific.”
Curbing my patience, I take a deep breath and let it out slowly. “She’s not staying after in the mornings to study like we agreed on,” I tell him, trying to sound as casual as I can and not at all like it bothers me. Like I didn’t ambush her in the kitchen this morning. Like I didn’t press my stiff cock against her belly and think dirty thoughts about her while she went on her little tattoo tour. Like I didn’t beg her to come back and like she didn’t turn me down. “She said it was because she doesn’t need to study anymore. That her circumstances have changed but—”
“Two-tone stepped on her laptop.” When all I do is stare at him in response, Damien laughs. “Her horse—the black and white paint that follows her around like a giant puppy. She left her backpack in his stall when that Morris fuck showed up the other day and—”
“Who’s Morris?” Something about the way he says the name tells me everything else I need to know—whoever he is, Damien hates him. That means I hate him too.
Again, he hesitates.
“ Who’s Morris ?” I ask again, my tone agitated.
“Why do you care?” Damien asks instead of answering me. “You’re here to hide out from the paparazzi while you ride out your latest PR nightmare,” he reminds me. “This time next month you’ll be back in California or New York and you’ll forget all about us.”
Us .
That one word tells me that the long stretch of silence between us before I called asking for help bothers him more than he lets on. Leaving that particular can of worms closed for another day, I focus on Kait .
“I care because we’re friends.” As soon as I say it, I know it’s a lie and so does Damien. I’m not entirely sure what I want from her but I know it’s not friendship.
“You’re not friends ,” he says, turning that dark, guarded gaze in my direction. “You don’t even know her.”
He’s right. Kait and I aren’t friends. Because friends don’t kiss. They don’t lick and bite each other either and they definitely don’t jerk off to the memory of said licking and biting, the second they’re alone.
Which I did.
Twice.
“Yeah—” Tossing back the rest of my glass, I set it, empty, on the small table between us. “well, I’d like to know her but she keeps sneaking in at some god-awful hour to scrub my toilet and leave me baked goods and then she just leaves before I even get a chance to—”
“He’s her fiancé.” Damien talks over me, cutting off what’s shaping up to be a pretty spectacular rant before looking away on a sigh. “That’s who Brock Morris is—he’s Kait’s fiancé. They’re getting married.”