Chapter 29
29
Jake
Not fucking real , she said. Not fucking real ?
I don’t know why the hell those words pissed me off like they did. But, goddamnit, the woman’s got no idea. None.
For some inexplicable reason, those words were a red flag, waved in front of me.
She thinks what we’re doing, what we’ve got is not real ?
I don’t even know what it means. What is real when it comes to sex? Doesn’t matter. The fact is, Katarina Esteban sealed her own goddamn fate when she tried telling me that this connection’s all in my head.
I know better. Hell, I knew the second I saw her.
When I walked in and saw those big eyes, sad and lost and still somehow determined.
The thing is, she knew it, too. She felt this attraction. That’s why we’re here today. Why my knees are grinding into the refinished hardwood plank of a place that never once felt like a home until she walked into it.
Call me opportunistic or single-minded or whatever the hell you want, but ever since I got to town, there’s been one thing and one thing only on my mind and if she prefers denial, well, I’m happy enough to take responsibility for both of us. For every goddamn thing.
Kit’s carrying enough on her shoulders with the restaurant and her house and whatever painful past she’s lugging around.
I’ve got the rest. I’ve got this. Which isn’t a relationship, fine. But it is fucking real .
Practical. Not emotional. Those were her words and, in a weird way, I’m all right with that. I don’t need her to cry on my shoulder. I need her to give it up to me. That’s practical, right?
Yep. Practical Jake Brand. That’s me. Doing things because they make sense, not because I’ll die if I don’t.
Like this pussy, right here. Fuck…look at it. Pink and soft, with a little hair on the outer lips. I like that hair. Like how silky it looks.
And I fucking love how she smells up close. Musky and warm. Sex and woman and something else. Something precious and real and just out of my grasp.
None of this is within my grasp, is it? And yet, that fucked-up inner part of me is somehow convinced that it should be mine. It feels like mine.
It’s why I gave her the safe word. I’ve never felt like this before—like someone else belongs to me—and there’s danger there.
I’d laugh if I had any sense of humor left. It flew the goddamn coop, though, when she told me this thing… Wasn’t . Real.
Practical? You know what? Fuck that, too.
I turn and run my lips along the soft, dimpled skin of her plump inner thigh. Then, because kissing is still off the table, which pisses me off, along with a million other things, I draw them back and scrape her with my teeth instead. At her full body shudder, I turn and do the same to the other side.
Make it last. That’s the plan. Make her so fucking hungry she’ll beg and beg and beg and then…
Fuck. I don’t know. Then what? What is the end game here?
Happy families with her in her cute little yellow house?
Nah. That ain’t happening. I’m leaving. Besides, I’m not a family man.
She doesn’t want a baby daddy anyway.
This is sex. Pure, filthy sex.
On that thought, I angle my head and let my teeth sink the slightest bit into her flesh, smiling at the way she tenses up and tries to close her legs.
“You want me to stop?” Eyeing her, I edge closer to her warm cunt, shiny wet and ready. “Hm? Or you want me to put my mouth on this puffy little pussy and let you ride my face ’til you come?”
When she doesn’t reply, I force myself to lean back and look at her. “Tell me.”
“What?”
“Tell me you want to come on my tongue.” Instead of tightening my grip the way I want, I loosen it, show her she can stop anytime. “Tell me you want it.”
“I…I…”
“Your safe word’s right there if you need it, Kit. Red. All you’ve got to do is open your mouth and say it. Or…” I lean in, shut my eyes, and breathe her in, mouth watering with need. “You can tell me you want it.”
It takes her a minute of internal hemming and hawing, but eventually, she gets there. “I want it.”
“Yeah.” I nod, letting my nose skim that crease separating her thigh from my objective. “Fuck yeah you do.”
She gasps when I go in and nip at the tendon leading right to where I want to be, then slide my tongue home.
The second my nose finally touches all that sweetness, her eyes screw shut and I lose it.
Did I say slow? Hell, no. There’s nothing slow about this chemistry. This shit is volatile. Dangerous. Lightning fast with flashing lights and blaring alarms and warning signs and still, I want to burn right up along with it.
Before I can stop myself, I’ve pried her legs wider, thrown one thick thigh over my shoulder and sunk my entire face into her.
That’s it. The moment I lose track of everything but her.
I’ve thought about this. A million times. Every night at work. Picture myself on the floor every time she sits on one of those bar stools at the end of the shift, lifting her skirt and just diving in. Like it’s mine. Like she’s mine.
Reality is so much better, dammit. And not just the taste or the smell of her while I lick and suck and flick my tongue over her little clit, but the sounds. The way she grips my hair so tight it hurts and that pain focuses me. The way her hips rise to meet my tongue when I fuck her with it. The way that, now that they’ve got permission, my hands are all the fuck over the place, touching, stroking, twisting.
There’s no in-between here. It’s all or nothing and we’ve moved well past the nothing stage.
All. Mine. Everything.
Her hips buck, knocking me back and I growl and slide both hands under this ass—this ass I’ve been dreaming of—lift her up and drag her right to my mouth. She’s a meal, a platter made just for me. “You fight, baby girl,” I mutter against the softest pink flesh I’ve ever tasted. “Fight for it.”
She makes a sound that’s like a complaint, needy and annoyed, and even that lights me up just right.
The woman’s irritated that I’m making her come. Annoyed that I’m forcing her to take it. And fuck if that’s not just another one of my fucked-up buttons.
Giving her a hungry sound of my own, I swipe my tongue up her middle, going deep and shallow and then playing her clit like an instrument.
She squirms and I tighten my hold and pull her in closer and then there’s no real movement. Just pressure.
I’m half up, her wrapped around me like a vine and we’re as close as we can get and suddenly, there’s only one way this’ll be better.
Arms around her torso, I heave myself up. She squeals and clings to me, giggling as I twist and flop onto my back, the sofa—which I’m thankful was made for a man my size. Once I’m settled at one end, I drag her up to straddle my chest and, when she looks like she’ll protest, higher. “Fuck my face, Kit. Come on. Do it, please,” I beg her when she starts to protest. “Sit on me.”
She pauses and looks down and the view’s like every wet dream I’ve ever had rolled into one perfect woman.
“I’m heavy.” She plants her hands on my shoulders and tries to scoot back.
“That’s good. I want your weight. Give it to me.” The second I say the words, I realize just how much I mean them. I want to take the weight off her. Make it my own. “All of it. Come on. Up. Let me soak in you. Let me make you feel good.”
I don’t let her think about it before tugging her over me, onto me, and then—fuck… fuck , my cock’s gonna explode.
There’s nothing in the world aside from this pussy.
Right here, in this moment, I could die a happy man.