37. Don’t Blame Me #2
“Don’t play games with me, Birdie. Not when it comes to this. Not unless you want to lose,” he breathes.
But it doesn’t feel like losing. It’s anything but.
I swivel my hips, rocking into him, letting Jase ravage me in every way possible. What starts as measured movements between us quickly turns frantic, hungry, desperate to release the pressure building here.
Every cell in my body feels electric, the nerves fine-tuned to his touch, his lips, his tongue, the hardness that only seems to increase with every motion of my hips. He’s both dominant and receptive, groaning and cursing between his mouth eating up my own gasps.
It’s a good thing, too, because I’m not being quiet. Not when he thrusts his hips up into me, hitting just the perfect spot that has me unraveling.
He’s going to push me over the edge, and neither of us has even taken our clothes off…
Jase abruptly removes his hand from my clit, and I want to cry out at the loss, but he grabs hold of my thighs and stands up, carrying me inside.
Blindly reaching for the floor-length curtain, he flings it sideways so that the fabric slides far enough down the rod to conceal the view of the bed from any potential voyeurs outside.
There’s still enough natural light coming in despite the weather that I can see the storm isn’t just outside.
It’s in his eyes, in his movements, in the possessiveness of his touch.
I barely perceive his steps before I’m laid down on his mattress. Jase lifts my hips and starts to draw the shirt up my body, all too ready to peel it off, but I grab his hand.
“You first.” It’s only fair. I’m already wearing next to nothing. I want the time to appreciate him.
And he’s all too happy to oblige.
It’s not like I haven’t seen Jase without a shirt on before, but this time, I allow myself to soak in every detail as he stands up to feed the cotton over his head.
And the sight is one to behold.
He had always been sinewy, but the amount of muscle, the definition, the contours now adorning his frame? It’s something else entirely.
Powerful.
He’d be the very definition of a Greek god if not for the tattoos. Hell, even those seem to fit, equally beautiful and brutal all at once.
The only visible ink on the front of his body apart from the sleeve of tattoos is the singular design placed above his heart.
I had caught a glimpse of it the one morning in the kitchen, noting it looked like a section of an old map, the parchment torn in sweeping slashes as if shredded by claws.
Taking in the details now, I can see it’s an intricately rendered map depicting the Treasure of Spada from The Count of Monte Cristo .
I can also see the artist made it look like another sheet of parchment was beneath it, adorned in inked calligraphy.
The same sentence is repeated again and again so that it can be read through the gaps in the map.
“God will give her justice.”
Jase undoes his jeans, easing the material down to reveal black boxer briefs beneath. He hooks his fingers in the waistband of those as well and just as easily discards them to the floor. And I’m more than a little intimidated by the sight in front of me. He’s so goddamn impressive.
His hands take hold of my ankles, gently pulling them apart. “Don’t do that, love. Don’t hide from me.”
It’s only now that I realize I have my legs drawn together. And it’s not from trepidation. No, it’s the only thing I can do to fend off the pulse throbbing at my core. And he sees that.
He lowers his mouth to my ankle, leaving searing hot kisses all the way up my leg, only stopping once he’s reached my panties.
I lift my hips, allowing him to pull them off.
Just as quickly, my shirt is discarded to the floor as well, and it’s the most naked I’ve ever been.
The way Jase looks at me, it’s like he can see through more than flesh and bones.
He’s looking at me like I’m the most exquisite thing to have ever existed.
He’s gripping my thighs, my hips, my ass, kneading my breasts, digging his fingers into soft flesh, and I’ve never felt more beautiful.
The fact that my body could elicit such a reaction from him, that it could have him groaning my name as his mouth maps out every inch of me, is enough to send me.
I’m not just aching for him; I’m on the brink of insanity, desperate.
When he releases his mouth from my nipple and begins retracing his path down my stomach, I all but whimper, curling my fingers into the back of his hair.
I know what he wants to do, but there will be time for that later. I need him. All of him.
Jase doesn’t have to be told twice. He reaches over to the nightstand and immediately returns, tearing the foil packet open with his teeth. The second he’s rolled on the condom, his weight presses me into the mattress, and his lips capture mine.
He’s measured in his movements, pushing into me slowly so I can adjust. I need it. Even with how wet I am, he’s a lot to handle. It takes a few thrusts before he bottoms out, and the feeling, the sheer fullness of him buried inside me, is enough to have my eyes rolling into the back of my head.
When he begins to pick up the pace, sounds escape me that I’ve never made before, and I don’t care how loud I am.
My sounds only encourage him as every roll of his hips has him grinding faster, deeper, hitting me at just the perfect angle when he tilts my hips.
His next thrust strikes me from the inside out, the pressure on my clit throttling me into my release.
My orgasm hits me so hard, I’m not sure if I’ve shut my eyes or just gone blind, because the world goes black as wave after wave rolls through me.
Before I can even come down from the high, Jase pulls out and flips me over.
He’s adamant about claiming every inch of my body, but the position—or rather how he goes still at the sight—sends a spike of fear through me.
The last time anyone ever saw my naked body from this side was when everyone saw.
I’ll never forget the comments people posted, and the most popular ones begin flooding my mind, but Jase silences them with his mouth as he begins tracing kisses along the length of my spine.
Unlike me, that’s not where his head is gone.
No, he’s admiring something else entirely, following the trail down to my ass.
His teeth sink into my flesh, and it’s the sexiest thing I’ve ever heard as he growls, “You’re so fucking beautiful.”
Feeling him appreciating my curves, feeling his hands roaming over and gripping the swells of my body, has me melting into the bed again.
They didn’t break me.
As hard as they may have tried to make me wither away into nothing, the proof is under Jase’s very hands.
They didn’t break me.
The next command ushers goosebumps across my skin, because I’ve never tried this before.
But I do as Jase says, lifting my ass up when he comes to kneel behind me.
Spreading my legs further apart, he grips my thighs and positions us both.
The second I feel his length tease at my entrance, I can’t resist pushing back, silently demanding him.
The expletives he groans in response only leave me more needy, and the tether on his control finally snaps.
He slams into me, burying himself to the hilt, and the sensation alone is enough to take me to my peak.
Never has anyone been this deep. Never has anyone hit these places inside me I didn’t even know existed.
His rhythm increases with every thrust, fucking me harder and faster until I may very well liquify from heat flooding me.
I try to bury my scream into the mattress, but his fingers fist my hair, forcing me back just enough that I can’t.
“Don’t fucking hold back from me,” he demands, and I can’t—not when he releases his hold of my hair in favor of my clit.
The pressure he applies instantly has my inner walls clamping down around his length, and we’re both there.
I don’t have a voice to verbalize a thought or his name or even a letter.
I may as well be boneless, my entire body made up of nothing more than just one raw nerve awakened with a pleasure I had never even fathomed before.
All I can concentrate on is the feeling of him pulse inside of me, his rhythm turning erratic.
One final thrust, and he joins me in oblivion, cursing as he swells inside of me, filling the condom.
His weight comes down on me, and the position sends an aftershock through my core that has me clenching around his length once more.
He’s moaning my name like a mantra, nearly breathless as his heart thunders against my back.
If the orgasm hadn’t just ruined me for all other men, that would certainly do it.
He may as well be a fanatic of a new religion for the way he’s worshiping me.
I don’t know how long it takes for us to recover, but when he collapses onto the bed next to me after disposing of the condom, it’s clear he’s ready for another round.
I chuckle, my voice still breathy. “I think I’m going to need a minute.” To bring me back from euphoria, to reacquaint myself with the earth, to appreciate that he’s real and closer than arm’s reach from me. Take your pick.
I’m still lying on my stomach, so it comes as no surprise that he takes the opportunity to run his fingers along the length of my spine again.
He doesn’t need to ask. The question is right there in his eyes.
I smile. “The only people that matter are the ones I don’t have to prove myself to.”
And it’s true. Jase, Maggie, and Derek never needed me to convince them it wasn’t me in those pictures.
It was never even a possibility in their eyes that it could be.
Those are the people that count. Either you know me well enough to know that I wouldn’t hook up with Trent or try to attack Sienna or make up stories to make myself a victim, or you can fuck off.
I’m done trying to win anyone else over to have my back, especially not the rest of my family.
Jase begins trailing kisses up the length of my arm, but when he eventually makes his way up to my mouth, I pin my pointer finger over his lips.
“Not so fast there, mister.” I grin, running my own hands over his back, though my focus is on his shoulder blades. “You lied to me.”
He looks genuinely taken aback, and I can’t help a laugh.
“You told me the tattoo you got here had been a drunken mistake.” I tsk. “I know enough about getting ink to know a design this detailed, not to mention this large, would definitely take more than one drunken session.”
“Well, then, you weren’t looking close enough,” he says cryptically.
I prop myself up on one elbow, getting a better view as he lies on his stomach.
I’m again acquainted with the macabre depiction of a crow carrying something in its talons, blood trailing off the ends. My breath stutters, however, when I see the small scars marring its body, especially the one above the eye.
It’s not a crow at all. It’s a raven. My raven. The one that attacked me in my bedroom.
And the “something” in its talons isn’t just anything. It’s a particular organ, which is fitting, because there’s a ribbon attached to the bird’s ankle, the words inscribed on it reading, Al bellissimo uccello che mi ha rubato il cuore.”
I would recognize my mother’s native language anywhere, but I haven’t studied Italian for a few years, so translating it takes me a minute.
The pads of my fingers run over the words, my vision blurring as I read them again and again.
To the beautiful bird who stole my heart.
A soft smile plays on Jase’s lips as he wipes the single tear that falls from my lashes. “That’s not what I meant.”
His eyes shift over his shoulder, and I struggle to digest what I’m seeing.
The top design on his sleeve of tattoos is a stag, its antlers extending across the front and back of his shoulder.
That much I had already seen. What obviously didn’t catch my eye the last time was the two-inch depiction of a penguin that looks to be lounging in a nook of the antler’s tine, like it’s a little kid hanging out on a tree branch.
All of Jase’s tattoos are rendered in realism, so the fact that this particular artwork was done in a cartoon style only makes it stand out all the more.
“Don’t you dare laugh,” he warns, but it’s too late.