Chapter 14 #2
Her eyes flick in my direction, and something primal twists in my gut. She holds my gaze for a fraction of a second before looking away, and I catch the slight tremor in her hand as she reaches for her water glass.
I want to go over there. I want to pull her into my arms and do all the things I’ve been imagining doing since I first laid eyes on her.
I want to peel that dress off her body and run my tongue between those tits of hers.
Pull those nipples that are so fucking hard I can see them poke against her dress from here into my mouth and torture her until she’s bucking against me, begging me to touch her everywhere.
But I stay rooted to this spot, pretending I don’t notice the way the cowboy’s hand keeps finding her shoulder.
Dread reappears beside me, grabbing a beer from the table.
“I was right. He’s the mechanic. His name is Jude.”
Just as the words leave his mouth, I watch Jude lean in close to Jess, his lips dangerously close to her ear. She nods at whatever he says, and he pushes back from the table, heading toward the cooler where all the drinks are kept.
That’s it. I’ve had enough of this charade.
I cross the yard with purposeful strides, weaving through clusters of bikers and ranch hands. Maddox spots me first, his eyes widening slightly as I approach the table.
“Lucifer—”
I don’t let him finish. My eyes lock onto Jess, and I keep them there.
“Can I talk to you?”
Her gaze darts around the table—to Amelia, to Maddox, to the empty chair where Jude sat moments ago.
“Um . . .”
“Privately.”
She bites her lower lip, and I watch the internal war play out behind her eyes. Then she turns to Amelia.
“Can you tell Jude I’ll be right back?”
Amelia glances between us, her brow furrowed, but she nods. “Yeah, of course.”
Jess pushes herself up from the chair, and I notice the slight hesitation in her movement—the way she shifts her weight carefully. She’s still recovering. Still hurting. I resist the urge to reach for her elbow, to steady her the way I used to.
Instead, I turn and lead her toward the side of the clubhouse, away from the music and the laughter and the prying eyes. When we round the corner, and the sounds of the reception fade to a dull hum, I stop and face her.
“I thought the wedding was going to be at the ranch,” she blurts before I can get a word in. “I didn’t learn that it had moved here until Jude came to . . .” Her voice trails as I close the distance between us, and she stumbles back a step.
A curse rips from my throat as I reach for her, my arm instinctively going to wind around her waist, but her back hits the brick wall before my hand can make contact. I pivot, bracing my palm against the wall above her head instead.
I lean into her, and her breath fans across my lips—warm, shaky, fucking intoxicating. It sends a jolt of electricity through me, one that I feel everywhere—my chest, my gut, my fucking cock.
“You came to my clubhouse on the arm of another man,” I growl, “and you disrespect me by speaking his name.”
I watch her throat bob with a swallow, and I lift my free hand to it, encasing my fingers around the slender column of her neck. Her pulse hammers against my fingers—fast, frantic, alive. So fucking alive.
“It’s not like that,” she whispers. “I can’t drive, and when Amelia invited me?—”
Something snaps inside me, and I cut her off by bringing my mouth to her neck.
I suck hard, dragging my teeth across the sensitive skin, making sure to mark her.
She moans—a sound that goes straight to my cock—her fingers clawing at my cut, her back bowing against the brick wall.
I growl against her skin and continue the assault, biting down again, sucking until I know there’ll be a bruise blooming there tomorrow.
When I finally pull away, I admire the darkening bruise already forming on her pale skin. We stare at each other, both panting, our pupils blown wide.
I don’t know who reaches for who first—maybe I move, maybe she does—but suddenly my hands are cupping her face, and I’m kissing her.
Her lips part for me, and I swallow her gasp, my tongue sliding against hers.
She tastes like mint and something sweet, and it’s not enough.
It’s nowhere near enough. My dick hardens painfully against the zipper of my jeans, and I press my hips forward, pinning her harder against the wall.
She moans into my mouth, and her hands slide under my T-shirt, her fingers skating over my abs. Every touch sends electricity racing across my skin.
I break the kiss, my mouth trailing back to her neck, finding the other side this time, and I mark her there too, sucking, biting, claiming what’s mine.
I want to fuck her right here against the side of the clubhouse. I want to push that purple dress up around her hips and bury myself inside her until she’s screaming my name. I don’t give a single fuck who sees. I don’t care who hears. Let every man at this wedding know exactly whose she is.
But then she whimpers, and it’s different—not the pleasure-filled sound from before. Something sharp and painful cuts through the haze of my desire, and I snap out of it instantly, pulling my mouth from her neck.
Her lips have become swollen, pink and glistening from our kiss. Her eyes are glassy, but not with lust anymore.
“What is it?” I ask, my voice hoarse. “Did I hurt you?”
“My leg went numb,” she rasps. “It happens when I stand for too long.”
I look down and see the way she’s shifting her weight, favoring her right side. Guilt crashes through me instantly. I’ve got her pinned against a brick wall, marking her like an animal, and she can barely stand.
“Fuck,” I mutter, stepping back immediately. I reach for her elbow, steadying her. “Why didn’t you say something?”
She meets my gaze, and the look she gives me leaves me completely undone.
“I didn’t want you to stop.”