Chapter 18
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
LUCIFER
I doze off, but when my eyes spring open again, the room is still dark. I can hear the faint thump of bass from the party still going strong in the main room, but in here, it’s just us.
Jess is still in my bed, sound asleep, her body soft and pliant against mine.
The tank top she slept in has ridden up, exposing the smooth plane of her stomach, and my arm is draped across her waist, my hand resting on the curve of her hip.
I’m painfully aware she’s naked from the waist down, and it would take nothing from me to slide my hand between her thighs.
I close my eyes and try to think about anything else, but my brain keeps circling back to the chapel.
To the way she looked spread out on that my table with her skirt bunched around her waist and her thighs shaking.
The sound she made when she came. The taste of her on my tongue when I sucked her fingers clean.
I’ve been telling myself for weeks that I’ve got this under control. That I can tease her, edge her, whisper every filthy thing I want to do to her into her ear and then walk away.
It’s all a bunch of lies.
I open my eyes and look at her again.
It would be so fucking easy for me to roll her onto her back, push inside her, and take what I’ve been craving.
But the whole reason I brought her here was so she could sleep. I’d be a real piece of shit if I woke her just so I could bury my raging cock inside of her.
She stirs in my arms, and I hold my breath. Her body shifts, rolling toward me, and her face burrows into my chest. One of her hands slides up my stomach, her palm flat against my skin where my shirt has ridden up, and she makes this soft, contented sound that goes straight to my cock.
Fuck.
She settles against me, her forehead pressed to my sternum, her knee drawn up between mine. Her breathing evens out again, and a soft snore escapes her, and for some reason, I find that to be the most endearing sound I’ve ever heard.
It’s intimate in a way that I’ve never experienced, and I’m guessing that has a lot to do with the fact I’ve never slept with a woman before.
I get what I need, and I kick them the fuck out.
There’s no holding them while they sleep.
I don’t memorize the sound of their breaths, or how they feel against my body. It’s almost transactional.
I reach up and trace my fingers over the scar on her forehead. The skin is raised and smooth under my touch, and she doesn’t flinch. Just keeps breathing against my chest like my hand belongs there.
I’ve convinced myself she isn’t ready for me. That she’s still healing, and her body needs time. That the grafts need to finish doing whatever grafts do. This idea that she’s fragile, and I could hurt her if I let myself have her, it’s all a fucking crutch.
There isn’t anything fragile about Jess.
The girl is a fucking phoenix.
Her eyes flutter open just then, and for a moment, neither of us move.
She just stares up at me with those big, sleep-soft eyes, her lips parted slightly, her breath warm against my skin.
My hand is still on her forehead, my thumb tracing the edge of her scar, and I can feel her heartbeat against my chest where she’s pressed against me.
She tilts her chin up, and her gaze zeroes in on my mouth. Her lips part, and she moves to kiss me, but I catch her jaw in my palm before her mouth can land on mine.
“Don’t,” I rasp. “I’m barely hanging on by a thread, baby. You touch me and it’s over. I’m not going to be able to stop.”
Her eyes darken, and something shifts in her expression. It appears my unsuspecting wife likes the idea of me losing control. Her palms flatten against my chest and she pushes. My back hits the mattress, and then she’s moving, swinging her leg over my hips, settling herself on top of me.
Her confidence makes my cock throb against the denim, and when her bare pussy presses against the hard ridge of me through my jeans, I hiss through my teeth.
She’s fucking killing me.
“You promise?” she whispers.
My hands find her thighs, and I stroke my palms up the smooth skin.
When I reach her hip, my fingers pause, and my gaze drops to the donor site.
I trace the edges of her scars with my thumb.
They’re raised and rough in places, but she doesn’t shy away from my touch.
If anything, she presses harder against me.
“I don’t want to hurt you,” I manage, lifting my eyes back to hers.
“You won’t.”
There’s no way either of us can be sure.
I fuck hard—that’s just how I am. I don’t know how to be gentle, and the thought of losing myself inside her and hurting her makes my stomach turn.
Her grafts look healed, but what if the friction tears something?
What if I fuck up her recovery? What if she’s not ready and I’m too fucking selfish to notice?
She rolls her hips, grinding her bare cunt against me through the denim, and my hands tighten around her hip. My head drops to the pillow, and a strangled sound tears from my throat.
“Jess,” I warn, gritting my teeth.
“If I can’t handle it, I will tell you.” Her voice is breathy as her hips keep moving. “I just want you to fuck me, Lucifer.”
She reaches for the hem of her tank top and pulls it over her head in one fluid motion. Then her fingers find the clasp of her bra, and the fabric falls away, baring her tits to me.
No man could survive a temptress like this.
I stare at her tits, my mouth watering. They’re smaller than what I’m used to, but they’re perfect.
Full and round with pink nipples that are so hard they could cut glass.
I want to feast on them, and after I’ve come all over her, I want to fuck them.
I want to watch my cock move between them and feel those nipples brush against my thumbs.
“Please,” she begs. She’s still rocking over me, her movements slow and deliberate.
Fucking torture.
Then she takes my right hand and lifts it, pressing my palm flat against her breast. My fingers curl around her on instinct, and she lets out a soft moan as I circle her nipple with my thumb.
“I saw that redhead hanging all over you,” she says, her voice dropping low. “She had her bare tits pressed against you.”
Fucking Ginger.
“I didn’t like it,” she admits, her hips grinding down harder. “You fucked her.”
I don’t deny it. “Yeah,” I grit out. “I did.”
I should tell her that it was a long time ago, and that it didn’t matter. That all I think about is her and she’s the only one I want to fuck for the rest of my life, but that would force me to admit something I’m not ready to.
“I hate her.” Her eyes lock on mine, and there’s something raw and furious in them that makes my chest ache.
“I don’t know her, but I hate her because she knows what it’s like to fuck my husband and I don’t.
She knows what you like, and I don’t.” Her voice cracks.
“She’s seen you come apart, and I haven’t. Do you think that’s fair?”
She brings my other hand to her other breast, and I squeeze, rolling her nipple between my fingers. She gasps, her back arching, and her hands drop to my jeans. Her fingers work the button, then the zipper, and she tugs them down just enough to free me.
“Answer me, Lucifer. Do you think it’s fair that every woman at that party knows how it feels to have your hands on them, and your cock inside of them, but I don’t?”
My jaw locks, and my fingers tighten around her tits. She’s testing me, pushing every button I have, and she fucking knows it. But then she opens her mouth again, and what comes out makes me see red.
“How would you like it if every one of your brothers knew how it felt to fuck me but you didn’t?”
Something inside me snaps.
I pinch her nipples hard, twisting them between my fingers until her eyes water. “Watch your fucking mouth.”
She shakes her head, her hips still grinding against my cock, her pussy leaving a slick trail of her arousal across my shaft. “No,” she breathes, her voice steady even as her nipples are turning red under my grip. “Not until you give me what I want.”
Her hands slide up under my shirt, her nails dragging across my abs, my chest, her palms hot and desperate against my skin. She’s trying to push the fabric up, but she can’t get it past my shoulders with the way I’m positioned.
I release her nipples and sit up, and she takes the opportunity to grab the hem of my shirt and yank it over my head.
Her hands are everywhere—palms flat against my chest, fingers tracing every tattoo, nails dragging down my stomach. She leans in and her teeth scrape along my collarbone, and I hiss through my teeth.
“Fucking hell.”
“Just once, Lucifer,” she whispers against my skin, her mouth trailing lower, her tongue flicking across my neck.
She shifts her hips, dragging her bare pussy along the length of my cock, coating me in her wetness.
The sensation is so fucking good my vision blurs.
“Then we can go back to pretending this isn’t real.
That we’re just two bodies joined by forgery and nothing more. ”
That does it.
My hand fists in her hair, and I yank her head back, forcing her to look at me. Her eyes are glazed, and she’s panting like I’ve already fucked the life out of her. I roll us both, flipping her onto her back so fast the mattress squeaks beneath us.
“Shut up,” I growl.
I slide down her body, my mouth trailing fire across her sternum, between her breasts, over the ridges of her ribs. When I reach her stomach, I press my lips to the skin just above her hip bone, where the donor site is, and I feel her shudder beneath me.
Then I hook my hands behind her knees and push her thighs apart. The smell of her hits me—sweet and musky—and my cock throbs so hard it hurts. I lower my mouth to her cunt and drag my tongue through her folds in one long, slow stroke.
She cries out, her back arching off the bed, her hands flying to my hair. “Oh, fuck?—”