CHAPTER 19
LARA
Vanessa is curled up on the couch and looking through our movie wish list to pick which one we’ll be viewing tonight. Since we’re closed on Sunday, we can stay up a little later on Saturday. It’s why we always have a movie night.
It also means Sunday is for cleaning up and getting ready for the next week. Which no one enjoys. But, alas, it must be done.
After Playboy left this morning and Rumble brought Vanessa back, I was taken through every second of her time spent out and about. She had a lot to fill me in on and didn’t leave a single detail out of the retelling.
Which I’m glad she did because it made me feel better about the whole thing. If I didn’t know Graycie and Ezra as well as I do, and trust them, it wouldn’t have even been a possibility.
As the day wore on and dinner time was coming up, I was hoping Playboy would show up. And then I scolded myself for having such thoughts.
In one day, it would have been too much Playboy…Jettson? No, Playboy.
I’m not sure why I thought he would. Maybe because he asked what our plans were and I told him about movie night. He perked right the fuck up, his eagerness reminding me of a dog with not enough sense.
Just as we were about to eat, he texted me to let me know he had a client running long. I guess that meant he wasn’t planning on coming over?
I didn’t answer. Because I had no idea what to say.
When I sit down, I plop the bowl of popcorn between us and grab my blanket. Vanessa is already all snuggled in.
“Find something?”
She shoots me a look because she always finds something. Even if it’s a repeat.
As the movie starts and we snack, I can feel Vanessa’s unasked questions swirling around her. I’m not sure what she’s waiting for, but I know not to rush her. If I do, she shuts down and it never ends well.
“I really like Gramps,” Vanessa’s voice is conversational, but I can feel the importance in them.
“Good. I like him too.” I giggle before grabbing another handful of popcorn. “The man is into his sourdough.”
“I know,” she shoots me a knowing look, “I saw the operation up close. We baked a loaf. I got to score it.” It’s not the first time I’m hearing this from her.
We lapse into silence for a while, well, other than the crunch of butter coated deliciousness between our teeth. I know she’s not done.
“I like Jettson, too,” her voice is softer this time.
My heart stutters and I glance at her out of the corner of my eye. She’s not looking at me.
“Have you seen a difference in him?” Her question is honest and comes from a good place, an innocent place.
Since he’s now, somehow, in her life, I owe her a genuine answer. I’ve never lied to her; I just try to meet her where she is.
“I have,” I admit. “He seems steady in a way I didn’t see in him before. I have to wonder if this is the real him, and the version of him we saw before was an anomaly.”
Vanessa nods thoughtfully. “Gramps said something like that. How he was always surprised when he heard about ‘his boy’,” she drops her voice in an impersonation of Rumble,” acting out.”
“I’m just not sure if it’s enough,” I try to explain.
Innocence laces the question, “Do you know what he has to do for it to be enough?”
My head whips around and I stare at my daughter. She giggles at my reaction and looks over at me.
I’m momentarily at a loss for words.
“I, um, I really don’t know,” the words come out weak. I wince a little. “That’s part of the problem.”
Vanessa’s sage nod is filled with understanding. I’m not sure she gets it, but I see no reason to question it.
“If you’re not ready,” Vanessa sighs, “then you’re not ready.”
While she focuses back on the movie, my mind mulls over her words. Is that the problem? Am I not ready?
Or has he not proven it?
I mean, the tattoo isn’t even done, so leaving the past fully in the past isn’t an option until it is. But then what?
Damn it, that’s the hardest question to answer.
Another thing that can’t be ignored is how my body responds to him. Being around him feels like a riptide.
The man is potent.
Don’t even get me started on the piercings. Talk about nirvana. I’ve never felt anything like it, which isn’t surprising considering I’ve never seen dick piercings in the wild before.
I guess it takes a motorcycle club to get that kind of experience. Apparently.
It would be kind of silly to expect that of every biker, but I got lucky with mine.
Mine?
My biker?
Why does that feel so right?
I’m still a mess by the time the movie ends before the rest of the night starts slipping away. I’m trying to focus on my book instead of the questions filling my head, and the memories of how he makes my body buzz from head to toe.
I’m also trying to ignore how Jettson feels like mine.
Nothing good will come from such thoughts. Nothing good at all.
No, I’ll probably just be setting myself up for heartbreak. Maybe with a side of ridicule.
When my phone rings, I almost don’t look at it. Vanessa is asleep down the hall; who would be calling me?
Something pulls my eyes toward it and it’s in my hand before I’ve even decided to look. My breath hitches when I see Playboy calling. I almost don’t answer it, but my hands are possessed.
Possessed!
“Hello?” My voice is tentative.
“Hey, Cupcake,” Playboy drawls.
The first time he called me that, it didn’t hit the same way. It was sarcastic as fuck. Like a curse.
Now it’s completely different. It feels precious and special.
Fuck, this man.
My man?
Crap.
“Hi,” I say lamely before making a sound of dissent. “I mean, what’s up? How did the appointment go?”
“It was good,” he chuckles in my ear. He clears his throat. “Listen, I’m downstairs. Come let me in?” When I hesitate, he adds, “I don’t need to come all the way up, but I’d like to see you if it’s okay. I know it’s late,” his tone turns sheepish.
“Okay,” I whisper.
I’m not sure if it’s the right decision, but I’m committed now. Huh, maybe people should know more about sanitariums.
I climb out of bed and head toward the door and then down the stairs. The moment I open the door leading to the alley, Playboy is there and filling the space. He pushes me back against the wall, the door closing with a gentle thud and sealing us in.
It feels like we’re stealing a moment which is not entirely ours.
Feeling like I’m doing something naughty is not a feeling I’ve chased. Never in my life. There wasn’t any room in my life for that kind of indulgence, not when I had a sister like mine.
His large hands frame my face and even though there’s very little light, his eyes are practically glowing. The focus and intensity in his stare make my thighs clench together.
I blurt out, “What are you doing here?”
“I wanted to see you,” his voice is rough. “I wanted to come by earlier,” he whispers, a confession which slides along my skin like honey. “I hated missing out on movie night with my girls.”
He steps even closer, one hand sliding back into my hair where his fingers tangle with the strands. His other hand slides down my neck, his fingertips brushing the place where my pulse is pounding.
Jettson is close. Too close. The smokiness of his scent feels like a fog. A haze. With no end. No beginning.
Just this.
I let him in before.
I wanted to.
Not because I couldn’t say no or keep the offer in, but because I want him.
Is misplaced loyalty a mistake or an opportunity? What do you do after you know the truth? Isn’t that when it matters most?
When his hand grips my hip, his fingers tighten slightly, just for a second. I feel the heat of his hand through the thin sleep shirt I’m wearing. If you can wear pants and sleep, more power to you; it makes me feel like I’m suffocating.
He presses me back against the wall to trap me right where he wants me. It should make me want to run.
Instead, I close the distance and kiss him. He lets out a sound that is ragged and filled with disbelief.
Jettson kisses me back, but I can feel the restraint. I’m in the lead; he’s giving it over to me. Letting me. Following me.
When I deepen the kiss, he’s right there. One step behind. Just barely.
Just enough.
His hand finds the hem of my shirt and glides underneath the fabric. My skin feels charged wherever his fingertips brush. A current; a path.
“Missed you, Cupcake,” he murmurs against my lips when we need to breathe. “Let me make you feel good.”
“Jettson,” his name echoes through the small space.
It lands softly, but it seems to ignite something in him. When he kisses me again, it’s harder with an edge of desperation. He pours his feelings into me, every brush of his lips a declaration, every shared breath a wisp of a promise.
His fingertips slide along the edge of my panties. “Are you wet for me?” The question comes out rough and needy. “I’ve been thinking about burying my face between your thighs for fucking hours.”
“Well, since you came all this way…,” my words trail off as I moan when his fingers find my clit and circle teasingly.
His low chuckle rumbles through me. He kisses me sweetly before slowly sliding down my body until he’s on his knees in front of me. My eyes widen and a rush of power surges through me.
Woah.
There’s something about a man like him getting on his knees for you. Add in the fact that he’s looking up at me with worship in his eyes? I’m in some serious danger.
Not my body; I’ll be enjoying every second of this.
I can tell by the way his hands glide up my bare legs and start to push my shirt up to my hips.
The real danger is to my heart; it’s softening.
I can almost trust him. The tendrils of that feeling are reaching for him. Straining. Finding the connections.
Because he’s become steady. Day by day.
He keeps showing up. When I least expect it. When I need it most.
But could there be another shoe to drop? Lola is involved so of course there’s another shoe.
I just wish I wasn’t the only one who realized it.
Jettson’s fingertips hook into the waistband of my panties and he slides them slowly down my legs. His touch blazes all the way down, reminding me, lulling me.
When he slides his hand back up my leg, he hooks my knee and lifts it up over his shoulder. I’m spread out for him and his brown eyes lock on my glistening flesh.
He doesn’t dive straight in and, instead, takes a moment. Our breathing is loud in the space. Every breath feels like a struggle as I teeter on the edge of begging him to stop teasing me.
His fingertips slide up and down my arousal-soaked slit. As he spreads me open, he leans forward and runs his nose along my thigh and takes a deep breath.
“You smell good, Cupcake, like sweet vanilla,” he rumbles against my flesh.
“Jettson,” there’s a warning in my tone as I plead with him.
“Do you need something?” His question is pure fucking sin.
My hips jerk slightly and he growls. When his tongue swipes through my wetness, from my entrance to my clit, I cry out.
“Shh,” he admonishes me, the sound wicked, “you’ll need to be quiet.”
I whimper as I clamp my lips together. His lips wrap around my clit as one finger plunges inside me. It’s not enough; not nearly enough.
My fingers slide into his hair and grip the strands tightly. As he feasts on me, adding another finger to fill me with and making an ache build in my belly, I rock my hips against his face.
Chasing him.
The feeling.
The pleasure.
The fall.
He pulls his fingers free and plunges his tongue inside me. The sound of it is obscene. He grunts and growls which pushes me even closer to the edge.
I feel it, creeping along the edge, finding purchase in every touch and swipe of his tongue. Right there.
Closer.
Almost.
My eyes roll back in my head, and I swear he’s trying to find every single bit of my slick wetness, not wanting to miss a drop. He collects it on his tongue, scooping, rolling, questing.
Jettson snarls, the sound reverberating through me and knocking something loose.
When he fills me with three fingers and my walls stretch around him, his teeth scrape against my clit and I go spiraling. My breathing stalls in my lungs and my hips jerk as my leg gives out. He’s right there to make sure I don’t fall.
His shoulders push me against the wall, holding me in place and forcing me to ride out every twitch of my muscles. I suck in a sharp, ragged breath which has my head spinning and my lungs thanking me as the burning subsides.
A grunt laced with pride and pleasure comes from the back of his throat as he laps at me. His touch gentles and he pulls his fingers out of me slowly, licking up every bit of arousal I leave behind.
My eyes snap open as I look down, my knuckles pale even in the dim light. I release my grip slowly, my touch gentling.
I run my fingers through his soft, dark hair and smooth it back. His brown eyes look up, and I see a sense of satisfaction there which surprises me.
He didn’t even get off.
As he stands up slowly, his hands steady me. I’m grateful for it because my legs feel weak.
The reality of where we are slowly starts to filter in and I gasp while covering my mouth. “Was I really quiet?” I whisper-hiss the question as terror and horror fill me.
One side of Jettsons mouth tips up in a cocky as fuck grin. “Quiet enough,” he assures me before pulling my hand away from my mouth.
When he kisses me, I can taste myself on his tongue. My hands grip his shoulders and twist in the soft fabric of his t-shirt.
“Go on up and get some sleep, Cupcake,” he whispers the words against my lips, his voice rough, before pulling back.
I look down and then back up, my voice turning coy, “What about you?”
The chuckle that comes out of him is self-deprecating. “I’m just fine.” He winks, “I got off in my jeans.”
He doesn’t even look ashamed while my mouth falls open. When he steps back, I grip the handrail. I look back when he bends down and picks my panties up off the floor.
Our gazes lock while he tucks them into his pocket. “Mine now,” his tone leaves no room for argument.
It’s just as well, with the way my body is still buzzing, and my mind is pleasantly floating, I don’t think I could come up with one.
He slips out just as I open the door to the apartment and hear the lock engaging behind him.
I can’t help but smile as I crawl into bed. Having a biker in my life is a new experience, one I’m enjoying.