Chapter 3
Lulu
"Here. Let me clean you up." Jett's low voice melts my insides, and I bite my lip as he walks over to the couch.
I put Cleo down on the floor, and she barely responds, completely tuckered out from her big adventure today.
Turns out Jett is puppy-sitting for his sister and brother-in-law this weekend.
My knee is fine. It's a relatively minor cut that stopped bleeding already, but the thought of his hands on me again has me nodding like I'm about to lose a limb if he doesn't administer first aid immediately.
When we got to his cabin, he handed me a pair of pajama pants and a t-shirt before taking Cleo into the bathroom to rinse her off. I changed into the t-shirt and then sat on the couch, trying to process the day, but especially that kiss.
What was that magic?
I have had kisses before, including some pretty great kisses with handsome men who barely spoke the same language as me.
But that one from Jett lit my entire body up from the inside out.
My nipples could cut glass right now, and I am squeezing muscles in my thighs I didn't know existed in an attempt to stem the raging desire throbbing at my core.
He spanked me. And instead of demanding he put me down, I moaned like a wanton hussy, stopping short of begging him for another.
Jett sits next to me on the couch, pulling my leg onto his lap, and I have to stifle the moan from the touch of his hands.
He is shirtless, no doubt a necessity from washing Cleo, but it gives me a clear view of why it was so easy for him to carry my ass all the way here.
His hair is wet, and I desperately want to find out if he's wearing underwear beneath the black sweats he threw on.
I took mine off. I'm extra curvy and short, so his shirt hits my mid-thigh.
I figured he would never know... unless he wanted to.
His fingers dance along my lower leg, and I let out a hard breath before sucking in another. "I didn't want to get blood on the pants," I tell him in a breathy rush, even though he didn't ask or question why I'm half-naked. Thank God I shaved my legs this morning.
Jett nods, staring at the cut as he continues to rub light circles against my skin. "You need hiking boots," he finally says, and then reaches for the cotton swab.
"Yeah, I wasn't thinking." I shake my head, worried he thinks I'm incompetent. Getting lost in the woods in the first place and then falling was not a great confidence booster. Unprepared on two counts. "I grew up in Duhring Park. I know better."
"Did you?" Jett looks surprised. "What year were you?"
"I'm thirty-six," I say immediately. I've never worried about getting older. I've photographed countless cultures over the years, and the happiest people are those who aren't desperate to stay young. "But I went to Stanthorpe Academy on an art scholarship for high school. I'm a photographer."
Jett nods. "I'm thirty-nine. You were between my two sisters’ ages. You wouldn't have been on my radar."
I laugh. "Oh yeah? You didn't notice girls in middle school."
Jett grins and shakes his head. "No. I barely knew who was in my grade, let alone anybody near my sisters' ages. I was a bit of a loner. I liked fixing cars and machines. I worked at the auto shop in town."
"Milo's?" I ask. "He is my age, isn't he?"
"Yeah," Jett nods. "It was his grandfather's shop first. Now he co-owns it with another guy who worked there when I did. I went to technical college for a few years and then I applied to work on a base in Antarctica."
"Really? I met a few scientists from the base when I was working in New Zealand for a year. That sounds like an intense experience." I end on a wince as Jett cleans my wound, and he leans down to blow on it, which just about makes me orgasm on the spot.
"It's definitely not for everyone," he says seemingly oblivious to my reaction. "I worked as a mechanic on some of the bigger equipment. I've stayed in touch with a few of the guys I met there."
"Friends for life after that kind of confinement," I say distractedly as I let my eyes get their fill.
Jett is focused on my leg, so I study his face.
My eyes linger over the masculine lines, down to his full beard, trimmed close.
I want to photograph him. I touch my fingers to my lips as I remember what it felt like when he kissed me.
His dark brown eyes have a magnetic intensity, and I can't stop staring at his mouth.
Those lips promise a sinful pleasure that I want badly.
"Alright, you'll live," Jett declares, but his hands go rigid on my leg, and I glance at him quickly. His gaze is locked on the spot between my legs. I should cover up, try to pretend this is not what I wanted, but I've never been very good at faking anything.
His breathing picks up, his eyes are molten, and I slide my other leg off the couch, opening myself up to give him a better view.
"My panties were soaked." I quirk a smile at the double-entendre.
Jett swallows hard as his gaze slowly reaches mine.
I stare back at him, lifting my chin in a little challenge, and he clenches his jaw, looking like he plans to kiss me or spank me again.
Frankly, it's six in one, half a dozen in the other for me when it comes to those two options.
He keeps his eyes locked on mine as he starts the little circles on my skin again, but instead of stopping below my knee this time, he keeps going, his fingers lightly grazing along my inner thigh as he moves closer to where I desperately need him.
A soft whimper slips out, and I lean back on my elbows, watching through hooded eyes to see what he does next. His eyes flare with heat as I open my legs wider for him, and he licks his lips like he can't wait to get a taste.
When Jett's fingers reach the apex of my thighs, my chest heaves.
Yes, yes, yes.
His fingers are already the best foreplay of my life, and he hasn't even touched my clit yet.
"Are you hungry, Jett?" I whisper, my voice low and throaty, full of promises I intend to keep.
"Starving," he growls. Jett lifts to his knees and pulls me toward him so fast I yelp. His mouth is on my clit within seconds, and I arch up on the couch as he devours me.
"Oh God. Yes, yes, yes!" I pant, crying out with each little flick of his tongue.
"Mine," he growls, and I moan from the possessiveness. I had no idea I liked that. I've never been with anybody who claimed me like this, and I worry, for a split second, about what I am going to do when the storm is over, and he wants to go back to being all alone in his little cabin in the woods.
If I've proven one thing today, it's that maps are overrated. Sometimes the best thing that can happen is ending up off the marked path.