Chapter 29
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Jennifer
One minute he was there, and the next he was gone.
Part of me thought maybe he’d stay until I was done, and I’d occasionally go check on him. But then I saw his chair was empty, and he was almost out the door before I could even register that he was leaving.
I knew there was a chance I messed things up by abandoning him so suddenly, then continued with work like I did.
I didn’t want to dance for anybody else, but I had to finish the rest of my night.
At least, that was the excuse I told myself as I fled, but really, I had panicked.
We’ve been getting closer over the past few weeks—eating breakfast together, working out, playing with Lulu—despite my attempts at keeping a distance. But I didn’t think he shared the same attraction I’ve been feeling for him.
Especially not after I heard his mom mention Heidi.
What happened between us tonight . . . I almost kissed him, in the middle of the club, in the middle of a shift. I got carried away; something that never happens.
And he had wanted it as well. I saw it in the depths of his eyes, and felt it with every movement over his lap.
Locking lips on the job isn’t prohibited, but unless you’re willing to do it for every patron who’s watching, it shouldn’t be attempted.
Mase is far from a random patron, and I would never want to cheapen what I feel for him by kissing him here.
God, I almost kissed him. I haven’t kissed anyone in ten years, so this is pretty significant for me.
And I might have done more.
To have the type of want and desire that tightens your core and moistens your panties is something I never thought I’d have. And it’s for him, Mase Turner, Jacob’s old friend.
With butterflies torturing my stomach, I leave through the side door, not sure what to expect when I see him again.
Will he pretend nothing happened? Will it be awkward? Does he regret it?
Only, he’s not standing in the usual spot when I arrive.
A flare of panic hits me and I scan the area. Usually, he parks down the street, then walks me from the club to his truck.
I wrap my arms around myself.
Is he not coming back tonight?
The anxiety only marginally decreases when I spot his truck slowly rolling down the street toward me a moment later.
Mase briefly glances at me when he pulls up. “Hey. Sorry I’m late.” Then too quickly, his eyes return to facing ahead, hands strangling the steering wheel.
My movements are slow as I climb into the passenger seat, hesitant, like he might tell me not to get in. “That’s okay.” I buckle my seatbelt, watching him as I do. “I didn’t get to say goodbye to you earlier.”
“You were busy . . . working.” He starts driving. “I went to the gym for a workout.”
I ignore the first comment, knowing he saw me dance for that old man. “The gym? I didn’t realize it was open at this time of night.”
I saw and felt how rigid his shoulders were at the club, so he must have gone to let out some tension, or steam, or maybe even anger.
What if I’ve ruined things between us by dancing for him the way I did?
Then again, he asked me to.
“It’s not. I used my key.”
That’s all he offers, and nodding silently, I don’t press for more.
The rest of the drive is done in strangled silence, which is different from our usual chatting. It feels like the silent air has a pulse, the beating loud and heavy between us.
Something changed for him when our lips almost met . . . I’m just not sure what it was.
For me, the thread that’s been pulling me to him tightened.
Once we’re home, the awkwardness continues after we walk through the door and take our jackets and shoes off. I’ve gotten used to Lulu being here to greet us, but now it’s just the two of us. I miss her already.
“Do you need the bathroom?” I ask lamely, just to break the quiet. “So you can shower first.”
I realized on the drive home that Mase was still dressed in his nice dress shirt and pants, sleeves rolled up on his forearms to reveal his ink.
I wonder how comfortable that was to workout in.
Or maybe he just took them off and worked out in his boxers.
The top buttons of his shirt are undone, so it’s possible.
God, even my mind is trying to fill in the silence with random thoughts.
“No. You go ahead. I showered at the gym.” He quickly turns and walks into the living room, leaving me standing by the front door.
I stare after him, contemplating my options, talking myself into and then out of following after him.
What if he just got caught up in the moment at the club and didn’t actually want it, and now he feels weird?
Or what if he did want it and thought I didn’t? I’m the one who ran off first.
What to do. What to do.
My heart thunders, palms turning clammy when, after a minute or two of just standing there, I find my feet taking me in the same direction he went, instead of to the bathroom.
Mase is sitting on the couch, tattooed arms folded across his thick chest, deep in thought as he stares at the coffee table in front of him.
Sexy is only one way to describe how he looks right now, and boy does he ever fit that word, especially in the outfit he’s wearing. Dressed like my dark savior.
My blood simmers with the need to continue what was started in the club.
I want to dance for him again. I want to kiss him. I want to be close to him.
I want him.
It hits me fiercely, sending blood rushing through my veins and desire to my core.
All my usual thoughts and feelings are well and truly drowned out, leaving only room for the loud thump of my heart.
I step into Mase’s line of sight, and his head jerks up when he notices me.
“Are we . . . okay?” I ask, coming to a stop in front of him.
Mase’s jaw clenches, and he slides his hands under his thighs. “Yeah. Of course.” Brows pulled together, he stares up at me.
“Are you sure?”
His eyes drop for a second, thoughts and feelings crossing his face before he returns his gaze to me. “If I had stayed at the club tonight, I might have caused a scene.”
“A scene?”
Instead of elaborating, his features soften with a small smile. “Yeah.”
Relief loosens my shoulders. That means he wanted it, right? That he doesn’t regret it?
And that helps with my decision.
After a long, deep, fortifying breath, I dip my chin with a short nod.
Then, pulling my phone out, I select a song with a slow, sensual beat, before placing it on the coffee table behind me, hands shaking. “I didn’t get to finish giving you that lap dance earlier.”
“Jayne . . .” Mase shakes his head, eyes widening. “You don’t have to do that. I shouldn’t have put you in that situation in the first place.”
“You didn’t put me in that situation.” I start gently swaying my hips to the music, because if I don’t do this now, I may lose my courage altogether. “I don’t think you realize what it means for me to want to do this. I haven’t wanted to touch a man in a very, very long time.”
A shaky breath leaves his chest. “We’re all alone here.”
“That’s the point,” I murmur. “I haven’t wanted to be alone with a man, either. But I want to be alone with you.” Leaning down, I repeat what I did at the club, running my hands up and down his thighs while moving to the song.
“You shouldn’t.” He sounds almost tortured, breaths coming out faster as I move up to his chest.
I pause. “Do you not want this?”
His throat bobs. “It’s not that I don’t want it.”
“Then what is it?”
When he doesn’t respond, I continue slowly, giving him a chance to tell me no. I lower one knee, then the other, just like at the club, bracketing his thighs and the hands that are still shoved underneath them.
Unlike earlier, I’m wearing leggings and a sweater, and have no crown on.
I feel sensual, though. And more like myself.
Moving to the music, I hold his gaze while trailing my fingers around the collar of his shirt, brushing against his neck, skin to skin this time instead of with the protective barrier of my gloves.
If his eyes weren’t already the color of midnight, I’d swear they darkened to that of a predator just now.
I grab the back of the couch behind him, then lower myself further so I can feel him against my ass, releasing another shaky breath before I start rotating my hips.
He’s hard already, like he was at the club, but it doesn’t revolt me, and it doesn’t scare me away, either.
Rather, it sends a thrill through me that sparks all my nerve endings to life, turning me on even more. Moisture rushes to my center.
“Jayne,” he rasps, eyes closing.
I roll my body, pressing into him, inching my face closer. His lips are right there, full, and oh so soft looking. Kissable.
I can hardly even hear the music over my heartbeat as I lean in, swaying to the rhythm of my inner tune instead.
Every swirl of my hips and stroke of my hands has my confidence growing.
I can do this.
We’re only a breath apart now, his mouth tempting me to close the distance.
Finally, I brush my lips to his in a featherlike touch, and that’s when his eyes suddenly snap open.
If you could differentiate his pupils from the irises, I’m sure they’d be swallowing the color whole with the way he’s looking at me.
In the next second, he pulls his hands out from under his thighs, lifts them to palm my jaw, then he brings my mouth to his for a hungry kiss.
It’s immediately wild, all lips and teeth and breath and heat.
I haven’t kissed anyone in ten years, so I feel inexperienced compared to him, but it doesn’t seem to hinder him in any way. His kiss is urgent, insistent, that of a starving man who needs to consume.
His hands are on my back, my thighs, my cheeks, alternating between rough and soft touches, like he’s fighting with himself to stay gentle and in control.
I kiss him back, opening my mouth wider and stroking my tongue with his.
I can do this.
A groan rumbles through Mase’s chest, and I realize I started grinding down harder on his lap, rubbing my core over his hard cock.