Chapter 17 Jane
SEVENTEEN
JANE
Chance likes me.
I have no idea how I got so lucky, but I’m not about to look a gift horse in the mouth, much less punch it, so I’m going to do the smart thing and take this one day at a time.
His thumb brushes over my cheek as his mouth descends and takes mine in a sensual kiss.
Instantly, my body reacts. I feel my nipples pebble and my breasts grow heavy as I arch my back and they break the surface of the water.
I move my right hand behind me and wrap it around Chance’s hardening cock, needing him.
He groans at my touch, but then pulls my hand away and wraps me up with our arms, holding me tight against him. As he dips his face into the crook of my neck, I feel his chest expand with a deep breath before it shudders out on a long exhale. “I didn’t bring you up here for that, sweetness.”
I’m temporarily distracted from my mission by his use of the endearment.
I’ve come to adore it, but the idea that it’s something he uses without discernment causes a twinge of resentment each time he says it.
“Is using nicknames like ‘sweetness’ a professional necessity so you don’t accidentally call a woman by the wrong name? ”
He raises his head and looks me in the eyes.
“No. I’m always present enough in the moment to remember a woman’s name—if nothing else, she deserves that from me—and I’ve never been one to use pet names.
But somehow calling you ‘sweetness’ came naturally to me, Jane, and now your name is the only one I remember. ”
And with that, the last of my inner cynic swoons and faints dead away.
I’m officially a goner for this man. I don’t know how to respond without sounding like an emotional and much less eloquent Juliet to his badass Romeo, so I communicate with my hips and remind him of what we both want.
He inhales sharply and presses his forehead to mine.
“You’re making this awfully fucking difficult, Jane. I’m trying to be good. You’re tired. I wanted to take care of you and tuck you into bed with me.”
My heart swells at least three times its normal size.
The fact that he’s trying to abstain from sex—something he clearly wants, if the erection prodding my lower back is anything to go by (and it is)—to “take care of me” is the most romantic thing he could do right now.
His actions are backing up his words, and that’s something that means a lot to me.
Justin always claimed how important I was to him, but I was never a priority, a fact that was never more evident than the day he told me he was taking a job clear across the country, knowing full-well I couldn’t leave Chicago until after I’d finished my degree.
And it’s not like it was even a better job.
It was a lateral move to a company in Los Angeles where there was “better weather” and he could “finally learn how to surf.”
The serious boyfriend before that left me “to focus on his career,” too, except I discovered that his career’s name was Candy and she had fake DD boobs and a Brazilian butt lift. So, it’s fair to say that I have issues when men I’m with choose other things (or women) over me.
It’s why Chance’s side job as a stripper-for-hire has started to really bother me.
The stronger my feelings for him grow, the more I hate the thought of random women groping him as he pretends to seduce them with his mostly-naked body.
And that makes me ill. It’s similar to a woman worrying about her man cheating because she was once his mistress and knows there’s a chance of history repeating itself.
Chance and I got together because I was a client—albeit an unknowing one—so who’s to say he won’t meet another woman the same way?
I have to wonder why he still does the job at all.
It’s certainly not because he needs the money, and if he likes dancing that much, he could go to one of the city’s dozens of clubs.
Is it the female attention? The rush of hearing their outrageous reactions to every little thing he does?
Are they able to give him something I can’t, satisfy him in a way I never can?
These are the things running through my mind every time I know he’s at a gig, and I can’t even say anything about it because our sexual exclusivity has no bearing on the other aspects in our lives.
At least it didn’t. Now that we’re moving from casual lovers to something a little more substantial, I have a feeling my insecurities will get worse, not better.
But the last thing I want to be is that girl who nags her man about things he’s been doing since before they were together.
And he doesn’t deserve to have the sins of the men who came before him dumped on his doorstep.
Just because my previous boyfriends chose other things over me doesn’t mean that Chance will do the same.
That’s why, though it’s on a much smaller scale, Chance putting my immediate needs above his is a gesture that truly touches me. And that makes me want him actually touching me all the more.
“You have taken care of me, and I loved it,” I say, turning my face to place a kiss on his forehead. “But now I want to take care of each other.”
Since my arms are pinned across my body under his, I rock my hips back to grind my ass at the base of his shaft. His breath hisses out through clenched teeth, and I know I’m wearing him down. He’s a healthy, red-blooded male. He can only say no to sex for so long before he caves.
Twisting in his arms, I force him to loosen his hold, and turn to straddle his lap.
There’s plenty of room for my bent legs to rest on the outside of his, and I realize for the first time how roomy the tub really is.
“This bathtub is magnificent, Chance. I’ve never seen a claw-foot tub this big before. ”
“I had it custom made. Standard sizes are too small for a guy my size. I look like a giant with my knees in my chest.”
That image has me chuckling as I wrap my arms around his neck. “Well, I’m thankful it’s big enough for the both of us.”
Chance scoffed. “You don’t take up much room, sweetness. In case you haven’t noticed, you’re a tiny little thing.”
I gasp, feigning indignation. “Am not.”
“Are, too,” he says, smiling and leaning in for a kiss.
I’m sure he meant it to be innocent, a quick peck and then start to pull away.
But I follow him back and nip his full lower lip before soothing the sting with a lick.
Groaning, he grants me entry into his mouth, and I don’t waste the falter in his resolve.
I sweep in and dance my tongue with his.
He tastes like beer and spearmint and him.
His arms band around my back and crush my breasts against the hard planes of his chest. I roll my hips forward, desperate for the connection he’s denying us. He wrenches his mouth away so I take my kissing show on the road and attack his jawline, his neck.
“We should get out,” he says, his voice strained. I hum my disagreement as I kiss the soft spot behind his ear. I want him like this. Now, here. “I’d rather take you to bed so I can make love to you properly.”
I pull back and search his face for clues that he actually said two particular words. “Make love?”
“Yeah, make love,” he repeats, a hint of amusement playing at the corners of his mouth. “We don’t always have to play rough, do we?”
“Not at all. It’s just I didn’t think…I mean, I thought you were only into…” I shake my head and tell myself to quit while I’m ahead. “Never mind.”
His expression turns solemn. “That used to be the case, but now…” He reaches up and strokes my cheek with the backs of his fingers. “Now I’m into everything, as long as it’s with you.”
My jaw falls slack with the intention of responding, but words fail me. His brow furrows the slightest bit, a wrinkle of doubt marring his smooth skin. “I’d never do anything to hurt you, Jane. You know that, don’t you?”
I might not know everything about Chance Danvers, but I do know he’d never do anything to physically hurt me. Everything we’ve ever done together has been about mutual pleasure, even when it comes from a little bit of pain. I trust this man implicitly with my body.
But as I gaze into the deep blue of his eyes, and see the tender way they roam over my face as he waits for my answer, it’s not my body I’m worried about.
Chance is showing me a side of himself that could very well destroy me if I let myself fall for him.
Because eventually he’ll want his freedom, and all I’ll want is him.
I’d do well to keep that in the forefront of my mind, to build some walls around my heart to protect it from the storm my brain can see coming from a mile away.
Except, people who build walls never actually feel anything.
They experience things in half-truths, as mere shadows of what they’re meant to be.
And as much as I’m afraid of the falling out I’m sure will come, I’m even more afraid of missing out on the rush of falling in.
“Yes, I know that,” I whisper, giving him a soft smile. “Make love to me, Chance. Right here, just like this.” I raise up and position the head of him at my entrance, then he sucks in a breath and holds it as I slowly impale myself on his thick cock.
As always, I’m overwhelmed by the way he stretches me to fit him, my channel molding around his hard shaft so that it caresses every one of my nerves.
And yet, this feels different. This isn’t our usual fucking.
There’s no roughness, no hints of humiliation.
No dominance or submission. He isn’t only filling me up in the physical sense.
As I stare into those fathomless blue pools, I feel him pouring himself into a void in my heart I hadn’t even known was there.
“God, Jane,” he says when I’m fully seated. “You feel…” I rock my hips. “Fuck.”
“Good?”