Chapter 38
Wren
Gentle kisses pepper my neck, and I groan into my pillow.
The sun is still sleeping. I should be too.
Stretching, I arch my back, and my ass grazes something hard. Jett groans from behind me, his solid and warm arm slung over my waist.
For a few moments, I don’t move. I let the silence of the early hours greet me as Jett’s hands run up and down my bare legs.
Waking up beside him isn’t new. It’s something we’ve done before.
In pieces and fragments and stolen nights, he’d sneak out of his house and slip inside my window.
But this version feels different. For the past few weeks, Jett has practically moved in with me.
We only separate during the day, when we both have to work, but he always makes sure I’m never alone.
Whenever he gets done on the farm, he comes straight here for a shower and dinner on the table.
Storm has made herself at home in the corner of the living room, claiming a throw blanket as hers.
It feels right having them here.
Domesticated and natural.
It feels like forever.
“It’s too early,” he murmurs, lips brushing my skin.
I smile into the darkness. “It’s your alarm.”
“Too early for your brain to be thinking.”
“I was thinking about how you used to sneak into my room, and now there’s no more sneaking around.”
I feel his lips curve against my skin. “I used to have to flip you around so you could moan into your pillow.”
“My dad would’ve killed you if he found you in my bed.”
He presses his nose into my hair, inhaling deeply as he tugs me closer. It’s possessive, and in the past, it would’ve bothered me, but now… Now, I feel safe. Admired. Loved without strings attached.
Moments tick by as the silence stretches. Our legs tangle as his thumb traces idle circles against my hip. There’s no urgency to start the day. As much as I’d love to stay right here, we need to get up.
Wiggling out of his touch, his deep groan fills the air. My feet hit the cool floor, making a shiver rack through my body. I slip on a silk robe before padding toward the door to beat him to the bathroom. I’m still not comfortable with my morning breath.
A few minutes later, I’m standing at the coffeepot when Jett emerges from the bathroom, clad in Wranglers.
Shirtless. Barefoot. His hair is still sleep-mussed as I lean against the counter, watching him.
My eyes widen as I watch him stride to the fridge.
I’ve seen him fully dressed and naked, but there’s something about seeing him without a shirt and barefoot in my kitchen.
He moves like he belongs here, opening drawers without asking where things are, pulling bacon from the fridge, fiddling with the fresh eggs from Grams’s chickens resting on the counter.
“You’re staring,” he says without looking.
“Can you blame me?” I shoot back.
He cocks his head over his shoulder, lips curved. I slide his coffee toward him as I fumble around making my shitty version of a matcha. I need Julia to show me how to make them her way.
With my drink in hand, I prop myself on the counter to watch this god move around my kitchen. He cooks like he does everything—confidently and quietly attentive. Bacon sizzles in the pan, eggs cooking in another, potatoes crisping in the air fryer, and the fresh fruit I cut sitting in a bowl.
Once everything’s ready, Jett flicks the knobs of the stove off as he pulls the pans from the heat. He turns, gaze trailing over me as I sit there sipping my matcha.
In one quick stride, he’s pressing his hands against my thighs and spreading my legs open to allow him space.
He flashes me a smirk before dropping to his knees.
“Need to start my morning with Whiskey.”
“It’s in the cupboard,” I reply, voice soft and husky.
“Not the whiskey I need.” His voice is gravelly as he reaches behind my knees, pulling me closer to the edge.
I gasp at the movement, but don’t fight him. “But…”
“So beautiful.” He stares up at me. My words die on my tongue as his fingers slide up my inner thighs until he’s met with my bare heat. He tsks. “Someone forgot their panties.”
His voice vibrates against my heated skin, and the muscles in my lower belly clench with desire. The anticipation of what’s to come. My apex throbs in time with my heartbeat, fluttering with his soft breaths as the blood courses through my veins.
Cool air kisses my dripping pussy as he spreads my legs, allowing more room for his broad shoulders. It makes me whimper. Unsatisfied with the angle, he gently grips my left ankle before tossing it over his shoulder.
The sight of him kneeling between my legs and looking at me like that is better than any fantasy I could imagine. He looks starved for me. Like if he doesn’t get the taste of me on his tongue, he’s going to famish.
I twitch at the feeling of his thick thumbs spreading my lower lips. “Such a perfect pussy. So wet and begging for me. Want my touch, Whiskey?”
Wetness pools beneath me as I squirm on the counter, feeling the heat of his gaze. I arch my back and pray the friction of my aching nipples against the silk will allow me some reprieve. “J...”
“Use your words, baby.”
“T-Touch me,” I stutter.
“Like this?” He leans forward, trailing his nose through my wetness, nudging the bundle of nerves desperate for his touch.
“T-Taste me,” I whimper.
“Want me to taste your sweetness?”
I nod and shift my hips, needing something, anything to take the edge off.
“Please,” I beg. My hand finds purchase on my aching breast beneath my robe. The silk is cool against the back of my hand as I cup myself.
“Ready for me to taste this pretty pussy?”
“Yes. Please, yes, J. Devour me.”
He smirks before reaching his long arms beside me, grabbing a strawberry from the bowl.
My eyebrows quirk as I watch him twirl the strawberry in his fingers.
As I start to question what he’s doing, I watch with wide eyes as he runs the strawberry through my slit, coating the berry in my essence as I gasp.
He brings the strawberry to his mouth and bites off the part covered in me, moaning as the berry makes a wet, juicy sound.
“Fucking delicious.”
“Holy hell,” I whisper, unable to think straight.
As his mouth covers me, I let out a feral moan as I squeeze my pebbled nipple. His tongue sweeps through my lips before sucking my swollen clit between his lips. With my taste on his lips, he groans, sending vibrations through my core.
“You’re so fucking good at this,” I praise him, kneading my breast. I revel in the feel of his lips on my pussy as his beard scrapes against me. The bite of pain is a welcome sensation. Fingers dig into my thigh as I grind down on him, the best I can at this angle.
It’s sensory overload in the best possible way.
He pulls away for a moment. My desire glistens on his upper lip, causing a moan to rip free at the filthiness of it. I roll my nipple between my fingers as I grind against the counter, begging for more.
“Don’t fucking stop,” I beg.
“Do you like the way I eat you, baby?”
“Fucking love it,” I say, before he drops his head back between my legs.
This filthy confidence we bring out of each other is sexy.
It’s being safe with your lover and knowing you can be totally yourself without the fear of doing or saying something wrong.
He makes me chase this feral seductress.
It’s empowering. Allows me to be brazen in my actions, in my wants. It’s freeing.
He laps at my arousal as if he’ll perish without it. I sink my free hand into the top of his hair, gripping the longer locks while the other never leaves my breast. I match his pace, setting my soul on fire.
Every nerve ending in my body is thrumming, coiling tight. Begging for relief before they snap. He plays my body like he’s tuning a tractor—familiar, measured, mastered. In a way, he has. He was the first person to explore my desires. What made me tick. Pushed me to the brink of explosion.
When he sucks on my clit again, white sparks flash at the edges of my vision. I can’t look away from him. How large he looks between my legs. With every lick and flick of his tongue, I push his face tighter against me.
I’m a needy mess, completely at his mercy. My voice is loud, echoing through the space, completely unabashed as I moan. The officer stationed outside is lost on me. There isn’t a care in the world that he might be able to hear me. Let the whole world know Jett Riggsby is a god at eating pussy.
I try to move against his face, but his strong, tattooed hands hold me in place, and I relish the bite of his grip. He hums, making me moan again, and then my muscles shake.
“J-J,” I pant. “I think…”
I’m so close, right on the precipice of falling over the edge. Jett’s ministrations increase. A high, breathy moan tears from my throat as he plunges two thick fingers inside me as he sucks on my clit. Pumping his fingers in and out of me, my walls grip him as my orgasm rips through me.
My body starts to spasm, but Jett doesn't let up.
His tongue continues to torture me, determined to drain me with his devilish mouth.
The grip I have on his hair tightens as he groans against my heat.
My hand fists my skin painfully as I try to find purchase, to find balance, as electricity shoots from my core to the tips of my toes.
I feel like I’ve been hung out and left to dry on the line. My thighs try to close against his head, but Jett doesn’t deter from his mission. When I feel like I’m going to fall off the counter, Jett finally takes mercy on me. I nearly collapse forward, but dark, stormy eyes freeze me to the spot.
“Oh god,” I pant, breathlessly.
I open my eyes and blink rapidly as I watch a sexy smirk slide over his face. My chest heaves as I try to catch my breath. Jett darts his tongue out and laps at my arousal, coating his lips, and I nearly come again.
He stands, adjusting his erection behind his zipper. I watch in fascination as he leans forward, bringing his fingers to my lips.