Chapter 31
31
Jake
Kit slumps over me and I help her slide down my body so she’s covering me, heavy and boneless and warm as a big kitten. My arms automatically wrap around her and I bend and put my lips to the top of her head, start to kiss her soft, dark hair, and freeze.
No kissing.
Something inside me tightens up and it’s a fucking shiv to my gut because it’s two things, twisting two different ways.
Part of me wants to obey her wishes. Do what she says, be the good man. The just man. The man my dad expected me to be. That man knows that none of this is about me, it’s about Kit and the family she’s trying to make. I’m a handy tool being offered at just the right place, right time.
The other part, the fucked-up part, is a gnawing ache she set off deep inside me, urging me to take more than she’s wanting to give. Every time we do this, I figure the ache will fade.
Every time, it gets so much fucking worse.
When I think about what she’s really asking for—that family. Her and any kid she has—and how badly that roof of hers needs fixing, how the front walkway’s gonna be a menace when she’s hauling a kid and it’s icy out and she’s wearing those goddamn shoes with the tiny heels that make her look like pure sex. If nobody fixes the walkway, she’ll get a heel stuck one night coming home and twist her ankle and?—
I’m up and out from under her, swiping an arm across my face, so goddamn resentful and at the same time, what the hell is wrong with me?
I’m not the guy you end up with. I’m not forever.
Jesus, who even fucking wants forever?
I’m halfway across the room by the time she makes a little noise. It’s a kitten waking up noise and it’s the sweetest sound and she’s so beautifully messy there on the sofa, panties hanging off one foot and her entire ass out.
“Jake?” She squints up at me, clearly sees something in my expression that tells her things are off, and awkwardly gets up. That leads to her stepping on her panties and falling back onto the couch and struggling to get both legs on.
I force my insides to harden against all this awkward cuteness from a woman who’s usually so put together, so dignified. I should send her home. Tell her the whole fucking thing’s cancelled.
But the ache in my balls tells me that isn’t happening.
Instead, I say, “Let’s do this,” in the same way I look at the water and take a big breath before an underwater welding dive.
“Oh. Right, how do you want to?—”
“You ready to fuck?” I interrupt, voice hard as steel, while my chest cavity feels filled with razor wire.
I know I sound like a dick. I am a goddamn dick. Even in prison, I was known as someone not to mess with. A young brawler with a death wish. Only got worse after Mom died. Couldn’t see the fucking point anymore.
Frank was there. Thank fuck for Frank.
Ah, hell. Frank .
He’d never be okay with this—fucking her bare, giving her a kid. None of this would fly.
Fuck, he’d kill me.
“Oh, you’re ready to?—”
“Yeah. Let’s go. Open your legs.”
The shift in her expression from soft and hazy to surprised and then wary hits me way below the belt. Or above it, I guess. Hell, it’s vibrating through every part of me, like a gong.
I know I shouldn’t do this. Any of it. I should shove her out that door and send her home and leave her alone forever. It’s what she wants. A family of her own. No attachments.
We’ve got that in common. I’ve perfected the art of the free, no-strings existence and she’s looking for a no-strings family. I get it. Viscerally.
I’m a complication this woman didn’t ask for. The best thing I can do now is fill her up and send her home.
I look her up and down, slow and dirty, and choke out, “Take off your shirt and open those legs,” in a voice that feels like it’s gone through a wood chipper. Then, to dig a deeper trench between reality and that fantasy world I accidentally fell into, I palm my dick and add, “Let’s get this over with.”
Kit
“ Over with?”
Something just happened. I have no idea what, but it’s obvious in Jake’s rigid stance, the glare bordering on belligerence, following every one of my moves like a hawk.
“What are you doing, Jake?” I ask, voice quiet as I attempt to get my underwear back in place. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong. Just ready to move this to the bedroom.”
There are unseen levels to Jake, I realize, as we stand here glaring at each other, post orgasm. Depths I’d never guessed at the first couple times we met.
He’s not just the easygoing guy or the rough guy or the efficient guy in the kitchen. He’s all of these things and more and the Jake across from me right now is intimidation itself.
My movements slow and cautious, I get the skirt over my thighs and stand to let it cover my knees. “You okay?”
“Great.”
He doesn’t look great. He looks pissed, which makes zero sense given that I just did exactly what he begged me to do and literally sat on his face.
My cheeks flush red at the thought. “I think I should go.”
“I think you should take that shirt off.”
My pulse kicks up at the low, dark thing lurking in his tone. “Do you?”
His nod is measured, even, his eyes at half-mast. My heart’s thumping wildly in my chest, which could be a by-product of the most mind-blowing orgasm of my life. It could also be my body’s instinctual response to whatever it is he’s doing.
Carefully, my eyes glued to his, I edge one foot right, all the while struggling to get my clothes together.
“What are you doing, Kit?”
“Nothing,” I whisper. It’s a complete lie. I am definitely doing something, although I can’t formulate into words exactly what that something is.
This feels like a game, suddenly. A very dangerous game that I very badly want to play, despite how scary it is.
“You are. You’re disobeying my direct order.” He watches me through narrowed eyes.
I snort, hoping the sound covers the subtle shift of my body weight. “I don’t follow orders.”
His nostrils flare. “You remember that safe word?”
Everything inside me lurches. Oh, god. Oh, god, what is this? What are we doing? Shaky now, I nod, every move slow and careful.
“Say it.”
“Red,” I whisper as I inch farther over. One foot, then another.
“You want to use it?”
“Do I need to?” Another step to the side, slightly farther from him. Also slightly closer to the door.
“Up to you.”
“Would you stop if I said it?”
“Always.” He blinks back the beast and looks at me, gaze clear and sharp. “In a heartbeat.”
I nod, trusting him in a way I’d never have guessed I could trust anyone. “Then I’m good.”
His chest expands. “I…fuck. If you run right now, I’m gonna chase you down. You want that?”
Out of breath, buzzing so hard I can barely focus, I look him right in the eye and say, “You can try.”
I jump into action, fast. My foot lands wrong. I stumble. Look up. He’s coming.
All I can do is sprint.
Toward the door. My keys are on the counter, but that doesn’t register until it’s too late. The door’s through there. Right there . Shit, he’s behind me. I hear him, not rushing like I am, which is creepy and also my body’s on fire with wanting it. I’m so wet—from before, from this—I know I’ve soaked through my underwear. Quick as I can, I feint and race around the big kitchen island, only he’s heading around the other side and every single time I’ve thought of him as a predator comes racing in.
I was right. I was right .
Hell of a thing, isn’t it, when confirmation comes too late?
Too late, my ass. I’ve wanted this from the start. In a flash I remember the moment he walked into the dark bar and lowered those mirrored glasses. The way his eyes hit mine, like something physical.
A fucking sledgehammer.
I’m halfway around the island when he changes tactics, plants a hand in the middle and vaults right over the damn thing. One giant arm circles my middle, ripping a squeal from my lungs—half scream, half laugh. My feet leave the floor.
Instinct makes me kick, hard.
He grunts, shifts my weight to get a better hold and we’re moving. I flail again which serves only to kick my stupid panties halfway down my legs. Rather than gathering me tighter to him the way I expect, he lets me go, smack in the middle of a long corridor, and pushes me to the floor beneath him. I’m face-down on a long skinny rug. A runner. It’s soft and thick enough to cushion my naked knees as I push up in an attempt to crawl forward.
“Don’t fucking move.”
I ignore him, struggling hard to get away.
Suddenly, he’s yanked the cotton from one of my legs and he’s over me, on top of me, huge and heavy, so hard there’s nothing I could do to get out if I wanted.
Do I want to? It’s hard to tell through this blazing inferno of adrenaline.
My back arches hard, pushing my ass against his erection and everything—every cell inside me—goes molten. It’s not blood flowing through my veins now, it’s lava, thick and hot, searing everything in its path.
“When I tell you to take off your shirt, Katarina,” he mutters, his voice a razor wrapped in velvet. “I want it off.” His weight shifts to one straight arm, hemming me in while his hips dip, staking my bottom half to the floor.
My brain is so confused at the sound of a zipper coming down, but then his hot cock slaps my bottom and I know exactly what’s coming.
I don’t know why I keep fighting him.
Maybe it’s because he’s about to fuck me on his hallway floor with his pants pushed down around his hips and fighting seems right.
Maybe my inner animal doesn’t realize that it’s all game and can’t let go of its mission.
Maybe the fight makes it better.
Oh, it does. I’m ten times more worked up because of the struggle. I want this with a desperation I’m not sure I’ve ever felt.
Whatever the case, I’m shocked into stunned, still silence when he shoves my legs open, lines himself up and slams in.
For a handful of seconds, he’s deep, deep inside me, behind me, above me, around me, and I can’t think a single thought that makes sense.
I can only feel. Full, slick, swollen, excited, angry, lost, and then…
Found.
Some part of my brain comes back online as he pulls halfway out and, rather than follow his retreat the way I want, I try to escape again and the way he comes after me then… Like something feral and wild and fully out of control.
It’s the culmination of every hungry eye-fuck, every unsaid word.
This penetration, is harder, tighter. He grunts, the sound right beside my ear and it feels like a thick, angry sort of vengeance. With an irritated snarl, he slides one arm under my top half and another under my belly and he holds me, fucking me hard and close, like something he’s hunted down and caught and can’t risk letting go of lest it slither away.
My arms are pinned to my body and the only thing between my face and severe rug burn is the way he’s gathered me up against his frame, holding me where he wants me while he mounts me from on top.
My tender insides clench around him and he growls into my ear.
I squirm and he tightens his hold, fucking me harder, faster than he ever has and then, because it wouldn’t be sex without a little smutty talk from this man, he pushes his hot face against my neck and says, “I love these fucking tits.”
One hand edges up and palms one, through my shirt and my bra.
I can’t help but whine in response.
“I love this sweet pussy. This whole fucking body. It’s…” A rough, sloppy series of thrusts makes me gasp for air and then, unbidden, from out of nowhere, I’m close to coming again. Not a wide-open orgasm like the last one, but a tight, painful little thing, slippery and secret.
“There it is. There’s my girl. Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck, do it, come on this cock my sweet, sweet girl. Fuck, I love it when you come. I love it when?—”
We climax together. I hear a low, animal moan and know it’s mine because it scrapes on its way out. He’s pressed deep inside me, I’m curled in on myself, my head turned to the side right where his lips are. His mouth.
I want to taste him, want to feel him kissing me. I want that connection, to look in his eyes while I soar and he fills me up, but at the last minute, he cants his head to the side and down and his mouth lands innocuously in the crook of my neck and my orgasm ekes out one last shudder when his teeth take their place and sink in.
He’s the one who turned away from that kiss.
In the thick of the moment, full of his cock and his seed and an emotion I can’t look at head-on, I would have gladly broken every rule I’ve ever had.
I’d have done it for him.
I don’t know what to make of that.
I don’t know what to do at all anymore.