Shelby
Guilt clings to me like a crippling cold. I tell myself it’s okay, that one night away from home won’t matter much, that last night Mama seemed stronger and how we are all feeling hopeful the trial treatments she’s begun will do what the chemotherapy couldn’t do.
Still, my overnight stay at the Ranch better be worth the price of my absence from home.
Hayden has been relentless today, demanding we prove what we’ve learned or be cut. Between Francis and myself, it’d been not one but two steps short of a miracle we’d made it. Knives—need I say more? What a disaster. I’m as talented a knife thrower as I am an opera singer. Cover your ears, folks. What a disaster, yet there’s comfort in knowing I didn’t maim anyone this time.
But I can’t allow twenty-seven days of brutal training to go down the toilet because of today. Jesus, I paid the first installment to Johns Hopkins and lied to Mama, saying I convinced National Insurance to cover the hefty bill. Yeah, cancer is big business and a pretty huge incentive to stick it out at Hayden’s Hell.
So here I am, on my way to the lone she-wolf bedroom on the far side of the Ranch and separated from the other rooms, and as soon as I step inside to pass through the kitchen, I immediately realize the mistake I’ve made.
Psycho’s in the small kitchen, smoking a cigarette, leaning against the sink in a transparent aquamarine negligee that leaves little to the imagination and sporting this postcoital, just-been-fucked air about her that makes me feel like spinning on my heels and heading straight home.
A sinking realization takes root in the pit of my stomach. Whose bed has she crawled out of for a smoke? But I’m careful to mask my surprise . . . and disbelief.
“Be careful. He’ll break your heart, then trample on it. Men like him always choose duty over pussy. You’ll end up only being in the way.”
Jesus. Can’t a woman slide past her without being harassed? And seriously, Psycho’s warning me? I raise my eyebrows. “I can’t fathom why you’d warn me about something that’ll never happen,” I reply, not feeling the need to clarify who he is.
Instead of running, I hold my ground. Brushing past her, I take a glass from the dish strainer beside the sink and fill it with tap water. Especially not after he’s screwed the first woman available.
She takes the half-smoked cancer stick and runs it beneath the faucet, then tosses it into the garbage pail. I stare at the ceiling, waiting for her to slink off. Not wanting to look at her bathing suit–model body and focusing more on her being a nutjob trying to get inside my head. Someone once said, “Comparison is the thief of great joy.” If Jaxson wants a woman like her . . .
Damn that man-whore.
She lets out a high-pitched shrill. “Take my advice or leave it. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.” Then she gyrates out of the room, a vision in aquamarine, leaving me standing by the sink with a water that’s turned too sour to drink.
Once in bed, I toss and turn. My mother lode of personal problems is overshadowed by her warning and my thinking about where Jaxson is right now. Likely between Psycho’s thighs . . .
Then my mattress sags and I don’t have to wonder anymore.
“What the hell?” I exclaim. A wall of muscle presses up against me. Warm and with a heartbeat that faintly drums against my back. “Jaxson,” I murmur, his name rolling smoothly off of my tongue. Like I’ve spent far too many waking hours thinking about him—which, of course, I have.
I sit up in bed and turn the light on the nightstand on.
“Nice jams. I’m hungry just looking at you.”
My eyes need time to adjust. Not so Jaxson’s, it seems with his super night-vision talents and his ability to cause havoc no matter the location . . . like in my bed.
My girls are perky, despite their loosey-goosey state. Underwire bras have trained them well. The traitorous duo pebble up and wave hello.
Jeez. Hell no is what they should be saying.
Hell no, not again.
My fingers clutch the end of the sheet, covering my lower half. I’m wearing an Andy Warhol knockoff T-shirt, with a bright yellow banana stenograph decal on the front. This nighttime ensemble is accompanied by my panties and nothing else. “You shouldn’t be in h—what are you doing?”
His head now hogs my pillow but that’s not what has me stammering. The devil’s worked his hand beneath the sheet, then beneath my shirt, placing his palm flat across my stomach, the abruptness of his actions turning my thoughts to air.
I lean into him slightly, ever so briefly relishing the warmth of his touch.
“Bringing you sweet dreams,” he says, smoothly sliding his hand beneath the elastic of my panties, not stopping until the heel pushes against my mound and the V of his fingers straddles my sensitive nub.
“Holy mother of Mary,” I say, my voice hoarse with surprise. He’s not wasting any time.
“The things I’m going to do to you. Get you off with my fingers. Lick the orgasm from that sweet pussy. Bury myself deep inside of you and make you shatter around me while I watch the blush from my fucking you spread across your fair skin.
“Have you knocked a screw loose?”
“Yep. But I’m a damn good handyman, aiming to fix things.” His fingers squeeze my nub, then brush across my sensitive hood, and it takes all my control not to arch my hips off the mattress.
I’m transparent, like stained glass that’s weathered over time until the colors fade to a pale resemblance of themselves. The player sees straight through me. Hell, he’s smashed the glass, weathered or otherwise, with the sheer magnitude of his smile. He’s good at reading me, and working women into a tizzy. A sexy, seductive seducer who knows exactly what he’s doing to me. “If anyone saw you come into my room . . .”
He presses a middle finger between my folds and curls it, the tip a whisper away from dipping inside my core.
I squeak, burying the sound deep inside my throat. “Oh my God” is all I manage to say.
“That’s right.” He rolls into me, nudges my shirt up with his nose, and grazes his teeth over the flat planes of my stomach. His movement causes his finger to slide an inch deeper inside of me.
My heart races as desire rushes through me. I feel moisture dampen my folds, coating his fingers and smoothing the way for more. Yes, please. More. A single touch and I’m a goner. He’s got the moves. This is his game. And I’m . . . unprepared . . . helpless . . . hell, no.
“Get out of my bed.”
“Come on, Kylie. Fuck it all—Hayden, TORC, everything else. Let’s do this thing.”
“You’re such a bed-hopping player.”
A V forms between his watchful eyes. “Bed-hopping . . . who else do you think . . . Sabrina?”
“I prefer to call her Psycho.”
“Peacock’s better.”
My throat hitches. “You aren’t denying it. Gross. Get out of my room.”
He stares at me without an ounce of guilt. Why should he feel guilty? It’s not like his “I like you” catapulted us from being allies into being involved in a relationship. A few uncomfortable seconds pass until he murmurs no words any woman ever wants tossed in their face. “You’re jealous.”
“I’m not settling for Psycho’s leftovers . . .”
My words seem to remind both him and myself that his finger is still nestled between my moist folds. He withdraws it, rolls onto his back, and stares up at the ceiling. And to my horror, a sense of loss grabs hold of me.
Green with jealousy. Horny. Lovestruck. Conflicted. Yep, that sums it up, all right.
“So it matters to you who I’ve been with?” I hear him ask. Thank God he’s not looking at me or he’d witness a blush of vulnerability walk all over me . . . trampling over me in a wild stampede of emotion. I’ve no business calling him out on his bed partners. I met him a month ago, for Christ’s sake. I barely know him.
Yes, it matters, even though I don’t want it to.
“I bumped into her . . . Psycho, that is . . . in the hallway, decked out in fuck-me pumps and her peacock finery. Smelling like a brothel and coming from Hayden’s suite of rooms . . .”
Jaxson winks, as the truth hits me.
Hayden’s suite . . . Damn that Psycho bitch for screwing with my head . . . ruining what could have been . . . could still be . . .
I kick the sheet free of my legs and move swiftly, straddling his body and positioning myself over his lower waist. His eyes flash and he’s no longer counting ceiling tiles. Seems I’ve thrown him off-center. And as I suck in an encouraging breath, I’m about to knock him off his ass.
Or send him running for the hills. Yeah, there’s always the possibility it’ll all turn to shit. I fold forward until my chest is resting against his own, my arms to both sides of him bracing me as I bring my face up close to his. Mustering my courage, I choke out the four words that might either bring us closer together or tear us apart.
“I like you, too.”
We stare at each other. Two strangers, within this foreign mercenary world. One, a professional. Experienced with manipulation, killing . . . sex and seduction. Then there’s me, the bleeding idiot who’s fallen hard and fast for a man she really knows nothing about. Is he feeling this strange pull between us that began when we first laid eyes on each other? Which not only hasn’t let up, but has grown stronger? It’s irrational. Illogical. But the truth, nevertheless.
“It’s hard to believe . . . you’ll never understand . . . I can’t figure out how or why . . .” I mumble, trying to get to the point but struggling to find the words. I like you. I think I’ve falling for you. I might be in love with you.
He bucks up from the mattress and rolls, careful not to crush me as he reverses our positions. He’s on top, with me beneath him, and the world, the bedroom, and everything around me keeps moving in a converged blur. Except for him. Only him. “You haven’t a goddamn clue why I came to you tonight, do you?”
Wrong-o-mundo. I’ve a clue all right. A pretty big one, which is barely contained beneath his gray sweatpants. I feel his long length rubbing up against my core. “I didn’t mean for this to happen, to have such strong feelings for you in such a short period of time. I’ve never felt this way. It’s insane. Very much unlike me. I get it, though. There’s an attraction between us. I think it’s mutual. You came here for a good time. And I’m turning it into an episode of One Life to Live.”
His beautiful, handsome face is just inches from mine. His lips so close, close enough to kiss . . .
His arms flank my body, keeping me trapped in place beneath him on the mattress. He braces his weight on his forearms except for his lower half, where the heaviness of his erection is nestled up against my center.
I started this.
And he’s going to finish it.
He shakes his head, back and forth slightly, like he’s asked himself a question and the answer’s an absolute no. “Yeah, it’s pretty fucking incredible.”
“It’s probably like this with tons of women. You know, once a guy, always a guy.” I work my arm out from where it’s trapped against my body and give him a playful punch in the arm. A goodwill gesture, when all I really want is for him to say it isn’t so.
“I knew I was in deep trouble the first time I saw you.” He sits up, and still straddling my body, hunches over. Then, gently, ever so gently, he caresses my cheek, running his thumb along my cheekbone in a downward diagonal journey to my lips. “Your cheeks were muddied, especially right here.” I’m frozen beneath him, trapped beneath his body and by his words. “There was a flush to your skin, much like the blush you’ve got going on now.” Hooking his fingers into the neckline of my T-shirt, he tugs it down to take a gander of the evidence of my excitement. “And then, there was that T-shirt—‘Can’t Catch Me.’ Just the kind of woman I love, one that’s good for the chase.”
Run? The only place I’ll ever be running to is into his arms. I give myself a mental eye roll. Men will be men, always wanting a challenge. Wanting someone just out of reach.
I’m just a game to him.
He lowers his head, eyes flashing as his lips claim my own, stealing the gasp right out of my lungs. It’s not a gentle peck or an exploratory kiss. No, it’s absolute, total destruction. His tongue dances with mine, twirling and thrusting deep, claiming my mouth, claiming me. He pauses only to groan into my mouth before continuing his onslaught. I arch my head back and give as good as I get. On and on we kiss, until my toes curl and my hips arch up into him. Mating with him. Never wanting him to pull away.
And then he does just that.
I lower my eyelids, not wanting him to see my disappointment.
He cups my chin with his fingers. “Look at me.”
I do as he asks and . . . blink. Holy sweet Mary. Oh. My. God. “I’ve never wanted anyone the way I want you. Yeah, it’s crazy. Insane, as you say. There are a million and one reasons why I should leave you alone. You don’t belong here being one. Hayden, along with his strict code of ethics, being another. The worst time, the worst place, the worst set of fucked-up circumstances to be in.”
Oh, sweet Mary. Is he saying what I think he is saying?
“Listen, fireball. Since I met you, I’ve thought about you and only you. Every time I see you, it’s like a switch turning on. I want to get up inside you fast. So freaking fast, every single time. Fuck you. Pleasure you. Claim you. Take you. And make you mine. That’s all I can promise. No other guarantees besides that—it’s far too dangerous, on so many different levels.” My ears strain to pick up the last part of this as he says it beneath his breath. “I shouldn’t be doing this. But you see—” He leans in and gently kisses my lips, then murmurs against them, “I’ve no sense of control around you. God knows, I can’t help myself when it comes to you.”
His isn’t a declaration of love. Or even an “I like you.” But it’s honest, raw, Jaxson through and through. It’s the truth of us. I’m not about to waste another second wondering what if. If he feels the urge to get up inside me fast . . . and often . . . well, lucky me, who am I to complain?
I wiggle beneath him, working my legs free, then wrapping them up around his waist. Arching my hips off the bed and rubbing my core up into his erection.
With an arm wrapped around me, he hugs me into him, rolls up into a sitting position with me high on his lap, and, using the mattress as friction, slides his sweatpants off. His erection springs free and I feel the warm weight of it on my bottom. He fumbles around, tossing his sweats onto the floor, then places a colorful display of what has to be the world’s longest strip of Trojans beside us on the bed.
I look at him, wide-eyed. “You don’t do anything half-assed,” I say with a sigh, my excitement and nervousness interwoven together.
“In for a penny, in for a pound,” he tells me with a wink.
“That’s a lot of . . . I’m not that . . . go easy on me, okay?”
He rips a foil open with his teeth, his eyes gleaming. In that moment, I don’t think he could be any more beautiful. His hair is slightly damp—why didn’t I notice that before?—like he’s fresh from showering. I nestle my nose against his skin, breathing in his smell, a mixture of woodsy maleness and a faint lemony freshness that sends my erogenous zones into a happy dance. Once fully sheathed, he finds my hip with his hands and hoists me up, his biceps bulging and my body braced in anticipation.
Slowly, he lowers me, the thick bulbous tip of him against me. But instead of breaching me—and believe me, I’m clutching his broad shoulders trying to contain my excitement—he rubs his length across my folds. Back and forth, spreading my endless fountain of wetness over his erection and me.
He flashes me a naughty smile, much like the one he’d had when he declared his “liking” me. A grin awash with secrets and sex and the promise of pleasure. Of what’s to come. Who’s going to come . . . me, yes, oh yes, me.
His lips twitch, his smile broadening a second before he lowers me and presses, holding me still while he teases me with his tip.
God, he’s hung like a stallion. I bite my lip. Even the head of him feels like it won’t fit.
My body bobs deliciously, up and down and almost on the brink of penetration. But he’s having none of that . . . yet the strip of condoms says otherwise. Holding me steady, he works an arm beneath my knee, then the other, then spreads my legs wider. Lifting, lowering. Ever so slightly sliding into me. He’s in complete control and I’m insane with lust.
Without warning, he bounces me and I take him deeper.
I cry out in surprise.
He slides me up and off of him then tosses me onto my back. My head hits the pillow and my lips part in a gasp. Lifting my legs, he draws them around his head. My hips do what my frozen brain cells beg them to do and I arch up toward him.
Yes. Hell, yes.
He glances up at me, his eyes alight with mischief. His blond hair slightly mussed, his luscious lips tilted provocatively. Naughty man.
His lips form into a pucker like he’s about to whistle a tune, then he blows on my nub and I’m the one tuned-up.
I arch my back, aching to feel the warmth of his breath on my sensitive hood.
Instead, he flicks his tongue across it.
A long, needy moan escapes my throat.
And bless his devilish soul, he responds. Dipping his head between my thighs, he licks my nub, runs his tongue along my folds and, at long last, plunges that naughty, dangerous, probing tongue of his deep inside my slick channel.
He goes deep, thrusting his tongue into me, twirling it in a wide arc, brushing his muscle against the outer bits and covering all my bases. Reaching every little bit of me. Ever so slowly, he withdraws, and before I can feel disappointed, he draws my nub between his lips and suckles it. Waves of pleasure rock through me.
I grunt.
He glances up and flashes me a sexy grin, his lips shiny and coated with my arousal. The sight of it makes me wild. I want to come, right then and there.
“Do you know how beautiful you are?” he asks me. “You taste sweet, sugary like one of those cookies you like so much. I can’t get enough of this.” He licks between my folds, then adds a word between each lick that I’m so crazy with lust, I have trouble stringing them together. “Can. Never. Get. Enough. Of. You.”
By the time he murmurs you, I’m racing toward climaxing. Just a few more words . . . “What did you say?” I gasp.
He pushes against my button with his tongue and slides a single digit inside me. Oh, oh yes.
“You’re small. And so damn tight,” I hear him hiss.
“Take me. Please. I need you, like now.”
He pauses.
“I want to feel you inside me,” I add, urging him on.
I want to mate with him like an animal. I want to feel his heart beating against mine as he thrust into me. I want his hardness, his experience, everything he’s got to offer, and more. So much more.
He rolls onto his haunches and with a strength that never seems to amaze me, brings me up and over his lap. Cupping my ass, he folds me in tight against his chest. His head lowers until a mere centimeter separates us.
Then, he steals my heart straight out of my chest. He kisses me, planting a whisper of a kiss on my cheek. Another on the nose. A third on the ear. A light, gentle touch to my lips. He’s being tender with me. Taking the time to reassure me? About him fitting inside me?
Or about . . . us?
I groan. You can lead a bull to water but it’s up to you to make him drink.
Reach between us, I wrap my fingers around his hot girth, arching my back and tilting my hips forward and fitting his tip back where it belongs. With one hand, I use his broad shoulder to come up higher.
I let go.
I feel everything at once as he fills me to the hilt. My muscles straining and stretching to accommodate his bad-to-the-bone girth. How deeply he’s penetrated me. The molten fire the friction between us has stoked. His heartbeat—which runs wildly against my chest in competition with my own. The way the ache between my thighs has turned to blissful pleasure, to me being slick with need and ready for more.
“You okay, fireball?” I open my eyes—when had I closed them?—to find him studying my face. Words escape me. Overwhelmed with feeling. Feeling him. Feeling the energy sizzling between us. Feeling like he’s gotten it all wrong, that I’m the one who’ll never get enough of him.
My mouth can’t seem to form words. My brain’s gone into an emotional overload. So I do what a girl’s gotta do in an earth-shattering situation like this. Flashing him my most wickedly reassuring smile, I plant my hands on his shoulders, lift up until I feel his tip touch my folds, then with everything I’ve got, trust myself down onto his erection.
His shout rings out. “Fuck.” Cupping my ass, he guides me up then lets nature do her job. I slide back onto him, he hoists me up, and together we moan as the exquisite pleasure of him being so deep inside me grabs hold of us.
I lean in, loving how, with every thrust, my sensitive nipples drag against the material of my T-shirt and across his chest.
“You’re so damn . . .” He growls, interrupting himself, as I lower down, taking him deeper than ever before. “ . . . tight.”
That’s all the encouragement I need. I place my hands on his chest and shove.
He lifts an eyebrow.
I push again and he falls back onto the mattress.
I gasp and he groans as my thighs spread wide around him and I ride his erection. Up and down, slowly and faster than a freight train, until sweat forms on my brow. Then I take him deep and roll my hips.
With a loud grunt, he rolls me onto my back and on top of me.
“Oh. OH!”
He chuckles then leans in to graze the soft flesh of my neck with his teeth, thrusting into me at a furious pace. I feel his thumb circle my hood. I’m hit with a sharp stab of lust so raw, my entire body shakes.
“God, I don’t know if I can take any more.”
“You feel me, Kylie?” He grunts and thrusts hard. “You’re like a tight silky glove begging to be broken in. So fucking good . . . I never want to stop fitting me into you.”
He tilts my hips and drives into me. Grunting and moaning and bringing me toward a climax that has my whole body flush with pleasure.
“That’s it. Come for me.”
I begin to crest, my orgasm rolling over me like a freight train, just as he falls back and tugs me up onto his lap. Rolling me forward and anchoring me more fully on him. His lips press against mine, his tongue thrusting between the crease. Kissing me as I climax. His mouth absorbs my moans. His body wrapping around mine as I shatter.
He withdraws and nuzzles my neck as he picks up the pace, pounding up into me, thrust after thrust until he stiffens beneath me.
His cock swells thickly, stretching against my walls.
“Fuck, this feels like nothing I’ve ever . . .” He angles his head and muffles his words as his cheek presses against my neck. I fight off a moan while his tongue laves at the sensitive cords on my neck as he climaxes.
Could this man be any sexier?
I grin like a crazy woman. Loving how I’ve pleased him. Relishing in my afterglow. And surprised at how horny, how ready, I still feel.
No, I’ll never get enough of him.
“This is what happens when you take on a fireball,” he chuckles against my throat. Then, he nips my neck, before reaching up to bring my head toward his. He plants a gentle kiss on my lips, catching the side of my mouth since my jaw has dropped open, caught off guard by his intimate gestures. He looks me in the eyes, and softly asks, “You . . . okay?”
Okay—as in I just had sex so wild it’d make a porn star blush?
Or okay . . . with us?
I grin at him.
“Good. I like it rough. But with you, I have to get up inside of you real fast. You see . . .”
I gasp as he cups my palm over his half erection. Yep, I see, all right.
“ . . . when you want something bad enough, you take it. And hell knows, even if I try, I don’t think I can fuck you out of my system. That’s not how this thing is going to work. Damn the consequences.”
Damn the consequences.
Like getting found out and fired. Like a heart broken. Like never being able to feel him this close ever again.
I nod, lick my lips, and flash him a naughty, count-me-on-board-baby smile. God, I want him so bad it hurts.
“You ready to take a risk, fireball? Find out where this thing between us will take us?”
“In for a penny, in for a pound,” I laugh, repeating his words back to him, but stressing the word pound.
I spread my legs, allow my pulse to race, and open my heart.
Yep. Damn the consequences.