Dark Kisses

by Kelly Myers

  My stomach drops and my pulse skyrockets in anticipation of what he’s going to do next. The moment his fingers began to stroke me, my knees gave out. With a curse, Jax scoops me up and lays me out in a large, high-backed booth nearby.

  It’s so dark, but I can see his black shadow lower in front of me. He grasps my ankles and pushes my legs apart. “Jax-”

  “Shh,” he says and dips his head. “You don’t want the paparazzi to find us in a compromising position, do you?”

  A throaty laugh bubbles up and then dissolves the moment he lifts my leg up through the slit and over his shoulder. I suck in a swift breath and he blows lightly on my inner thigh. Oh, God. My eyes slide shut and my head hits the vinyl seat. When his hot mouth drags upward, bristled jaw scraping along the sensitive skin, I shudder.

  Then, his mouth covers my core.

  His tongue glides over my folds, thrusting between, and I’m soaking wet. When his lips circle around the small, throbbing bud, teasing and sucking, I grasp the long hair on top of his head, pull hard and buck my hips.

  Holy God, the things he’s doing with his mouth…

  I squirm and cry softly when his hands lift my hips so he can dive deeper between my legs. “Jax,” I cry out between gritted teeth.

  “I wanna see you come, Princess,” he says and continues the sweet torture.

  The pressure is building and I’m breathing hard and heavy when two of his fingers slide up inside me. They move in and out of my slick passage as his thumb twirls and tortures, pushing me to the edge. Just when I think I can't take anymore, my entire body lifts and climaxes in an explosion that leaves me weak and exposed like I’ve never been before.

  Jax lowers my leg, reaches for my hands and pulls me up into a sitting position. He kisses me, moving his mouth over mine in a slow, sultry way, sliding his tongue into my mouth and I taste myself on his lips.

  A little dazed, I lean my head back against the booth and cup the side of his angular jaw. “I’ve never felt anything like that in my life,” I say.

  “Wait’ll I get you home,” he promises, then turns his face into my palm and kisses it.

  “If that’s any indication,” I say, “I might die of pleasure.”

  His mouth edges up and I feel him smile against my hand. “Easton, baby, I’ll take you right to the edge and even over, but I’ll always be there to catch you.”

  I swallow down on the emotion I feel rising in my chest and I’m glad we’re in the dark so he can’t see the silly sheen of tears that fill my eyes.

  I’m not exactly sure how, but this man has become the center of my world and when I’m with him, I don’t feel alone anymore.

  20

  Jax

  Easton and I sneak out a back exit and head around the building. Halfway down the alley, I push her back against the brick wall and slant my mouth down to claim hers in a hot, demanding kiss.

  I can’t keep my hands off her and tonight is going to be hot as hell. I plan to take this woman in every possible way, all night long. I hope she’s ready because I haven’t been turned on like this by anyone in my entire life. The attraction I feel is overtaking me, consuming my mind and body.

  And, I need to satisfy it.

  It’s been long enough and nothing can stop what’s going to happen once we get back to Easton’s house. Nothing will quench the fire blazing between us and I run an anxious hand through my hair, eager to get myself out of this zoot suit and her out of that delectable little red number.

  I pull back and study her bright red lips. Strange that it looks like she just applied a fresh coat of lipstick. Not one smudge even though I’ve been kissing her senseless.

  “What?” she whispers, a smile curving that perfect mouth.

  “I thought your lipstick would be all messed up, but you can’t even tell we’ve been kissing,” I say, feeling a little disappointed. I kind of want everyone to know we’ve been sucking face all night.

  “Because it’s liquid lipstick. Anastasia’s American Doll which is smudge-proof.”

  I lift a brow. “Not really sure what you just said, but that shit doesn’t move.”

  She bursts out laughing and links her arm through mine. When we reach the end of the alley and head to the curb, Easton’s cell phone beeps. She pulls it out of her small hand clutch and checks the text. “Liv said the car should be here in a few minutes. She wants to know why we’re leaving so early.”

  I wrap my arms around her waist and pull her up against me. “Tell her because the party sucked.”

  When she smiles up at me like that, eyes brighter than emeralds, my heart skips. At this moment, I feel like the luckiest man in the world.

  Since everyone is still inside and partying, no one else is getting picked up yet and street traffic passes along, each lane moving steadily, including the one closest to us. Suddenly, one of the doormen whistles and motions to us. He says something, but I can’t make it out over the traffic.

  “What’s he saying?” Easton asks.

  “Not sure. Hang on, I’ll find out.” I release my grip on her and step away, heading back toward the club when, from the corner of my eye, I see an SUV hop the curb about 15 feet away and plow straight toward Easton.

  Sheer panic punches through my gut. She’s looking at me so she doesn’t see the dark vehicle, its lights off, barreling straight towards her. Heart in my throat, I launch myself at her and manage to get her out of the way right before the truck blows past, tires squealing.

  We hit the pavement hard and I cover her with my body as we roll. I knock the wind out of her and she looks up at me with a dazed, frightened look. “Are you okay?” I ask, looking her over.

  She’s a little scraped up on her elbow and thigh where that slit did little to protect her delicate skin when we hit the cement. But, other than that, she’s in one piece. Just a little stunned. I help her up and guide her beneath the safety of the club’s awning.

  “What the hell?” the doorman exclaims. “You okay?”

  Easton manages a nod. “I think so,” she says, voice shaky.

  “Did you get the license plate?” I ask the doorman.

  He shakes his head. “No. It all happened so fast. I didn’t even see him til the last second when the car jumped the curb and nearly hit you, Miss Ross.”

  A dark anger erupts within me, spreading through my body. What just happened was intentional and no accident.

  At that moment, our chauffeured sedan pulls up. “What did you say earlier? When we were at the curb?” I ask.

  He scratches his head. “Oh, nothing. Just wondered if you lost your wallet. Someone found one in the club and said they thought it belonged to you.”

  “Where is it?” I ask.

  The doorman walks around his podium and produces a leather wallet that isn’t mine. I shake my head. “Not mine. But, thanks.”

  I lay my arm across Easton’s shoulders, wondering if the wallet was a ploy to get me away from Easton’s side. At the sedan, the driver opens the door for her. I can feel her trembling and I guess the driver notices, too, because he pauses before shutting the door. “Everything all right, Miss Easton?” he asks.

  “She just had a close call with an SUV,” I say.

  “Je-sus,” he says under his breath. “Crazy drivers out there,” he mumbles and closes the door. After he walks around the sedan and slips back into the driver’s seat, he looks at us in the rear-view mirror. “Right home then?” he asks.

  “My home,” I say and give him the address. Easton leans into the crook of my arm and I can tell she’s trying hard to keep it together and not break down. “You’re coming home with me where you’ll be safe,” I tell her.

  “Thank you,” she whispers.

  Twenty-five minutes later, we pull up in front of my apartment in East Hollywood. I help Easton out and thank the driver. Then, I scoop her up into my arms before she falls down. I carry her up the walkway, unlock the door and cross the threshold.

  She feels so small and delicate, face
pressing into my chest, arms hugging my neck. “It’s okay, baby,” I say and kick the door shut. I lock it and hit the lights. Her head lifts and curious green eyes look around my place.

  There’s not much to see. A worn couch, a recliner, chipped coffee table and big screen television mounted on the wall. I sit her on the couch and drop down next to her, pulling my gun and phone out. I lay the gun on the coffee table, shrug out of the suit jacket and hit Logan’s number.

  “Sharpe,” he answers.

  “It’s Jax,” I say, unbuttoning my cuffs and then loosening the tie that’s been choking me all night. “We just had an attempted hit and run involving Easton. The fucker hopped the curb. No doubt about his intentions.”

  “Jesus,” Logan swears. “I’ve got a couple officers stationed at her place right now. Are you there?”

  “No, I brought her to my apartment. Figure we can bunk down here tonight. Stay off this fucker’s radar in case he tries anything else. Besides,” I add, and tangle my hand through hers, “she’s pretty shaken up and doesn’t want to deal with any more calls, bullets or bricks tonight.”

  “Want me to send a car over to your place?”

  “Nah, I think we’ll be okay. No one knows we’re here except you.”

  “Okay. Well, lay low and let’s talk in the morning. Text me the location where it happened and I’ll pull any footage from nearby cameras. Hopefully, we can get a lead. Make and model, license plate, image of the driver.”

  “Sounds good. Thanks, Logan.”

  I hang up and look around my dingy apartment. “Sorry my place isn’t a little more to your standards,” I say.

  Easton pulls back and lifts a hand to cradle my face. “You have no idea who I am, Jax,” she says.

  I frown, not understanding what she means.

  “I don’t even know who I am,” she admits in a soft, sad voice.

  21

  Easton

  Jax studies me for a long moment. “What do you mean?” he asks.

  I kick off my shoes and curl my legs up beneath me. Then, I take a good look around his place which is simple, clean and masculine just like him. I feel safe for the first time in a long while. I don’t know why, but something overcomes me and I want to confide in this man. I want to share things about my past that I’ve never told anyone else. “I’m not the perfect snob who grew up with a silver spoon in her mouth like you probably think.”

  “I don’t think you’re a snob,” he says.

  “Maybe not now, but when we first met-”

  “I thought you were the most beautiful and classy woman I ever met in my life.”

  “I doubt that,” I tell him. “I remember how you looked around my house, probably thinking it was far too extravagant and that I was going to be a huge spoiled pain in the ass.”

  A smile curves his mouth. “I like when you swear. You should do it more,” he says. Then, he tilts his dark head. “I admit, I thought your blood was far too rich for a lowly guy like me.” He kisses the tip of my nose. “But, not anymore.”

  I take a deep breath. “Would you think less of me if I told you I grew up in a group home?”

  “Group home? Your parents couldn’t take care of you?”

  “I don’t even know who my parents are,” I admit. “My mom dropped me off at a police station when I was only a couple of hours old.”

  I see a wave of sympathy wash over his face and he reaches for my hands and squeezes them.

  “I never had anyone growing up. No family, anyway. Just a couple of friends I made at the orphanage, but we were always being moved around so here today, gone tomorrow, you know?” I shift, look down at our interlocked hands. “Easton Ross isn’t even my real name.”

  He doesn’t ask, just waits patiently. When a tear rolls down my cheek, he leans in and presses his forehead to mine. “We don’t have to talk about this,” he says.

  But, tonight, I don't want to play a character. I just want to be my raw self and love this man.

  “I worked really hard to escape my past,” I whisper. “And, now, I just sit up in a big house on top of a hill all by myself. Sometimes, I feel so lonely it’s suffocating.”

  He grasps my face in his big hands and lifts my head to look up into his dark eyes. “Stay with me, Easton, and I won’t ever let you be lonely again.”

  When his mouth captures mine, it’s sweet and tender. I melt into his arms and the heat from earlier flares anew. Suddenly, I need to be as close to him as possible. I deepen the kiss, wanting more. He feels my urgency and responds, thrusting his tongue into my mouth and pushing me backwards onto the couch.

  I grab his tie, pulling him down with me, and he moves in between my legs. A lock of dark hair falls in his eye and I brush it back, running my hands through his thick hair and scraping my nails along the base of his neck.

  I tilt my head back into a throw pillow to give him better access and immediately feel his mouth lower, lips trailing along my neck and across my collar bone. I try to turn but the confines of the dress make it hard. “I can’t move,” I complain. “Unzip me. Please,” I say in an urgent whisper.

  Jax needs no further invitation. He’s up, pulling me with him, and in the blink of an eye, there’s a red silk pile at my feet. I’m not sure what happened to my thong after he tore it off in the VIP room at the club, but it’s long gone, and now I stand before him, naked, raw and completely vulnerable.

  The real me.

  His dark gaze travels down my bare body and when I lift a self-conscious hand, he snags it and pulls me closer. “Don’t cover yourself,” he says. “You’re too beautiful.”

  He pulls the tie off and I reach up and start unbuttoning his black shirt, eyes landing on the medal hanging from his neck. St. Michael, I realize. My hands tremble and when I fumble in my haste to get the shirt off, he helps. “Careful,” he teases in a husky voice. “This shirt isn’t mine.”

  With a crooked smile, I slide it off his wide shoulders and let my gaze wander all over his perfect upper body. It’s toned and chiseled in all the right places and my breath catches. I scrape my nails down his chest and glide my mouth over the cross and skull tattoo on his left side. He lets out a soft sigh and I make my way over to his shoulder where I finally get a good look at the image of St. Michael hovering in triumph over the devil.

  Somewhere in the back of my mind, I seem to remember St. Michael being the patron of police officers.

  Light as a feather, I let my fingertips graze down his tattoo sleeve and absorb every detail of the ink. “You make me want to get a tattoo,” I say, and lean down to leave a trail of butterfly kisses from one design to the other.

  “You should. A tattoo would look sexy as hell on you,” he says.

  I straighten up and slowly walk around behind him, moving my hands over his side, eyeing the three indentations that can only be the result of bullet wounds. I touch one and his eyes slide shut.

  He holds so still it’s as though he’s a statue. Some dark, ancient Greek god like Hades, damned ruler of the underworld.

  I think he’s waiting for me to ask, but I don’t. Instead, I let my hand glide further down his spine and slide my fingers between his smooth back and the waistband of his pants. The place where he always keeps his gun. His breathing speeds up and I hook them over the edge of the smooth fabric. Then, I circle around, trailing my fingers beneath the edge of his pants until I’m in front of him again. I let my hand drop and trace my fingertips down the front of his black slacks where he’s hard as steel and on the verge of tearing through.

  “Fuck,” he hisses and those dark eyes snap open. I see a shudder run through his body. “Unzip me,” he says, echoing my earlier words.

  I undo the button, tug on the zipper and yank the pants and his boxer briefs down to his ankles. I think something rips, but I don’t care.

  “Jesus,” he says. “You love ripping my clothes off, don’t you?”

  In one smooth movement, he lifts me up and carries me down a hallway and into his bedro
om. He yanks the covers back and lowers me down onto the mattress. I lay back on a pile of pillows, surrounded by his masculine scent. But, now it’s only clean-smelling. A mix of soap and laundry detergent.

  Maybe he really did quit smoking, I think, my mind hazy as he moves up and over me. Even though he props himself up on an elbow, I can feel the heavy weight of his body settling against me, moving between my thighs.

  My body arches up, wet and ready, but he’s in no hurry. In fact, I get the feeling he wants to torture me. I reach down, wrap my fingers around his hard length, determined to feel him inside of me. With a groan, he grasps my hand, pulls it up and traps it against the bed. “Slow down, baby,” he says and swirls his tongue over one of my breasts, kneading the other with his hand. “We’ve got all night and you feel so good.” He blows on a nipple and I release a shaky breath.

  I’m not sure how much more I can take. The other two men I’ve been with were in and out in five minutes while Jax is being so attentive and leisurely that it’s working me up into a frenzy. This kind of foreplay is completely foreign to me and, as much as I like it, it’s hard to handle.

  “I can’t-” My head falls back when his hand dips between my legs.

  “Can’t what, Princess?” he asks, stroking me with those long fingers until I’m writhing and pushing against his palm.

  “Can’t take much more,” I gasp.

  “Baby, I’m just getting started.”

  I lift my head. “Are you kidding?” I ask and look at him with what must be a comic expression because the corners of his eyes crinkle and he smothers a laugh against my shoulder.

  Then, he kisses me and it’s deep and hotter than anything ever before. His tongue, like his fingers, moves in and out, and I gasp, feel my hips jerk up off the bed. “You’re dripping,” he says and begins sliding down my body, his mouth hot and determined.