by Kacey Shea
“You want a taste?” I don’t know what comes over me, other than the surge of power that comes from this position, from the sense of control I’ve never experienced before this. “Ask me for it.”
“Please let me taste that pussy. Please, Jayla.”
My fingers slip from my wetness and into his mouth. My entire body lights with need as he groans around my fingers, sucking and licking the taste of me away.
His dick thickens in my hands.
“Austin Jones, I didn’t realize you had a kinky side.” My voice comes out husky and deep.
“You have no idea.”
A thrill goes up my spine and my body comes alive with another wave of desire. The air is heavy with the scent of my arousal, the smell of sex. I blame that for my next words. “Do you want me to touch your cock now? Suck you off?”
“Yes,” he grunts out, staring at the space between our bodies. To where I go back to fingering myself with one hand and wrapping around his erection with the other. “No.” His gaze flies to mine and swims with something I can’t define.
“What?” I swallow. I want him to trust me enough to voice whatever it is he’s holding back. “What do you want?”
“You.” His lips part and he exhales on a rush. “I want you.”
I want him, too. It’s the first thought I have before I rub the head of his cock against the wetness of my folds. “I’m clean,” I whisper, captivated at the erotic sight of our bodies so close together.
His body jerks, as if it’s suddenly hard for him to not be in control. His eyes shine bright with heat. “I am, too.”
“I know.” It’s in his report. “Unless you’ve been with someone since.”
“I haven’t been with anyone. Not since—” He swallows as if reconsidering what he was going to say. “The tour.”
Of course. When would he have? We’ve been together every stop, and he hasn’t invited anyone onto the bus. There’ve been no groupies in the green room. But his gaze holds more tenderness than a man who’s excited to get laid.
My heart races, and this time it’s from fear. Fear that I can’t handle whatever it is he wants. “This is a fuck. You get that, right?”
His smile spreads. “Who has the dirty mouth now?”
“Austin.” I drag out his name, but I can’t seem to tear my fingers from his shaft. I like how it feels in my hands. I love the way I feel in control. I want to press my hips forward and take him in, every delicious inch.
“Do you want me to beg? Because I will. I have thought of nothing but—” He stops to swallow, pausing as if he’s unsure whether he should continue.
“Tell me. No bullshit. Not now.”
“Sinking inside your pussy. Those tits in my face. I want you to touch me and fuck me and most of all . . .”
I wait. As much as it frustrates me that I even care, I want to know every single one of his desires.
“I want whatever you’re willing to give me.”
My mouth suddenly feels as dry as the desert. I draw in a breath and lick my lips, as if that’ll help.
“But Jayla? If we’re gonna fuck . . . put my dick out of its misery soon. Please.”
“Just fucking,” I say, but it comes out more like a warning because I need to set the rules. I can’t risk being out of control, even with Austin. I sink down his shaft, groaning at the blissful fullness he brings. “This is what I want,” I whisper as I ignore the emotion pressing into my chest. Inch by glorious inch he disappears inside me, our bodies connected, this moment finally happening.
My throat feels thick and my eyes rapidly blink. Oh, my God. No. I am not crying.
But the impulse to do that hits me square in the chest.
“So damn good,” Austin murmurs, and it only causes my eyes to fill further. This is good for him, too. He thinks I’m good.
Forcing a slow exhalation, I try to get hold of my emotions or at the very least, calm my racing pulse.
“Touch yourself.” Austin’s strangled plea brings me back into the moment. His gaze is hotter than his words. “Please. Touch yourself for me.”
I nod and focus on his desire. On my needs. My hands brush over my breasts to play with my hard nipples while I rock my hips. He’s big and hard, but my body adjusts to the fullness, and soon my clit is aching for stimulation too.
“That’s it,” Austin pants between shallow breaths. “You are so damn sexy. Fuck.” His whispered encouragement spurs me forward without shame or inhibition. “And beautiful. Keep going. Don’t stop.”
I watch him watching me until the heat of his gaze practically sets my skin on fire. I stop thinking, give in to the sensations, and allow my eyelids to close. Skin on skin. Hard and soft. Breathy moans. We connect mind, body, and soul. I forget where his pleasure begins and mine ends.
I crash over the edge before I even see it coming. My release moves through my body with so much force my toes curl, legs shake, and my thighs squeeze against Austin.
“Fuck, yes, baby. I’m coming.” A throaty groan erupts from his lips, and his muscles tighten with tension. His elbows bend, back arches, and hips lift as he comes inside of me. He exhales a few ragged breaths before lifting his gaze to mine.
Our eyes lock, and I swear the rapid beating of my heart stills. A pang of longing presses against my chest to have this—him—always.
130
Austin
Most fantasies in life a man eventually gives up.
Like riding a unicorn. Or owning an ice cream shop for the convenience of eating mint chocolate chip every day. Finding the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. Or one of my long time favorites, jamming out in a practice studio with the legendary Jimi Hendrix.
But there is one, and as far-fetched as it may be, I’ve always held out hope. Only when it finally happens, reality blows my imagination out of the fucking water.
That’s how it is when Jayla offers to cuff me. I won’t lie, it’s been a dream of mine for many, many years. But longer still, probably as long as I’ve understood the desire to sink my dick in a woman, is the fantasy of being with Jayla. I’ve imagined fucking her in all the ways, but this, her restraining me and getting us both off? Fuck. I’ve never experienced sex this good. Ever. And for as much as I’ve had, that’s saying something.
Then again, this is Jayla. Everything with her is better.
“Good?” I ask, looking up into her big brown eyes. Her legs straddle my hips and our bodies still connect as we catch our breath. The need to touch her pulses through my veins. I want to tug her body down to mine and hold her close until I’m ready for round two, but unfortunately, I can’t do any of those things. Not with my hands still bound together.
“Yeah,” she answers, and with that one word it’s as if she disappears. She avoids my gaze, looking a million miles away, and climbs off my body. “I’ll just . . .” She stares down at me, then the cuffs, before glancing toward the bathroom.
“Take care of yourself first. I’m good.” My lips lift in a grin and I waggle my brows in an attempt to put her at ease. “As long as you don’t leave me here all night.”
“Yeah.” She tries for a smile, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes, and then she retrieves her clothes on the way to the bathroom without a backward glance.
Shit. She doesn’t regret being with me, does she? It was good for her, I swear it was. The second I felt her falling apart, her inner walls squeezing my cock, I let myself go too. But fuck, maybe I was overeager? That would be embarrassing. I no longer have the excuse of being a fumbling, inexperienced teen. Failing her twice would be a nail in the coffin of any chance of a future relationship or coupling.
What the fuck? We screw once and now I want her as my girlfriend? I don’t do relationships. Only, the thought of having Jayla as mine forever doesn’t sound bad. Not bad at all. In fact, it sounds glorious as fuck.
Damn it.
When Trent fell so hard for Lexi, I chalked up his obsession to weakness on his part. I mean, she’s a cool chick, but
if this is what it feels like? If this is—dare I say it—love? Hell, I get why each of the guys toppled easier than a row of dominos.
The sound of the toilet flushing and the sink running pushes me to sit up on the couch. I’m making a mess all over these cushions, but I can’t even feel bad about it. Cupping my junk in my hands, I push to my feet.
I love her. I love Jayla. I always have.
The realization beats steady in my chest, filling me with a joy I can’t contain.
Jayla emerges from the bathroom seconds later. Fully dressed.
My excitement over my newly discovered feelings dulls at the sight of her reaching for her shoes and walking over to her bag. “Hey,” I say dumbly. “Where are you going?”
She digs into her bag and produces a set of tiny keys. “Back to my room.” She dangles the keys and presses her lips together. “But first, I’ll let you go.” She closes the space between us and I just stare, searching for some sign she’s bluffing. She doesn’t want to leave, does she? I don’t want this moment to be over. Not when we’re just getting started.
Her hands trail over my arms, caressing the skin around my sore wrists and scattering goosebumps in their wake. With two twists of the key, the metal restraints release and she drops my hands. I immediately mourn the loss of her touch.
“My bed is better,” I blurt out. It’s a ridiculous argument, but it’s the first that comes to mind.
Jayla’s gaze lifts to mine. “Austin, I can’t stay here.”
“You’re worried about the label finding out?”
“No.” She shakes her head once, and then nods. “Yes.”
“Jesus, Jay. You’re making me feel like shit. Was it—” I cup my junk again, all of a sudden feeling underdressed for this conversation, and maybe also a little inadequate. “Was it not good for you?”
“I just . . .” She exhales in a rush before meeting my gaze. “I don’t want to confuse this with what it is. We hooked up. Fine, we’re both adults. But we work together, Austin. Things are complicated enough.”
So, the sex was good. Thank God. “Because I swear you orgasmed first. I could have held off longer—”
She cuts me off with a short laugh. “Austin.”
“What?” I shrug. “I promised you a better performance than last time.”
“It was good.” She glances at my body and her eyes blaze with desire.
“Just good?”
“Best sex of my life.”
“Hold up. Let me get my phone so I can record it when you repeat that.” A shit eating grin stretches my lips.
She laughs heartily. “Oh, I’m never repeating those words.”
I hope she realizes the gauntlet she just laid down. Challenge fucking accepted.
“I need to go,” she says, and I can read the resignation in her eyes. As good as this was, she doesn’t want to stay here with me now. Fuck if that doesn’t hurt a little.
My mind races with a thousand ways to convince her how good we’d be together, but even I know that argument is better left for another day. Right now, I just want to be with the woman who rocks my entire world. “Stay for a while? We don’t have to sleep. I just don’t want you to go yet.”
She’s wavering. I can see it in the way she no longer eyes the door.
“Please.”
“I don’t know if I can.” The way she mutters those words . . . an irrational surge of protectiveness overcomes me.
“Why not?”
She swallows hard and glances at the floor. “Nothing. It’s nothing. I’ll stay.” The defeat in her features puts my entire body on edge. It’s not nothing. It never is.
“Come on.” I hold out my hand to her, relieved when she clasps it. I lead her into the adjoining bedroom, and then I let her go just long enough to retrieve a T-shirt from my bag and a pair of sleep shorts for me. “This’ll be more comfortable.” I hand her the shirt.
She holds it up, a laugh bursts from her lips. “I am not wearing this.”
“What?” I lift my brow; a surge of pleasure runs through my body at her laughter. “It’s a true statement.”
She scrutinizes the ‘I spent a night with Three Ugly Guys’ graphic tee. “People actually buy these?”
“One of our best sellers.” I grin.
She blows out a breath, rolls her eyes, and shakes her head, but in the end she ditches her shirt and slacks for the soft cotton. The fabric of my shirt hugs her curves and those fantastic breasts, but my favorite part is how it’s not long enough to cover her ass. I’m treated to a nice view of her butt cheeks, her sexy boy short underwear doing nothing to contain the luscious curves.
“Better?” I ask and plop down on the sheets. I prop the pillows at my back and then pat the empty space beside me.
She nods and climbs onto the bed.
The urge to hold her pushes my hand out to reach for hers. I smile when she doesn’t pull away. Turning onto my side, I study her gaze. My thumb traces soft circles over her hand, memorized by the contrast of my pale inked fingers against her dark skin. We’re opposite in so many ways, but we fit perfectly. “So, if the sex was good and you don’t totally hate being around me”—I lift my gaze to hers—“why’d you try and run?”
Her body stiffens. “I wasn’t running.”
“You know what I mean.” I go back to tracing patterns on her skin, letting the silence stretch between us.
“I don’t do sleepovers.”
But there’s more. She’s holding out on me. Protecting something or someone and I want to know. I want her to trust me enough to share. The vulnerability in her gaze is locked behind a fortress. By my guess, most leave before they make it through.
“Jayla. No more bullshit. Tell me. Why?”
Her jaw locks, and she pulls her hand from mine to wrap her arms across her chest. I wait her out, knowing she’ll explain when she’s good and ready. More minutes pass and my gut churns with fear. I won’t push her, but I won’t let her shut me out. Not anymore.
“It’s really hard for me to talk about,” she admits barely above a whisper. She pulls her knees to her chest, her back straight against the headboard. Her body is armed like a shield. But I can’t tell what she’s trying to ward off, me or something else.
“I’m right here.” I sit up, moving in front of her to sit cross-legged on the mattress.
She lifts her gaze. “I don’t want you to look at me differently. I don’t want your pity. This doesn’t define me. I’ve moved on. Done a lot of work to get to where I am.”
“Jay, you’re scaring me.” I hold out my hands and open my palms, hoping she’ll take them.
After a quiet moment, she does. “Don’t stop looking at me the way you have been.”
“And how’s that?”
She blinks, emotion thick in her voice. “Like I’m perfect.”
Like it’s possible she could be anything but.
“Jay, I swear to you right now, I won’t ever stop looking at you like you’re perfect, because you are.”
She cringes at my words.
“You’re perfect to me. Always. It’s okay. Whatever it is. You can tell me.”
She takes one long look, as if she’s gauging me with a bullshit meter, and I must pass. When she finally glances away, she opens her mouth. From her beautiful lips she spills her secrets. Confesses everything in a voice so soft if I weren’t this close I might miss the words. In the safe space of this hotel suite, in the quiet of the night, she trusts me with her pain, her nightmare, her excruciating sadness, and I never stop holding her hands. I refuse to let them go because if I do she might realize she’s breaking my heart.
131
Jayla
Music plays, and my uncle swings his wife around the kitchen while the rest of the women laugh and cheer. My other uncle and his friends sit outside the open window with my dad. The small apartment patio makes the perfect place for them to smoke. The thick, humid air from early today is long gone, and the breeze cools the sweat along my neck. My co
tton shirt sticks to my skin no matter how many times I pull it away.
“It’s late. Time for bed, Jayla.” My mama dismisses me from the room.
I longingly glance to where my older cousins crowd around the table with my brothers. Dealing cards, trading jokes, and having all the fun. After helping my aunt and Mama clean up from dinner, I hoped to join them.
“Can’t I stay up a little longer?” I all but beg, though it’s pointless.
Her lips tighten and form a thin line, the wrinkles at the corners of her mouth more prominent with her scowl. “No. It’s late. You need sleep for that test.”
My SAT scores are my ticket to a college scholarship. At least that’s my plan. Dad still hasn’t found work, but even when he does, it won’t be enough to pay for college. And after high school I need to do something that offers us a better life. I don’t want a future like my parents’, one of arguing, a mountain of debt, and having to move around so much. Mama and Dad haven’t stopped fighting even though we’ve been staying with my uncle’s family for over a month. I don’t understand why we even moved. Things were supposed to be better here, but they’re not. I miss my friends. I miss Austin.
“Fine.” I give off just enough attitude to let her know my dissatisfaction, but not enough that I’ll pay the consequences later. She’s right. I’ve studied too hard for the SATs and I can’t afford to fail. Begrudgingly, I stomp down the hall, sticking out my tongue, childish as it is, as my older brother Desmond grins. Boys have all the fun. He has to work early, but Mama won’t send him to bed for hours.
I change into clean underwear and a lightweight tank and shorts. It’s too hot for anything else, and in the room I share with my brother I’m not allowed to open the window more than a few inches. The neighborhood isn’t that safe. I dart across the hall to the bathroom, using the restroom and brushing my teeth before padding back to my room. I leave the door cracked, not because I’m scared or anything, but so I can hear down the hall.