by Debra Kayn
While she and Kylie had nothing to do with his incarceration, if it weren't for her making contact with Brikken members to con them out of money, Jett never would've met her, and ultimately, he wouldn't have been talking to Kylie and been spotted by her sister's foster dad.
"Can I touch?" she asked.
"Yeah."
"Tell me if I do anything that hurts you." She hesitated. "You still have feeling in your injured fingers though?"
He nodded. She tenderly slid her hand under his and covered his fingers with her other hand. The roughness of his skin a welcoming sensation.
"I'd forgotten how big your hands are," she whispered.
Under her thigh, his cock hardened. She set his hand back on her lap. Last night, having sex, confused her after she'd come down from the high of the actual act and what he'd given her. She'd assumed after sleeping with him, he'd be more demanding and want sex again in the morning or whenever the urge hit him.
Aware of his hardness, her body became...not her own. "Jett?"
"Hm?"
"About last night..." She glanced at him, glad for the darkness hiding the warmth in her cheeks. "Thank you."
All the questions she had and the second guesses that beleaguered her today seemed more of a complaint about what happened, and that's not the point she wanted to make. He'd been gentle, and she'd lost her virginity. She swallowed. That was the problem.
It seemed like she'd done everything and it wasn't something Jett took from her.
She still wanted to give him that.
"I don't know how to talk about sex." She sighed, self-conscious. "I know that sounds stupid, but by the time I was thinking about having it, I was hiding by working for...well, conning people. Then, I was with you and then locked up in JDH. I didn't really have anyone around in my life who discussed stuff like this besides girls making off-handed comments."
"What do you want to know?" He pulled her back to his chest.
"It's not what I want to know." Hidden in the crook of his neck, she said, "Well, I just wanted to let you know it's okay if you want to, you know, do it again, whenever you want."
"Is that so?" He grunted.
She nodded against him. All she wanted to do was let him know she wouldn't stop him if he wanted to have sex but even to her ears, it came away as begging.
He kissed the top of her head. "You're not sore?"
"No." She placed her palm on his chest. "Are you?"
"I don't get sore," he said, his chest vibrating in amusement.
She pushed off his lap and turned her back to him. If she knew he was going to laugh at her, she never would've brought sex up.
"Syd?"
She turned around. "Don't make this harder for me. You knew I was asking about your hand."
"Fuck my hand." He stood. "The only thing you have to be concerned about is us."
"Your injury is part of us." She crossed her arms and cupped her elbows, shaking her head. "You can't close yourself off and pretend it doesn't exist."
He stood and stepped in front of her. "It doesn't exist."
"It does."
He hooked her neck and brought her forward, kissing her hard. When he pulled back, he said, "I will do whatever needs to be done to care for you and protect you."
"Jett." She tried to move away, but he held her. "That's not—"
"You're still in my house. You work at the club." His fingers tightened, pulling her within an inch of his mouth. "You're mine, Syd. Been through hell and back, and you are the only thing on my mind. You're still young when it comes to relationships. I get that. But, don't question what we have or how I feel toward you because I'm injured."
"Okay," she murmured. "But—"
"Damn, Syd." He brought her closer, capturing her mouth.
His lips softened after the initial possession and pulled back. She sucked in a breath, lightheaded. Then he went back to kissing her. She pressed her hands against his stomach, trailing them around his ribs, and to his back. This was the kiss she'd spent years dreaming of and wanting.
The one she missed.
The one that made her feel wanted.
He'd given her a glimpse of what it felt like to have someone care, not because the state was paying him money, and then she'd lost him for years. She'd spent the hardest time of her life wondering if she'd imagined the whole thing and calling herself all kinds of stupid for holding on and letting him push her away.
But, deep down, she understood him. She believed in him. She trusted him.
Her brain refused to work as his tongue swept hers.
The pressure of his mouth was better than any claim on her or conversation. His lips, stronger and thicker than hers, dominated her. Her eyes closed.
The whiskers from his beard and mustache roughly brushed her chin, her cheeks, and the bottom of her nose reminding her of the differences between them. Everything about Jett was hard. His body, his personality, his touch.
She accepted him for that hardness because she'd seen, felt, experienced a deeper level to his coarse exterior. He was the man who held her and refused to have sex, even when it was obvious he was ready and willing because she'd been a minor.
He comforted her with malted milk, something so simple and random, it only took his time to share that marvelous concoction with her. No foster parent had ever pulled her away and shared a small part of themselves with her before.
When he'd refused to talk to her about his time in prison and explain what was going on in his head, he pushed her away—and maybe that was for her protection. She liked to believe that was the reason and after he'd again verified how much he wanted her in his life, she had to trust him.
He eased back, sucking on her lower lip. She took another breath, surprised she was capable of drawing air into her lungs. He softened the nip with a caress of his tongue.
Finally, he sealed his mouth to her lips and held her with one arm. His urgency pushed into her lust-filled brain. She arched her neck, kissing him back, sucking his tongue, nibbling his lips.
Jett groaned in approval. Her lower body fluttered, liking the guttural sound she'd drawn from him. His tongue came out to meet hers, and his breath quickened. Her sex pulsed and she squeezed her thighs together, remembering what it felt like to have him fill her.
His arm left her, and he grasped her wrist, shoving her hand between their bodies to the front of his jeans. She rubbed his hardness, swearing it was doing more for her than for him.
Her legs shook. Something about being outside, fully clothed and making out with Jett excited her more than lying in bed.
Jett cupped her breast, tweaking her nipple through her lace bra. She scratched her fingernails over the denim covering him. Her mouth pulled away, and she gasped for air.
He backed her up until he'd pressed her against the side of the hot tub. Jett's hand pulled her tank up. She raised her arms, and he yanked the material over her head.
The cool night air kissed her skin. She shivered, thankful for the large hot tub behind her keeping her steady.
Jett's gaze swept down her body. Her nipples peaked and her sex spasmed at the excitement, the urgency, the intense way he stepped toward her. She reached up, wound her arms around his neck, and met his kiss.
He ground his pelvis against her. She moaned, and he quickly swallowed the sound. Her leg came up and rubbed the outside of his thigh. Her stomach curled, calling to get closer.
Both of his hands landed on her waist, and her body lifted until her toes left the ground.
She landed back on her feet in a startling jolt.
Jett moaned and moved away, bending at the waist.
Shocked out of her arousal, she moved forward realizing he cradled his injured hand against his stomach. He'd tried to pick her up and hurt himself.
"Oh, God." She rubbed his back. "What can I do?"
He straightened and walked a few paces away, stifling a groan. She followed him, wanting to do something.
"Can I get you an ice pack or—
"
"Just go..." He grimaced, turning his head from her. "Go in the house."
"I want to help." She touched his good arm. "Come and sit down."
"Fuck." He roared. "Get away."
She stepped back at the outburst but hesitated to leave him. He shouldn't be alone. Maybe he needed a doctor. He could've done more damage trying to lift her.
Her throat tightened in empathy. He'd been through so much pain already.
Jett cradled his hand against his chest, kicked out with his boot and knocked the lawn chair off the deck. She jumped back.
"Get the fuck in the house," he said with a growl. "Now."
She whirled around and ran into the house.
Chapter Thirty Eight
The roar of a Harley broke through the birds chirping. Jett walked around the side of the house, opened the wooden gate, and headed toward the driveway.
Chief shut off his motorcycle and got off the bike. "Hard night?"
Jett glanced back at the front of the house. He'd stayed out all night, not trusting himself to be around Sydney. His hand hurt like a son of a bitch, and he'd wanted to fuck her. The combination frustrated him. Afraid to lose control and hurt Sydney, he watched the hours pass from the deck.
He ignored Chief's question. "Did you get the parts?"
"Yep." Chief removed the duffle from the back of the motorcycle and opened the bag. "Olin and Thorn are coming by. It'll make the job go faster."
Anxious to get his Harley customized to his need to use his left hand, instead of his right, he walked to the garage before he realized he had to open the door from the inside. He went to the front of the house, turned the handle, and found the house locked.
He knocked. Less than a minute later, Kylie opened the door and stepped back.
"Hey, can you push the button to open the garage for me?" he asked.
"Sure." Kylie walked deeper into the house leaving him at the door.
Jett gazed around the living room unable to see Sydney and wondered if she'd gone to bed after he'd sent her inside and if she still slept. Pulling the door shut, he returned to the driveway and Chief. Several seconds later, the garage door opened.
Even the sight of his Harley and speculating if the alterations would work couldn't pull him out of the fucking mood that'd taken hold of him last night. He couldn't handle being weak.
All he'd wanted to do was set Sydney up on the hot tub. He'd acted before thinking, and he'd paid the price.
As he watched Chief put the Harley up on the stand, Olin and Thorn rode up. They looked like shit.
Olin sported a black eye and split lip. Jett looked at the rumpled appearance of Thorn, guessing he wore yesterday's clothes and it was a woman who'd kept him up last night. She must've been damn good because Thorn walked bowlegged.
Last night, if he wouldn't have forgotten about his hand, his night with Sydney would've been better than great. He gritted his teeth. It would've been everything he needed to give her and everything he needed for himself. But, he couldn't even lift her one-hundred-and-twenty-pound body.
"What happened to you?" he asked Olin.
Olin chuckled. "Freddy decided to pop off one too many times."
"What's he look like?" asked Chief, pulling the rollaway closer to the motorcycle.
"Worse than me." Olin rubbed his stomach and looked at Thorn. "Where's the sack Mom sent with you?"
"On my bike." Thorn strode over to his Harley and returned carrying a bag from Dockside Donuts. "By the way, Mom wants to see you. Said something about how she was worried you were checkin' out."
"Right. I'll check out the day I'm buried." He shook his head at the offer of a donut. "Take those into the house and give it to the girls."
Thorn stopped halfway to the door to the house. "Johanna's not in there, is she?"
Chief's head came up. "What's your problem with her?"
"She asked me to watch the kids this afternoon, and I told her I was busy." Thorn squinted. "You didn't hear that from me."
"You'll watch your sisters if she asks you to." Chief lowered his head, running the impact wrench.
To Chief, it didn't matter that his sons were forty-one, thirty-nine, and thirty-seven years old. They were family, and it was all of their responsibility to make sure they looked out for one another.
The loud puttering from the air impact filled the garage. Jett walked over and picked up the bottle of whiskey from last night. Shoving the bottle in his armpit, he managed to crack to the top with his left hand and took a swig. Everyone could pretend that it was a normal summer day all they wanted, but he wasn't going to get sucked into the bullshit.
There was nothing normal about him.
Still tuned into prison life, he waited for a guard to tell him what to do, where to go. He drank again. It was better than accepting what he couldn't do.
Fix his motorcycle.
Sleep.
Warm up.
Fuck Sydney.
The air tool stopped, and Thorn came back to the garage empty-handed. Jett studied his youngest brother for any hint that things weren't right in the house with Sydney and Kylie.
He took another swig of whiskey. It was his job to take care of them.
He should've gone after Sydney last night after the pain in his hand eased. He should've continued what he'd started in the comfort of the bed where he could hide the fact that he was less of a man without his full strength.
"WELL?" SYDNEY HID IN the kitchen out of sight.
Kylie shut the door that went to the garage. "They're definitely working on the motorcycle."
"Shit," she whispered. "This isn't good."
Her stomach ached. Having eaten only the maple bar Thorn brought into the house and going without any sleep last night, she couldn't decide what to do about Jett.
He'd yelled at her and then never came in to talk. Thinking he'd come in during the day, she waited with Kylie, trying to keep busy scrubbing the house and doing laundry, and as time went by Jett continued to stay out in the garage.
"He can't ride with his hand." She thrust her fingers into her hair and blew out her breath.
Kylie jumped up and sat on the counter. "Tell him he can't ride."
"Yeah, right. I can't tell him what to do or not do."
"If you love him, you can."
She shook her head. "I could talk and talk and talk, but he's not the type of man to listen or do what someone else wants."
"I've noticed." Kylie sighed. "I'm glad Milo wasn't like that or we never would've got together."
"It's different. Milo's the same age as you." Sydney walked into the living room, knowing it wasn't fair of her to put her bad mood on her sister.
To Chief, Olin, Thorn, they probably thought everything was normal with Jett. But, he wasn't okay to her. Whether he'd changed so much from prison or his injury caused him to pull away from her, she could only guess. And, none of her guesses left her feeling good about their relationship. It felt a lot like she was losing him.
"Sis, breathe." Kylie rubbed her back. "Everything will be okay."
Her chest ached and her eyes burned. Every time she tried to inhale something in her throat stopped all the air from getting to her lungs.
Kylie moved in front of her and stepped over to the window. "Someone's pulling up to the house."
She couldn't face anyone else. Whoever it was could go to the garage to see Jett.
"It's Johanna, and she's got the kids with her." Kylie turned to Sydney, and her mouth softened. "It'll be okay with you and Jett. Just keep telling yourself that and give him time."
"What if I don't have time?" she whispered.
"You've both survived more than four years apart. At least he's here, and you can talk to him whenever you want." A knock drew Kylie's attention. "I'll get the door."
She ran her fingers under her eyes, even though she shed no tears. Inside, a heaviness held in her sobs.
"Come on in, you guys." Kylie stepped away from the door.
Ja
ckie crossed the threshold first and slumped on the couch. Sydney tapped the toe of her shoe against Jackie's sneaker. "What's with the frown, clown?"
Jackie shook her head refusing to talk. Johanna came in holding Stassi by the hand and said, "She's upset because I told her to come in the house and she wanted to go out in the garage with her dad and brothers."
Johanna lugged a heavy sack closer to Sydney. "I brought some food over."
"I'll take it and put everything away." Kylie grabbed the bag.
"Thanks." Sydney pointed to the couch and took the chair. "We haven't had a chance to go to the store yet since Jett returned."
"How are you doing?" Johanna let go of Stassi who ran to the front window to look outside.
"Okay." She glanced at Jackie, taking in the grownup conversation. "Tired."
"I bet." Johanna leaned over closer to Jackie and said, "Why don't you take your sister in the backyard."
Jackie ignored her mom. Sydney almost smiled. Little sister was more like her oldest brother than anyone realized. Stubborn and didn't care who knew it.
"Now," whispered Johanna.
Jackie huffed and dragging her feet, grabbed Stassi—who slapped out at the forcefulness of being moved. Sydney heard Kylie join the girls and go outside.
"Okay, now that they're gone. What are the guys doing in the garage?" asked Johanna.
Relief flowed out of her at having someone understand her worry, and she blurted, "Working on Jett's motorcycle."
"That doesn't make sense." Johanna frowned. "He's not going to be riding."
"Exactly." She leaned forward. "I've been telling Kylie that. He's still healing from his surgeries, and with his fingers not working, he can't get on his motor—"
"Sydney, enough," said Jett behind her.
She turned her head and found him standing at the edge of the kitchen. She swallowed at the intense anger etched on his face.
Johanna stood and walked over to Jett. His scary mood failed to push her away. She cupped his face and kissed his cheek. "I've missed your face."
Caught up in the reunion, Sydney watched rather than listened to their conversation. She wished Jett would allow her to be with him the way he tolerated Johanna.