by Tessa Bailey
“It’s yours,” I whimper without hesitating. The way he’s speaking to me should be offensive. Or something. Too bad I adore it and want more. Want him to give me his worst, filthiest speech so long as he keeps looking at me as though I’m a prize he’s won against all odds. So long as he keeps pumping that thick part of himself down deep inside me. And ahhh . . . he does. Telling Jack “it’s yours” sets off something inside him. He goes still a moment, his eyes boring into mine. That’s when he’s fully set loose, driving into me with such wildness, my bones jolt, my back teeth clacking together.
“Going to make you come, honey. Don’t worry. Just . . .” His voice cracks on a moan, his incredible body moving like a raging ocean. “Shit, I’ve just never felt anything like you. Not just between my legs, Katie. I feel you fucking everywhere, you know?”
My heart tugs in answer. “Yes.”
“Keep looking at me. You’re keeping me here.”
In my head, his words make no sense, but my heart speaks his language. “I’ve got you.”
Jack’s warm breath coasts across my face, harsh, fast. “I’ve got you, too. I’ve always got you.”
Strong fingers glide down my stomach, finding my sensitive clit and rubbing vigorously. Head to toe, my body quickens, like Jack has my reactions on a string. He swallows my whimper with his mouth, kissing me with increasing passion as the slap of his hips, the movements of his fingers pick up the pace. My body doesn’t know where to focus. Jack’s mouth, his fingers, his thick, slippery flesh that rifles in and out of that previously untouched part of me. Jack himself, who watches me under hooded eyelids, emotion brimming from every pore of his gorgeous face.
“My Katie.” His voice is uneven. “Don’t want anyone else to have you. Wish no one else had ever had me, dammit. Wish, I wish . . .”
I pull him down on top of me, just as my body wins the battle, reeling in the orgasm that ironically, sends me out to sea. A current carries me, rippling over and through my body, my eyes full of nothing but exhilarating blue. Above me, Jack grits out my name and joins me, bringing the violence of the water, his muscles jerking, his throat gasping for oxygen. My arms and legs wrap around him tight, forcing him to share his spasms with me, forcing him to accept mine. Afterwards, we lay there, too spent to move for what feels like hours.
Finally, Jack lifts his head to study me, brows drawn. There’s an air of expectation about him, as if he’s waiting for something. What? The uncertainty makes me nervous. So nervous. But only for a fraction of a second, because whatever he’s waiting for seems to arrive. Or doesn’t? And his answering smile is heart-stopping, shining all over my face like the sun.
His laugh comes out in a long gust. “Holy shit.”
“You read my mind.”
Jack stands, but keeps returning to the bed to plant kisses on my cheeks and forehead, so clearly reluctant to leave me for even a second that I grin like a loser. Eventually he takes care of the latex still attached to his body, the muted city lights hugging his flexing backside as he walks to the bathroom. When he returns, he pulls back the covers, lifting me into the coziness of the warm, fluffy interior. Looking stunned to find himself in a position to be in bed with a girl—with the intention of sleeping—his jaw is nonetheless set with purpose. His eyes dance with . . . awe? Yes, I think so.
And that awe, staring down at me, tinged with bafflement, is the last thing I see before drifting off in the safety of Jack Garrett’s arms.
Chapter 14
Jack
My head is so clear when I wake up, I must be living in someone else’s body. I open my eyes and squint into the sunlight pouring in through the hotel room window, waiting for a headache or fuzzy memories from the night before to come trickling in . . . but it doesn’t happen. Even more unbelievable, I never crashed last night after being with Katie. Never retreated to those dark corners of my mind to get lost in the past, swapping the current good for that past moment of weakness. No, I was right here with Katie, feeling her inside me, as well as out. Sensing she could feel me in her head and chest, too. We were in it together.
For a long time, lies have gone hand in hand with sex for me. Lies I tell myself about why I kept chasing the high, when what I secretly wanted was the crash afterwards. The honesty between me and Katie kept me elevated in this warm, inviting place, though. Made me feel like I belonged there.
Do I, though? I’ve shared more truth with Katie than anyone in my life, but I haven’t been entirely honest, have I?
I ignore the troubling reminder and focus on her.
A rainbow variety of Katie versions that dance through my mind. Bright, moving, beautiful pictures that I captured last night. There’s another one right in front of me that I quickly snap with my mind’s eye. I’m spooning Katie and we’re both facing the window, my face buried in her red, tumbled hair. My left eye is covered by the incredible-smelling strands, but my right travels over the messy length of it. Wavy ends gather in her neck, whorl around her ear, brush against her mouth. Sunlight sets the long mass of it off, making her hair look like dark red fire and my arms tighten around her, dragging her as close to my body as possible, tucking my knees into the backs of hers, warming her feet with the soles of mine.
She’s a heavy sleeper and my chest aches with the secret. Something no one, save maybe her parents, knows about her. A fact her brother probably knew, once upon a time.
The smile I wasn’t aware of fades at the reminder of Katie’s pain. She’s in New York to celebrate the memory of her brother. Would I fit into that if she knew about my problem?
Relax. It’s not a problem right now. It won’t be again. If I could survive talking about my past last night while drinking nothing but a Coke, I’m not going to fuck up. Not while Katie is in New York and not after, if I can damn well help it. The reminder she’s leaving, however, lands me smack in the middle of the problem that kept me awake into the early hours of last night. This girl—the one I’ve begun referring to as mine—is leaving in a week.
And God, I don’t want her to go.
Which is flat out, fucking selfish. She’s the only girl I’ve ever slept with that made me feel . . . whole. Afterwards, there was no impending doom clogging my throat. No nausea. Hours later, I’m still floating on the relief. I’m not broken with Katie. When we’re together, I’m grounded in the moment. I don’t want to blink or look away. Since we met, she’s been challenging me to be better and I’ve shocked myself by rising to the occasion, proving I’m not useless at the academy, spending time with her outside the bedroom.
I want to keep doing those things. For her. For myself.
But the way she repairs my damage with her touch, her presence, isn’t a reason for Katie to stay. What am I doing for her? How am I making her happy? So I provided a decent date, made her moan and chaperoned her murder excursions. Compared to what she’s done for me? My contribution ain’t shit.
I’ve never been a driven person. Do just enough to get by. Don’t take anything seriously. Those sentiments were how I operated. Right now, though, I’m feeling suspiciously close to ambitious. Is that what this is? Ambition? Wanting to do whatever it takes to better myself? Right now, I would be selfish asking Katie to stay in New York.
But what if I had something to offer?
Katie murmurs in her sleep, shifting her ass against my lap. I press my lips together to keep from groaning as my balls tighten up, my dick thickening along the inside of her bare thigh. Yeah, knowing there isn’t going to be a sickening fall after we have sex is making me a horny maniac. Not to mention, Katie herself, with her sunlit skin and warm curves. If last night hadn’t been her first time, I’d wake her up the way the devil intended, but I want to make sure she’s not sore. Which means talking to her first. Fuck, I can’t wait to talk to her.
She’s leaving. What the hell am I going to do?
Katie’s sleepy voice cuts into my panic, all scratchy and muffled by the pillow. “It’s silly to feel guilty waking up naked with a man
on a Sunday, right?”
I laugh into the curve of her neck. “Is this the famous Catholic guilt I’ve heard so much about?”
“Its powers are not to be underestimated.” Her ribcage expands on a long breath, as if she’s gathering courage before rolling over. And I know I was right when she’s finally facing me and her cheeks are painted pink. “Good morning. How long have you been awake?”
“Long enough to count the freckles on your back.”
The pink turns to fuchsia. “What number did you reach?”
I rub my knuckles under her chin and she sighs. A warm, muffled sound that belongs to lazy mornings, but I’ve never heard it with my own ears. “I lost count around eighty-seven because I was distracted by that minty smell of yours. Where does it come from?”
“A combination of tea bags and my hair conditioner.” She tucks a corner of the comforter under her chin, snuggling into it. “My parents think I’m from another planet for not liking traditional Irish tea. They drink loads of the stuff, but it was always too strong for me. My mother brought home the mint tea one day as a laugh, but it backfired since I loved it.” Her lips curve into a smile. “It became a running joke after that. Mint flavored everything. Mint bath soaps for Christmas and so on. The smell makes me happy.”
It makes me happy, too. “Tell me about your parents. They dragged you to church every Sunday?”
“Yes, ten o’clock mass, like clockwork. My brother and I called it Itchy Clothes Day and we’d stomp around making sure Mam knew we were miserable.” We make eye contact over the mention of her brother, but Katie continues on without missing a beat. “My father is a perfectionist. He clips his nails every day, needs the newspaper folded a certain way. I’m sure he was in the sixth row at Sunday mass this morning.”
“And your mother?”
“There beside him.” Katie’s voice grows softer. “She’s messier and more spontaneous than my father. She loves to give presents, especially gag gifts and you never know when one is coming, but it makes people feel so special. That’s why she does it. Her dream in life was to have a gift-wrapping room, so my father turned our garage into one.” I’m so drawn into the soft warmth of Katie’s voice, my pulse leaps unexpectedly when she reaches beneath the covers and rubs my chest, up and down in the center. It feels so incredible, I press into the touch. “It’s the happiest room. Colorful paper everywhere. Ribbons and glitter. My father can’t go inside without trying to tidy up, so he’s been banned.”
What would it be like to walk into that room with Katie and meet her mother? What would her parents think of me? Will I ever have the opportunity to find out? I barely manage to stop myself from asking Katie what their judgment would be, but I keep on wondering.
Katie’s denim eyes are quiet and solemn as they watch me, probably guessing about what I’m thinking. “Tell me something happy about your mother, Jack.”
There it is. This is why I’m losing my shit over Katie. Why I feel so fucking great when she’s around. Because as soon as she asks to hear a happy story about my mother, I realize how badly I’ve wanted that. To say something positive out loud about her, instead of reading sympathy on the faces of others when they find out how I was raised. Katie not only sees what’s going on inside me, she wants to go exploring. She actually cares that there’s more to me. All I can do is show her what’s there and hope she’s happy with it.
Most of it, anyway. There are certain things I’ve got inside that are too ugly to bring them in the same vicinity as Katie. Yeah. My own private hell stays right where it is.
“She kept me home from school once when I was thirteen. Didn’t warn me, just surprised me with packed lunches and bus tickets. We went to Atlantic City for the day.” Katie’s hand is still on my chest now and I circle her wrist, carrying her fingers to my mouth so I can kiss them. “Best part? We were standing on the shore and she felt sand crabs under her feet. Lifelong city girl didn’t know what the hell they were. The scream she let out, Katie . . .” My laughter vibrates the bed. “Afterwards, she laughed about it, though. Sitting right there on the sand. I’d never seen her laugh like that.” I press Katie’s hand to my forehead, as if her touch has the power to keep my memory from fading. “It was a good day.”
“It sounds like it.” She passes me a serious look. “What are sand crabs?”
We’re both laughing when I drag Katie up against me, turning so half of my body is on top of her. As soon as she feels my hard cock on her thigh, the laughter dissolves into a moan and we kiss. A long, searching kiss that I will gladly turn over my man card to admit makes my head spin. Damn. She’s got a lot more confidence now, her tongue rubbing mine, hands copping a feel of my ass, and it’s no wonder, right? Last night, I came so hard for her, I almost split the fuck in half.
The heel of my hand skates down her belly, massaging a circle against her pussy. But when she jerks, a wince crossing her beautiful face, I remove my hand like I’ve been burned. “Sore?”
She shakes her head, but seems uncertain. “It’s fine.”
Sorry, dick. This is going to hurt. “We wait.”
“Jack—”
I stop her protest with a thorough kiss. One I hope is comforting so she realizes I’m not going to blame her for my blue balls. “We wait.”
Katie tilts her head on the pillow. A red eyebrow goes up. “Or.”
“Or?”
After biting her lip for a moment, she pushes me onto my back. I’m momentarily hypnotized by the bounce of her amazing tits as she kneels over me, tugging down the sheet. I snap right out of it, however, when she grips my cock in both hands. “It seems only fair after you’ve . . .”
“Say it and feel my dick get harder,” I rasp. “Go on, honey.”
“After you’ve gone down on me,” Katie murmurs. “Twice.”
My stomach fills with pressure, edged with a delicious twist of my abs.
“Wow.”
My laugh turns into a groan, because she’s giving me a nice, tight stroke, leaving no inch behind. “Definitely don’t mind the word wow when you’re holding my dick. Just thought I’d mention it.”
“Noted,” she whispers, leaning down, her breasts swaying, lids drooping. So fucking sexy I’m going to come the second she wraps her mouth around me. Her lips brush over the head, her tongue joining them in the barest of touches, but my balls feel like they’re being squeezed in a fist. “They definitely frown on blow jobs on Sundays. No question.”
“Think of it as a form of healing.” Intense sexual frustration makes my voice raw. “Healing is a kind of miracle, right?”
Another too-light lick, right along the top ridge has my hips jerking off the bed. Through the blurred quality of my vision, I can see the teasing curve of her lips against the thick stalk of my erection and my blood goes up in flames. “I suppose if I’m your only chance to be healed, I’ll be forgiven.”
“You’re my only chance, Katie. Please. Please,” I ground out, gathering the comforter in my hands, twisting the material and moaning when her mouth takes in at least four of my swollen inches, her lips tightening as she drags back up to the tip. “Oh, that’s good, honey.” My voice is a shaking, slurring mess. “That’s real fucking good.”
Katie hums on her way back down, that red hair falling like curtains onto my thighs and I swear to God, I’m on the edge of blacking out. Nothing about sex is new to me, but everything about sex with Katie is bright, fresh and incredible. I didn’t need liquid courage to be with Katie, liquid courage to brace myself for the fall afterwards, because deep down I had faith it wasn’t coming. Not with her. I never want a drop of that shit in my system when I’m with her because it might obscure one single second, dim the perfection of this. Of her. Of how strong I am when I can overcome the need to blur my memories. She’s woken up this belief that I can be more than a drunk lay, the next morning’s regret. Hell, I don’t want a drop in my system period. Not ever.
My nerve endings are exploding bombs going off beneath my flesh. I c
an feel every stroke of her tongue right in the pit of my belly, causing my climax to speed towards me. My feet are digging into the mattress, my hips upthrusting slow and nasty, like I’m a stripper working the stage on my back. Fuck, fuck, fuck.
When I realize Katie is looking up at me, that’s when I begin to lose it. Her lips stretch as she sinks down to my root, keeping those blue eyes on me the whole time. She’s excited. There’s a light in her gaze, like she can’t believe what we’re doing. Can’t believe how much I’m enjoying it. As if . . . it’s her first suck-off. Jesus Christ. Am I a pervert for wanting to flip our positions and fuck her mouth hard now? Just like last night, when I hit this point of no return, all I want to do is claim her. Make her mine.
The one thing I want more than that, though, is to make her happy.
“Come here, Katie.” Holding back my climax has me roaring the command, smacking my chest. Once, twice. “Sit on my chest . . . and for the love of God, don’t stop what you’re doing.”
Blue eyes widen as she visualizes what I’m asking, but she hesitates only a couple of seconds before crawling up the bed alongside me and doing what I ask. She’s still wearing underwear when her cute ass perches on my chest, body facing away, but as soon as she bends forwards and wraps her lips around my pulsing erection again, I waste no time shoving the silk to one side, revealing the pink flesh I had for the first time last night.
“Look at you, so fucking wet.” I wrap one arm around her waist, tugging her hips back just enough to greet her pussy with my tongue and begin stroking that tiny nub, up and back, up and back. Fast. “You’re sore where I pounded, but not so sore you don’t want your clit licked, huh, Katie? Good girl, giving me that pussy so I can lick it all better.” I yank the panties more securely to the side. “Tilt your hips for me so I can tongue the whole thing clean.”