by Penny Reid
And yet I was no angel. I was a criminal who’d never been caught, and Jenn loved me. Was I more worthy of love than Repo because I’d been smart enough to evade the law—thus far—and he hadn’t? Or was it the nature and number of our crimes that separated us?
That seemed like a slippery slope, a maple syrup hill with a slathering of lube.
“Cletus.”
“Jennifer.” I sidled up to her.
She tracked me with her eyes. “She doesn’t love him. And there’s no way someone like that could ever make her happy. He’s a terrible man.”
“He’s pretty terrible.” He was also pretty smart, clever, and based on other facts I knew about him, surprisingly unselfish at times. I wasn’t sure what the man’s hard lines were, what moral code he subscribed to, but I knew he had hard lines and a moral code. That was more—much more—than could be said for my father. Or Jenn’s.
But enough about Repo. Jenn and I were alone with a light on. I’d told her the truth and she wasn’t angry at me. The bass from the club below thrummed in the background, just enough to provide a soundtrack for . . . activities.
Reaching around, I slid my fingertips down her spine. Her lashes fluttered, a new kind of heat kindling behind her gaze.
“I didn’t bring you here for this.” I bent, then brushed a kiss against her lips, nuzzling her nose with mine. “But since we are here.”
“Cletus,” she said my name, the word breathless, and I reveled in the sudden change.
One of the sexiest things about my woman was how very ready she was for me, each and every time. One moment we’d be discussing tulips, and she’d be lamenting that they only bloomed once a year, and then I’d look at her or I’d touch her and this—this look right here, this dreamy, hopeful look—lit behind her eyes.
She’d said once that she didn’t think she was made for love. I’d told her, It’s exactly what you’re made for, and I’d been right. I should’ve known something was amiss when she’d rebuffed me weeks ago only to reach for me at night.
“I miss looking at you,” I said, hooking my fingers into the strap of her bra. I slid it down her shoulder. “I miss doing things to you with the lights on. I miss watching . . .”
Her body trembled and she swayed, pulling air into her lungs as though the oxygen was in short supply. Reaching down, I unbuttoned her jeans, and she moved the black dress out of the way, setting it on the desk behind her. Her bra sagged without the support of its straps and I bent, swirling my tongue around the center of her breast.
Jenn’s nails were in my hair and she shimmied her hips, helping me remove her pants and underwear. “What are—what are you gonna do?”
“What do you want me to do?” I asked. I was open for anything, always. But what I really wanted was her sitting on the desk naked, legs open for my mouth. There were very few things I loved more than watching Jennifer Sylvester, short woman baker, lose her mind while I ate out her pussy. Prior to the solidifying of our relationship, it had been my most frequent—and at the time, most inconvenient—daydream. And night dream. And wet dream.
“Can we—” her breath hitched, and I moved to the other breast, encouraging her to lean back on the desk and sit on her dress “—try something new?”
Something new? Getting naked in a strange office above a club we’d never patronized wasn’t new? Images of her and me together, things we hadn’t done yet, possibilities flitted through my head. Both heads.
“What did you have in mind?” I asked. Though I had many ideas, many, many, many ideas, I wanted to know what she fantasized about. Then I wanted to do that. Jennifer successfully freed herself from her shoes and pants using her feet while I lavished her breasts with wet kisses, keeping my eyes open the whole time. I didn’t want to miss a moment.
“A shower.”
I paused, frowning. “A shower.”
She squirmed, pushing her chest toward my mouth, and smoothing her palms down my body. Fitting her hands inside my jacket, she shoved it off, and then grabbed the hem of my shirt, lifting, pushing it up.
“I guess not here, but later?”
“Taking showers together has been on your mind?” I smiled, liking that she’d been thinking sexy thoughts.
Her fingers reached inside my boxers, encircled me, tugged. “Yessss . . .”
I grunted, the muscles in my stomach, back, bottom, and legs tensing, and my palms came to the table on either side of her for balance because she’d started stroking me with one hand while shoving at my pants with the other.
“I need you,” she moaned, opening her legs wider, pulling me forward by my dick. “I need you, I need—”
“Shh.” I covered her hand with mine, slowing her movements and staring into her eyes. She looked desperate.
Jenn was already on the cusp, and I’d barely touched her. If I took her like this, in this position, she’d come in ten seconds.
“Lie back.” I fit my hand in the crook of her back and encouraged her to recline on the desk.
Once in position, her legs dangling over the edge, I stepped between her thighs, entering her slowly. Panting, her body bowed, her hands grabbing at nothing, her eyebrows lifting, her lips parting.
I swallowed a rush of saliva, my heart hammering in my chest as I greedily devoured the sight of her, prone, naked. I thought about withdrawing and kneeling, taking her with my mouth first, like I’d wanted. Our eyes locked, and she must’ve read the temptation in my eyes because she moaned again, her head rolling back, exposing her neck. She tilted her hips, her body instinctively seeking friction for that sweet spot at the juncture of her thighs. Not yet.
Canvasing her body, every delectable dip and soft curve, I lowered my eyes to watch as my cock stretched her opening. Hot and tight and slick. A shock of electricity climbed up my spine, the feel of her was too good, perfect, I couldn’t think. She felt—
“Fuck.” I began to withdraw, my stomach muscles tensing. Some base instinct had me pushing deeper inside, lulled by the feel of her walls against my bare skin. No wonder she felt so good. I wasn’t wearing a condom!
“Wha-what’s wrong?”
“I didn’t put one on.” I managed the words between clenched teeth while the thought tethering them slipped away, some primitive part of my mind urging me to just fucking forget about the stupid fucking condom. Jenn was on birth control.
Enjoy. Yourself.
“Put . . . what . . . on?”
God, watching her body move in response to mine, how she shifted, her lips parted, her breasts jostled with each rhythmic roll of my hips. Hypnotizing. Skin against skin felt amazing, so amazing, so perfect and hot and tight and yielding.
“Cletus?”
I loved every part of her, I wanted to worship her. She would be worshiped, it’s what she deserved. Peeled grapes and handcuffs. And an ice cube. And a feather. Maybe a blindfold. Definitely a spreader bar. When we got home, I was going to tie her up and kiss every inch of her body. I was going to use my fingers and tongue and the ice cube to make her squirm and beg.
Start now.
“Put what—ah!” She moaned again because I’d brushed the back of my fingers through the hair between her legs, teasing, giving her just a little friction but not enough.
“Please,” she cried, angling her hips for more.
I bent to trail kisses between her breasts, nipping at her shoulders and neck, parting her folds with my fingers but not touching her where she needed.
I growled against her neck. “You want it? Touch yourself.”
A shocked-sounding breath was quickly replaced by a hitching one as I laved my tongue into her ear, biting the lobe as I retreated.
Nonsensical words, part prayer, part praise, tumbled out of her, a litany of promises and pleases. Sliding a hand down her torso, to her hip, along her thigh, I hooked it behind her knee and brought it up, pushing deeper inside, harder. She whimpered, her reluctant fingers inching toward the inside of her leg.
I bowed my back, my attention
on her hand hovering above her body. I needed a full view, so I straightened, bringing her other knee up and spreading her legs wider. The pretty pink nub revealed itself, wet, swollen, neglected. I bet it ached. My tongue darted out to moisten my lips. I wanted to lick it.
“Cletus?”
She’d asked for something new?
Threading our hands together, I brought her middle finger to where she needed, just a light tap, and instantly her body clamped around me, spasming. A cry building on a low moan became uncontrolled. She was gone, lost to her own bliss, and I was right behind her. Watching her fingers take over, touching and rubbing with no skill, clumsy, needful strokes. She squeezed around me, over and over. It was too much. Fire erupted at the base of my spine. I fell as I pushed and pushed until spent, my heart beating out of my chest, seeking hers.
God, she was lovely. Sexy. Spread out before me, all soft skin and sweetness, breathtaking, vulnerable and strong.
I still wanted to worship her. I wanted to get down on my knees and pledge troths and undying devotion and unending worship. Every time it was the same, the overwhelming sense that it could never get better than this.
But then, somehow, it always did.
Chapter Ten
*Jenn*
“Paranoid? Probably. But just because you're paranoid doesn't mean there isn't an invisible demon about to eat your face.”
Jim Butcher, Storm Front
Cletus and I spent the night at the Winston place.
More specifically, we slept in the carriage house’s second bedroom, typically reserved for Roscoe on the weekends Jethro, Sienna, and Benjamin were in Green Valley. When Jethro and family were away, Billy stayed in the big house, keeping an eye on things. Otherwise, Billy opted for the master suite in the carriage house, a two-bedroom Victorian structure Jethro had remodeled a while back.
Originally, Jethro, Sienna, and their cute-as-pie baby had used the carriage house when they were in town. But with Duane and Jessica James off traveling the world, Roscoe in school, and everyone else—Beau, Ash, and Cletus—mostly cohabitating with their significant others, the Winston siblings only occupied their original rooms on the rare night here or there.
As much as Sienna encouraged Billy to stay in the main house all the time, it was clear that the second oldest Winston brother wanted to give the growing family their space and privacy. Plus, Benjamin hadn’t been a good sleeper, keeping anyone within a hallway’s distance up most of the night.
I suspected Billy enjoyed watching the aftereffects of Jethro’s sleepless nights from afar, but still be close enough to witness his brother’s suffering firsthand. Their relationship had been an interesting one to observe and gave me hope that, one day, Isaac and I might reconcile, settle into something similar despite the years and hurt feelings between us.
Point was, if Jethro Winston could repent and embrace a better life, anyone could.
Cletus and I did stop back by my place to grab a few items before heading over for the night, making a big show of talking about how much fun we’d had at the club, how it was just what we’d needed after the last few weeks. Of course Cletus used the opportunity to drop some innuendos—
“You should lie back and relax more often.”
“We should get a desk in here, they’re so useful.”
“Trying new things should always be a priority.”
“Do you think it’s too late for a shower before bed?”
And the worst, “It was a pleasure to see you get in touch with yourself.”
By the time we’d packed up and skedaddled for the homestead, my face was on fire. But we didn’t talk at all during the drive. I didn’t feel like we could speak freely, not yet, not until we knew for sure who’d put that camera in my house and the extent to which we’d been bugged.
Following Cletus’s lead, we both left our phones off and in the car. He’d sent a group message to Billy, Sienna, and Jet from the club’s office to expect us after midnight. Billy had texted back: 1) that the second bedroom in the carriage house was free since Roscoe hadn’t come home for the weekend, and 2) to please be quiet when we arrived as he had a big meeting in the morning.
Sure enough, all was quiet and dark when we arrived. Despite Cletus’s earlier innuendo, he passed out within minutes. Whereas I took a shower. A sleepy, lonely shower.
I slept better than I had in weeks. I figured this was because Cletus and I had finally talked freely. Perhaps I was paranoid, but I wondered if the carriage house had also been bugged. Maybe even the big house too. I worried we’d have to drive out of town to different clubs each time we wanted to talk.
I was awoken by my big man feathering my face with kisses and copping a feel over my pajamas. “Are you awake? Alex sent a drone,” he whispered.
I opened one eye. “A drone?”
“Yep.” He leaned away so his eyes could meet mine, no longer whispering. “Your house has cameras and listening devices and—get this—they’re DEA.”
“DEA?”
“Drug Enforcement Agency.”
I shook my head, uncertain I’d heard him right. Or maybe this was a dream. Am I asleep? “Why would the DEA want to bug my house? And how can Alex tell the difference between FBI and DEA surveillance equipment?”
“I don’t know the particulars, only that he does something with high frequency sound waves and can, uh, tap into government inventory systems undetected. The man is magical. And, furthermore, I have no idea why they’re interested in us, but we’ll find out. And your momma’s place has no cameras, but it does have bugs—not the cockroach kind—all FBI.”
“FBI?!” I opened the other eye. “Why would the FBI be interested in my mother? What is going on?”
“I have thoughts about that, but let’s save them for later. The best news is that the homestead has nothing.”
“Nothing?”
“Nope. Nothing. The big house and the carriage house are clean. I guess no one wants to bug the house of a congressman.” The side of Cletus’s mouth quirked up. “Finally, something good comes out of Billy winning the state seat.”
“So we can do whatever we want here? Say whatever we want?” What a relief!
“Looks like. But to be sure, let’s leave our phones off and in the car until Alex takes a look.” Then he wagged his eyebrows. “We don’t have time for a shared shower, but we do have time for a quickie.”
I sighed happily, flinging my arms wide and lying back. “Please. Be my guest. Do whatever you want.”
“Whatever I want?” I’d closed my eyes again, but I could hear the challenge and eyebrow raise in his tone.
“Whatever you—Oh!”
One hand was already in my underwear giving me light, skillful strokes, and another had clamped over my mouth. “Shh. Billy’s definition of early is different than ours. He’s still here, getting ready. Can you be quiet?”
I nodded, spreading my legs wider and tilting my hips, seeking more of his touch.
Uncovering my mouth, he pressed a quick kiss to my lips, tasting of mint toothpaste but mostly mouthwash, the strong kind that keeps your tongue tingling after use. In the next moment, he’d whipped off my pajama bottoms and shoved my shirt up, yanking me to the foot of the bed and kneeling on the floor between my knees.
Now I was fully awake.
“Cletus!”
“Shh. This will feel new.” His breath fell against my inner thigh and he sounded almost gleeful. Placing a kiss right at my very center, he then suckled me into his mouth, his tongue sliding back and forth with lazy sweeps, and a lightning bolt of peculiar sensation sent a shock up my spine.
The mouthwash.
When I would’ve jolted off the bed, he pressed me down, one hand on my belly, the other gripping my hip. I had to cover my mouth with my own hands to keep from crying out. It certainly felt new and my mind raced, wondering if the tingle would lead to a burning? But . . . no. It felt amazing. New and amazing seemed to be Cletus’s specialty.
I didn’t last l
ong, maybe two minutes, so his promise of a quickie had been accurate. Stars burst behind my eyes and I pressed my head back against the mattress. Perhaps not satisfied with the expediency of my completion, Cletus pushed a finger—maybe two—inside and I was coming all over again.
Once I’d finished writhing and the aftershocks were at an end, he placed wet kisses on my thighs, stomach, ribs, pausing at my breasts and whispered a deep, “Hello, girls.”
I covered my face because it made me laugh, like he was picking my boobs up in a bar or something. He was so funny and wonderful. Cletus spent a few long moments loving them, kissing, massaging, eventually coming to my side and propping his head up on one hand, his elbow braced on the mattress.
“Good morning, Jenn.” His eyes twinkled down at me, his free hand moving over my body, just touching for the sake of touching.
“Good morning, Cletus.” I turned toward him and reached for his waist expecting to find pajama pants. Instead, I encountered a belt. “What is this?!”
“We have things that need seeing to. I’ve been informed through the Winston family grapevine that Ashley is on her way over and Sienna is expecting us for breakfast. We got to go.”
“Let me do something to you first.” It was silly, but I still had trouble saying the words blow job.
“Uh, no.” He rolled off the bed, fast as a sailfish, before I could get a good hold on his clothes.
Sitting up, I righted my shirt and scowled. “What? Why not?”
“I’ll meet you at the big house.”
“Cletus!”
I jumped off the bed and, miraculously, made it to the bedroom door before he did. Perhaps I was more motivated.
“Jenn—”
“Why won’t you ever let me do that? I know you like it.”
Cletus shoved his hands in his pockets, holding himself away, and my eyes moved over him. The man was entirely too sexy, especially today for some reason. He wore jeans that fit him well and a black long-sleeve T-shirt that did such wonderful things for the muscles in his shoulders and arms. But beneath the untucked shirt, he also wore one of his complicated belts. Cletus had begun special ordering these contraptions from some gadget guru on the internet, and I always had trouble taking them off. They might as well have been of the chastity variety. I really need to practice undoing his belts.