I whimper my shock into his mouth, and his tongue coaxes the sound into his own. Despite myself, I shiver in pleasure. He tastes like blackberries and the wine he had with dinner. My hands flutter to his shoulders and clench in his shirt, holding on for dear life.
My head is spinning from his kiss and the wine, but my nerves are fading. The spark of irritation I’ve been nursing for him, though, that’s stoking higher with each demanding stroke of his tongue, with each throb of arousal that pulses inside of me.
“Wait,” I try to say into his mouth, but he licks the sensitive inner rim of my lips, throwing my mind to carnal places, sending me shuddering.
I press back into the door away from him, needing air, needing to think, even as my hips tilt into his.
Traitors.
He crowds me closer, not letting me escape, his other hand cupping my waist, then moving up to my breast.
Breath catching in shock, I bite his lip.
Jaykob jerks his head back, and if I wasn’t reeling, I would laugh at the shock on his face. Then he smirks, something close to surprised pleasure creeping into his expression. He touches his lip where a bead of blood has welled. Desire whips his eyes into stormy seas.
“If you want it rough, princess,” he drawls, “all you gotta do is ask.”
My eyes widen, and I squirm, instinctively trying to get out of his grip. All it does is rub me against the hard, insistent length of him until his jaw tenses.
“Just . . . slow down! There’s no need t-to throw me around like this.”
“You want me to stop?”
He’s everywhere. Big and broad and—God, does he have to feel so good? “I— N-no.”
He snorts, and my cheeks burn. I glare at him.
“Did no one ever teach you basic manners? And . . . and can we turn off the light? Please?” The throaty sound of my voice spoils my indignance.
The smirk deepens. “Manners, hmm?”
He steps back, and I’m about to reward him with an approving smile when he grasps the straps of my dress and yanks them down to my waist, completely exposing the top half of my body. My breasts swell wantonly over the cups of my bra.
I choke on a gasp, eyes widening in anger. “You—”
The words die in my throat as he yanks his own shirt off. He towers over me, and I greedily take in the miles of corded, thick muscles now naked in front of me. Tattoos cover his chest, and the intricate skulls and vines on his arms stand out in sharp relief.
His skin is taut and smooth over his powerful muscles, except for a smattering of circular scars that pattern his upper left shoulder and a thick white scar that wraps horizontally across his stomach. My eyes dip as his rough, calloused hands grasp his belt and pop it open. It’s impossible to miss the tight, substantial strain below the buckle.
I grab hold of the door handle, worried I’ll lose my legs again. I try to work moisture into my dry mouth, but it won’t come.
While I know the men I’m living with are in good shape, I’ve never seen an actual eight-pack before. Some deep, buried part of me wants to lick my tongue over the ridges.
“There,” he mocks. “Very fair. Reciprocal. See? I’m a fucking gentleman.”
His hand leaves his belt and wraps around my throat possessively, then strokes down my front, over my breasts.
“You got some real nice manners right here too, princess.”
My chest lifts too quickly under his wide, warm hand. His hard-earned callouses scrape over my silky soft skin as he traces the edge of my bra.
“I— I don’t. . . Maybe we could just talk first?” I stammer.
Jaykob’s stormy eyes narrow. “Sugar, I’m not your boyfriend. You wanna have a heart-to-heart? Go run to Beau.”
My breath hitches and when I look up at him, there’s more than a hint of challenge in his gaze. A kind of knowing, self-deprecating resentment. He’s pushing me on purpose.
He thinks I’m going to run.
And I realize, for all his rudeness, he’s giving me enough space to get away from him.
I push my glasses back up, trying to think as his fingers track closer and closer to the clasp of my bra. I lift my hand and press it against him, but instead of pushing him away as I intended, my hand flexes on his tight abs. He smells good, I realize.
Like cars and wind and raw man.
“Let’s try a different game,” he says with none of the humor Lucky might have teased me with, “’cause I don’t feel like playing ‘will I or won’t I’ all night.”
My cheeks burn. He steps closer again, and using one of his boots, knocks my feet wide, unbalancing me. His hand dips to the hem on my dress, then slides up my inner thigh.
“Three options, sugar.” His eyes glint. “One. Turn around and leave right now, then tomorrow you pack up your things and get out.”
I glare at him. I’ve already made up my mind, the jerk. There’s no way I’m running off now.
He continues, and his breath fans my lips. “Second option. You can walk out that door and I’ll even be a gentleman and tell the others we fucked. No questions asked.” He smirks. “If you can prove you don’t actually want me to bury my cock deep inside that princess fucking pussy of yours.”
His hand hitches higher, and I squirm. I’m slick and wet and wondering if he can feel the heat of me already. My cheeks redden at the thought. Something about his rough, mocking smile is starting to get to me. His fingers are coarse on the sensitive skin of my inner thigh. So male to my female.
Jaykob’s voice lowers as he presses his face close, his lips an inch from mine. “Or, if you’re as soaking wet as I reckon you are, you shut up with your good-girl protests and let me fuck you. Not with the lights off, not with a please and thank you and seven hours of foreplay. My way.” His lips brush mine as his fingers catch on the edge of my panties. “Fast, rough, and messy.”
Oh, God. Time to turn your eyes away, Jesus.
I’m panting against his mouth, and I can’t do a thing to stop it.
I know what he’ll find if his fingers dip any further.
When I don’t move, he pulls my panties to the side and then plunges two fingers into my slick, wet heat. I clench around the tight, sudden pressure with a gasp, and roll my hips forward urgently, pressing him deeper.
When I meet his eyes, he gives me his first real smile. It’s small and slow and full of male satisfaction. Unable to stop myself, I widen my stance further, allowing him better access. His coarse fingers fill me, stretch me. I’m dripping around him.
He presses his forehead to mine. “Filthy bitch.”
I hate that he sounds approving. I hate that I care. I hate that him using me this way, talking to me this way, makes me hot and liquid and dangerously desperate.
Embarrassed and annoyed and more turned on than I can believe, I close the short distance and press my mouth to his, wanting to wipe the amusement from his face.
He grunts, lips parting. His thumb moves so it rubs my clit as his fingers pump in and out of my soaking core. Head spinning, I let out a sobbing moan and scrape my nails down his chest to the top of his jeans, shuddering at the feel of his firm skin under my fingertips. He draws my tongue into his mouth and sucks on it hard.
I rock myself instinctively against his fingers, sending pleasure crashing over me. It’s not the deliberate build I felt with Beau and Jasper; it’s wild, raw passion. I’m so close. My traitorous body feels out of my control, chasing pleasure with a desperation I’ve never felt before.