He stills. I smile.
“All night?” His voice is dark and hungry.
“Yes, all night.” My answer is spoken through the
satisfied smile that pulls at my lips.
His eyes lock on mine, wide and fascinated.
“What? You didn’t expect me to wear panties with
this dress, did you? It’s too low cut in the back. I had to go
commando.” Who knew something as simple as not wearing panties
could give me so much power? And power over someone as strong and
commanding as Jonah is a potent aphrodisiac.
“That would have saved us a whole lot of trouble
tonight. If I had known you were naked under that dress, I can
guarantee you wouldn’t have seen Camille or your mom. Hell, you
wouldn’t have seen much outside of my sheets.”
I place a soft kiss against his lips and stand. His
eyebrows drop low as he watches me with rapt attention. I turn my
back to him, but peek over my shoulder and wink. He stares at me, a
helpless look on his face.
Yes!
I slip a strap off my shoulder, making sure to keep
my eyes locked on his. He licks his lips. I turn and glance over my
other shoulder before sliding that strap down. His fists flex
against his massive thighs. Inch by inch, I drop the dress lower in
a lazy striptease. His eyes glaze over beneath heavy lids as I
reveal the backside of my naked body in painstakingly slow
steps.
Finally, with the dress pooling around my feet, I
step out of the silken fabric. I’m left standing in my high heels.
And nothing else.
Jonah rises to his feet. Still with my back to him,
I’m attacked by a moment of self-consciousness and cup my breasts
to hide them from his view.
He steps behind me. I can feel the heat from his
body and smell the spice of his cologne, but he’s not touching
me.
“Turn around,” he demands gently.
My head swivels his way, followed by my body. The
clicking of my shoes against the marble floor is the only sound in
the room next to my quickened breath.
His eyes take me in from hair to heels. With a
feather light touch, he removes my hands from my breasts. “No
hiding.”
He runs his fingers from my hand, to my shoulder.
They continue their journey down my spine to my bottom. I suck in a
breath as he traces the line down between my legs and back up
leaving a trail of heat that pools in my belly. He walks in a slow
circle around me, never breaking his fingers contact with my flesh,
skating around to my stomach, my hip, and back while he walks.
His gaze is dark and predatory as he stalks me.
Gorgeously sculpted muscles painted in brilliant colors catch and
reflect the light. I stare at him unabashed, watching his
reflection in the mirror when his circle is complete and he’s
stopped behind me. His silence speaks volumes while he takes in my
form.
“Leave the shoes on.” The jagged edge to his voice
sends a delicious tremble up my spine.
I turn toward him and grab the waist of his slacks.
The evidence of his arousal is pressing against his fly, pushing
the fabric past capacity. I run my fingers along his length,
feeling steel beneath wool. His hips flex into my touch.
“Jonah—”
“Step back, baby.”
I move back until the cold granite presses against
my backside. His hands grip my waist and lift, setting me on the
countertop. The heat from his kiss and warm hands at my breasts
erase the chill of the icy rock against my bare skin.
He presses himself between my legs, gripping my hips
with impatience. I fumble with his belt and zipper, his breath
escaping on a hiss when I finally release him. I gasp as he slides
a hand between my legs, forcing a tremble of need to slither down
my spine.
“Jonah, the bed. Now.” His barely-there touch and
gentle coaxing has me begging for his possession.
A flash of his one-dimple smile and heavy eyelids
almost push me to the edge. He works between my legs with magical
fingers. With my hands braced behind me, I press against his
hand.
“Not going to the bed, baby. I want to watch
us.”
His words are confusing, but I’m too lost in the
sensations to ask for explanation. My heart races; pleasure coils
deep in my belly. A moan falls from my lips. He moves his hand, and
I miss it for a second before I feel his heat press against me.
“Yes,” I whisper.
He buries himself deep and captures my mouth. With
one thrust, my vision explodes in Technicolor sparks. Tingling
shards of ecstasy flood my body. I call out his name, rolling my
hips and riding out my release. He covers my neck and shoulder in
wet kisses. Caught up in my free fall, I wrap my legs around his
waist and rock against him, greedy for more.
“So fucking pretty.” He runs his hands from my hips
to my knees and behind him to my calves. “Love your shoes, baby. I
want to feel them digging into my back. Wrap me tight.”
A sagging puppet at his mercy, I lock my ankles
behind his back. He braces his hands on the counter’s edge, putting
distance between our torsos. I watch in fascination as his eyes
lower to our connection. I turn to our reflection in the mirror at
the end of the double-sink countertop.
The visual of our bodies loving each other in an
erotic rhythm has me memorized. His multi-colored biceps contract.
Abdominal muscles ripple with every flex of his hips. My body sways
in time with each delicious thrust, back and forth in waves.
For the first time, I see myself the way Jonah sees
me: sexy, alluring, and even tempting. My long legs, tipped with
stilettos, are wrapped tightly around his waist. Our eyes meet in
the mirror. No smiles now.
Only scorching fire.
We watch our reflection and the pleasure builds. Our
eyes lock in intimacy, liberating us of our need for words.
His gaze drops to my breasts, the driving power
making them bounce. He bends forward, taking one into his mouth,
and flicking the tip with his tongue. I grind into him harder,
desperate for more contact.
A current builds, starting loose in my torso and
condensing in my stomach. My lips part to accommodate my labored
breath.
He pulls back, locks eyes with mine, and bites his
lip. My hands sift through his hair and to pull his mouth to mine.
A groan rumbles in his chest. His fingers dig into my bottom, the
pinch against the sensitive flesh pushing me higher.
And like a lightning strike, I’m hit. My insides,
once liquid, crystalize and shatter in pulses of euphoria. I throw
my head back and moan. I fight to stay upright as my body enjoys
the blissful indulgence.
He collapses on top of me before I feel his teeth
sink into my shoulder. I tilt my head, and he groans against my
skin, his body jolting from the power of his release.
My arms shake with the reverberations of my orgasm
or from the strain of holding up our weight. He must sense my
struggle and lifts his body to pull me to his chest.
Jonah holds me close, running his fingers through my
hair while I come down and catch my breath. He places soft kisses
on my face before we’re drawn to our reflection.
He smiles. “That was hot.”
I blush and agree. “Blazing.”
“I’m buying you a pair of those shoes in every color
they make.”
“They’re 500 dollars.”
“Make that two pair in every color.”
His expression is serious, and I burst into
laughter. All of the stress and pressure I’d been feeling from
earlier dissolve to a distant memory.
With a small effort, Jonah lifts me from the counter
and places me on my wobbly legs. I look down and notice his pants
are still around his ankles. He kicks them off and kneels in front
of me. One by one, he slips off my shoes so that we’re both
standing naked.
He pulls me into his arms. “You doing better?”
“Yeah.” I chuckle, remembering the state Jonah found
me in earlier. “Guess I just needed the release.”
His body shakes with silent laughter.
What is it
with his sense of humor?
I pull back enough to show him my
confusion.
“Guess you got your release . . . twice.”
“Jonah!” I slap his arm and my face flames.
“Ow!” His humor fades and something serious works
behind his eyes. “I Hhate seeing you like that.”
“It’s okay—”
“No. It’s not. I can’t wait for this shit to be
over. For you to be free of . . .”
I rest my cheek against his chest and sigh. “Me
too.”
He reaches over and flips on the shower. The room
fills with steam. “Come on. I’ll get you all cleaned up. We have a
big day tomorrow.”
“Big day?”
His eyebrows hit his hairline.
My hand covers my mouth as realization dawns.
Tomorrow I meet his mom.
Jonah
“I think I might puke.” Raven rubs her stomach, a
grimace etched into her gorgeous face. She’s made herself sick
worrying about meeting my mom. I couldn’t even get her to eat
breakfast.
I wonder if any of her nerves this morning are
leftover from her breakdown last night. I’d never seen a person go
from rat-shit mad to completely unglued. When I overheard her
laughing in the bathroom, I realized she’d reached her breaking
point. I knew I needed to bring her back—to pull her from her
hysterics and place her gently back into her skin.
Her skin.
My dick twitches at the memory of her slowly sliding
off that dress, each sliver of delicate flesh, beckoning for my
touch—the way her body responded immediately to the slightest brush
of my fingers, opening to my unspoken request. Erotic flashes of
her legs wrapped around my body flood my mind. Heat radiates from
the red marks on my back left by her shoes. Watching the reflection
of our bodies tangled together is forever branded into my
memory.
A groan bubbles up from my throat, and Raven turns
her attention toward me with narrowed eyes, throwing me from my
sexy daydream. Her eyes get big at the sound of a mumbled voice
over the airport’s loudspeaker.
“What’d he say? Was that it? Did they just announce
her flight? I think that’s her flight,” she says, her eyes dart
around the baggage claim carousel where we’ve been waiting for the
last fifteen minutes.
Raven bounces on her toes like a kid who has to pee.
My lips pull up. “Maybe you shouldn’t have had that fourth cup of
coffee this morning.”
“She’s not going to like me. She probably wants you
with some sweet, homey girl who, you know, bakes or loves
scrapbooking, not a car mechanic who can’t even microwave popcorn.”
She looks around like she’s mapping out an escape.
“You kick ass with a microwave, baby. Don’t sell
yourself short.”
She glares at me, but her mouth ticks with the
shadow of a smile.
“Baby, she’s going to love you. Trust me. Now stop
jumping around like a fucking pogo-stick and come here.”
I throw my arm over her shoulder and she leans into
me. Her muscles relax as my fingers trace along her skin.
“Excuse me, ‘Assassin’?”
A tall, awkward boy in the throes of puberty
approaches us.
“Yeah.”
He shuffles his feet and avoids my eyes. He’s taller
than Raven, but lanky. His messy brown hair hangs over his
black-rimmed glasses. Printed in bold letters, his bright yellow
shirt reads
Stephen King is my Homeboy
. I stifle a
laugh.
“I thought it was you.” He flips a pen in his hand.
“I’m a big fan. I’ve seen all your fights.” His voice cracks. “That
take down against ‘Pit Bull’ Perez in oh-nine was the best I’d ever
seen. I know you’re going to beat Del Toro tomorrow.
Raven gasps, and her grip tightens on the back of my
shirt.
“I can’t wait to see the look on Del Toro’s face
when you hold up that belt.”
You and me both, kid.
Pride in my ability as
a fighter, and anger for my inability to prove it, battle for
dominance in my head.
“Thanks, man. I appreciate your support.” This kid’s
got the height and the know-how. From the looks of his worn jeans,
ratty shoes, and . . . everything else, I’d guess he gets his fair
share of assholes at school fucking with him. That’s all any good
fighter needs. Fuel. “You know your stuff. Any interest in fighting
for the UFL?”
“Humph, I wish.” He shrugs and runs the back of his
hand across his forehead, making his glasses lopsided. “My mom says
I’m too weak for sports.” He scrunches his nose to straighten the
frames on his face.
“What are you? About a buck fifty?”
“Just about.”
“You start training, pack on a little muscle. You’d
be a perfect welterweight.”
His smile is so big that it looks as if it may break
his face. “You really think so?”
“Think so? I know so.”
“Wow. Thanks, ‘Assassin.’” He stares at me, but his
glazed eyes tell me he’s in his head. Probably picturing himself as
a fighter five years down the road. He blinks. “Oh! Can I get your
autograph?”
He hands me a black sharpie marker and turns around,
motioning for me to sign his t-shirt.
“Sure, what’s your name?”
“Killian.”
“No shit?” Great name for a fighter.
“Yeah.” The backs of his ears turn bright red. “It’s
Irish.”
I write a quick message on the shoulder of his
shirt.
Killer Killian,
No one dictates your future but you.
The Assassin
I pop on the cap and hand Killian his pen.
“Good luck tomorrow night.” He stands a little
taller, his voice more confident.
“You start training, you hear me?”
He smiles, nods, then turns and walks away.
Raven’s head burrows deeper into my chest. I
instinctively pull her closer. Her arms wrap around my waist and
she’s no longer bouncing and jittery. “That was sweet. You’re great
with your fans.”
I kiss her head. “Yeah, well, they’ve been really
good to me.”
But will they ever forgive me for letting them
down?