Page 57 of Worth the Wait

His smile curves slowly, eyes darkening even in the low light. "Not that you know. That you're so willing to demand it."

I consider this, recognizing the truth in his observation. "In the courtroom, in negotiations, I have to be strategic, careful with every word. Here…" I gesture between us. "Why waste time with ambiguity when clarity gets better results?"

His laugh vibrates through his chest beneath my palm. "A very Tarryn Wells approach to bedroom communication. Efficient and effective."

"You're complaining?" I arch an eyebrow, deliberately shifting against him to feel his body's immediate response.

"God, no." His hand slides to my hip, holding me against him. "It's incredibly sexy. Knowing exactly what you want, hearing you ask for it—command it, really—it's the hottest thing I've ever experienced."

Heat blooms across my skin at his words, desire rekindling despite our recent release. His hand moves higher, cupping my breast with perfect pressure, thumb circling the peak that immediately tightens beneath his touch.

"What do you want now?" he asks, voice dropping to that register that turns my insides to liquid heat.

I slide my leg over his, positioning myself above him once more. "Round two," I tell him, rolling my hips in deliberate provocation. "Unless you're too tired?"

The challenge in my voice has exactly the effect I intended. In one fluid movement, he flips us, pinning me beneath him with his weight.

"I'll show you tired," he growls against my neck, teeth grazing the sensitive skin beneath my ear.

Chapter 14

Jackson

The speakeasy hides behind an unmarked black door tucked into a quiet stretch of Fulton Market, the kind of place you only know if someone trusted shows you. I guide Tarryn through the entrance with my hand at the small of her back, fingers splayed across the silk of her dress. The heat of her skin bleeds through the fabric, branding my palm with memory and need.

My body buzzes with electricity at the connection. My mind fighting to stay focused on walking instead of letting it take me back to the memory of being inside her, her tits pressed against me as her pussy milked my cock and she moaned my name.

Inside the bar, everything softens. Amber light spills across leather booths and gleaming mahogany, the deep hum of jazz winding through the place. A hostess leads us to a half-moon booth in the corner, discreet and dimly lit. It’s intimate.

We slide in, and even though the space is wide enough to keep our distance, she leans toward me like she always did when we were teenagers.

"You know Chicago better than I would've expected," she says, her voice warm with a flit of amusement. “Discover this on one of your dates?”

“Hardly.” I roll my eyes, ignoring her attempt to find out if there’s been a string of women before her nestled next to me in this booth. I signal the server, eyes never leaving hers. "I spent two summers interning at Marshall & Gould. The senior partner was obsessed with speakeasies. Said the best deals were made when people felt like they were getting away with something.”

She laughs, and it hits me hard, deep and low in my chest, that familiar ache that’s never fully gone away.

"Sounds like something you'd say.”

I smile, not denying it. "Maybe I like the idea of getting away with something forbidden. Or maybe…" I lean in slightly, caught in the gravitational pull between us. "I just like the look on your face right now.”

Her brow lifts. "What look is that?”

"Relaxed. Open.” I lean back a touch, studying her features. “Like you're not at war with yourself.”

The light dances across her cheekbones, softening her features. She’s always been stunning but seeing her like this, unguarded, even for a moment, is pure bliss. I drink her in like it’s been years since I’ve allowed myself to.

Because it has been.

"Tell me something I don't know about you," she says. "Something from the last eight years. No resumes allowed.”

I let the silence stretch for a breath, then offer it to her straight.

"I lived on a houseboat after law school. Six months. No Wi-Fi, barely any reception. Just Lake Monroe, cheap bourbon, and solitude.”

Her eyes widen and she lets out a burst of laughter. "Seriously? You? Mr. Buttoned-Up Power Suit lived off-grid?”

"Pretty much." I shrug, but my chest tightens. "I needed to stop chasing things. I needed to be still for a while. Let the dust settle.”

---