Page 27 of Jett

“You’re a fool, Jetthro.”

His lips quirk up into a bemused grin. “No one’s called me that since I was a kid.”

I shake my head. “I’m not sleeping with Grim, you idiot.”

“Bullshit. I don’t believe he hasn’t been all up in that tight little cunt of yours.”

“Jett,” I whisper. His face is close to mine. Too close. “I haven’t slept with Grim or any man for a very long time. I haven’t wanted anyone.”

“You want me. I just can’t figure out why you’re stalling.”

“You’re married.”

“And?”

“I can’t do this. I’m ... I can’t.” I push on his chest, but he doesn’t back up. Instead, he leans closer and his lips brush mine in the softest kiss—teasing, as if he’s testing my reaction. I part my lips and allow his tongue to slip inside my mouth. He tastes bittersweet, like whiskey and cigarettes. I moan. My hand on his chest trails lower, turns from pushing away to pleading as I slide it under his T-shirt and cut, and feel the warm, rigid stomach beneath.

His lips explore mine as he circles my waist with strong hands. Lifting my body with ease, he sets me on the counter and fills the space between my legs. I slide my hands from his well-defined abs, up to the thick muscles of his shoulders, and down again—both desperate and afraid to move them lower, to seek out his hardness. He squeezes my breast as I break away from his mouth and moan again. Jett trails kisses along my skin to the sensitive spot where my neck and shoulder meet. His hands steal inside my robe, pushing up the black satin chemise that Ivy loaned me. Jett’s caresses are hot on my body, making me yearn for more of him as rough fingers grab my thighs, and spread them wider.

His hands pause in their exploration of my flesh. He growls. “No fucking panties? You been walking around my clubhouse with these filthy fucking bikers, in the middle of the night, and no panties?”

“Please, Jett. Please?”

Please what? I don’t even know why I’m begging. This is dangerous ground for both of us. We shouldn’t ... oh, but when those big calloused hands touch my sensitive flesh, we should.We definitely should.

I no longer care why this is a bad idea because I’ve never been touched like this. I’ve never been handled as if I’m both delicate and robust. I’ve never had a man this rough, and there’s something thrilling about that.

Desperate to touch him, I slide my hand in the waistband of his jeans. I can’t get a whole lot of traction, so I try to unfasten them—an impossible task with one hand in a cast. Jett appears to take pity on me, and unbuttons his jeans. They fall somewhere around his knees but his clothing is the last thing on my mind. His dick is hard and proudly jutting out before me, begging me to touch.

“Don’t be shy, darlin’.” Jett’s tone is as thick with need as I am.

I reach out and graze my fingertips over him—the velvety tip jerks against me. Jett groans, and leans into my caresses. His hands seek me out again, shoving my legs apart and playing in my slick heat. He slides two fingers in without warning. I gasp as he bites down hard on my earlobe.

“Jesus Christ, Raine, do you know how long I’ve waited to get my hands on you, to feel this pretty pussy against my fingers and my cock?”

I shake my head, but I don’t think he’s really expecting a response. The truth is we’ve both waited far too long. I know that as well as he does. He glides his thick fingers in and out of me, fast. Heat builds in my core; my breath comes in heavy pants that fill the room. He takes my mouth again with his own, driving his tongue in deep, so deep I can’t breathe. I’m lost in all the places my body touches his. Too soon, though, he pulls his fingers free of me.

I sag in defeat.

He’s right. We shouldn’t be doing this. We’re both not free to touch, or feel the things we feel.

“I ain’t waitin’ anymore, babe.” Jett wraps his arm around my waist and slides me closer to the edge. I meet his gaze. I should tell him to stop. Just being here, letting him take it this far, I’ve already broken my promises to my husband. If I go through with this, if I let him inside me, the damage to my marriage, to his, and to our hearts will be irrevocable.

He takes hold of his cock, sliding it through my wetness, but he doesn’t enter me. He doesn’t move.No. I’m the one who strains closer, who reaches between us and guides him inside. And that’s all it takes. That’s all it takes for him to sink deeper, to fuck me harder, and for me to be the home-wrecking whore his wife accused me of being.

“Jesus Christ.” He grunts, his hot breath skating the shell of my ear and sending shivers through me. “You’re so fuckin’ tight. So fuckin’ hot.”

I close my eyes and let my head fall back, basking in every sensation, loving the swell of pleasure and pain with his deep thrusts. He fucks hard, mercilessly—every thrust drives me closer to orgasm. He fucks me so hard I have to grab the kitchen cabinet behind my head and hold on because I’ve never been taken like this, with so much need and passion. I’ve never felt such longing, or been so desired.

Jet squeezes my breast. The blood rushing to my sensitive nipples sends desire arcing through me. I pant. My legs shake—my body is taut as a bowstring, suspended on the precipice of pleasure. One more deep thrust and I snap. Endorphins flood my system. I gasp his name and buck my hips wildly as I ride out the high.

“That’s it, Angel. Come on my cock. Jesus. I love the feel of that hot cunt squeezing my dick. And I fuckin’ love you crying my name.” Jett slides in and out as I grip him, and then he fists his hand in my hair and pistons his hips furiously, chasing his own release. I skim my good hand over his shoulder and back, digging my nails in deep, marking him as my own though the opposite is true. All we have is this one time. His body and mine, seeking pleasure, owning one another, even for just a brief moment. I come again as he drives in right to the root. He groans, husky and deep, as he comes hard inside me. And for a beat we just stay there, my legs wrapped around his waist, our foreheads pressed together, and his fist in my hair as we breathe the same air.

“Fuck, darlin’,” Jett whispers, “I haven’t come that hard since I was in high school.”

Fluorescent light floods the room. I gasp. Jett groans. We both turn our heads toward the entrance of the kitchen where a livid half-naked Mia is standing.

“Are you fucking kidding me? You know I’ve ignored a lot of shit from you over the years, Jett. Club whores, junkies, criminal activity, hosting a wanted felon in our house, butfuckingthe help?” She narrows her eyes. Her disdainful gaze lands squarely on me.

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