Page 60 of Jett

“I thought you might need me.”

“I do. I need you, Jett.”

“I know, babe.”

“No,” I whisper, almost afraid to utter the words out loud. “I need you. I need you to touch me. I need you to make love to me.”

What am I doing?What am I asking for? I just laid my husband to rest and already I’m begging another man to take me. I understand all too well the reason he guided my hand to his erection in the bath after Mia died. Some holes can’t be filled with sweet sentiment and well wishes. Some holes are too deep, the ache too strong, and when I think about that word ...widow... I fear I’ll never be whole again. I’ll never be touched again, filled, satiated. I’ll never belong to another man, and I need to belong to something, to someone. Otherwise I’m alone.

Jett studies my face. I don’t know what he finds there—a sad woman? Someone as broken and lonely as he is? Or just a woman in love, begging him to take away her hurt. Whatever he sees, he exhales, long and slow, and then he picks me up and carries me from the room. I start crying all over again. As he lays me on my bed and takes off his cut and the shirt beneath, I inhale sharply. My eyes roam his tattoos, over every inch of his hard torso and arms. I reach out and run my hands over his abs, trailing down to the bulge in his pants. He groans and strips off his leathers. Then he climbs on the bed and crawls up my body. He slides his hand behind my head and threads his fingers through my hair. “Jesus, I’ve wanted you for so fucking long.”

“I know,” I pant. “Make love to me, Jett.”

“I don’t know the first thing about makin’ love, babe. I only know how to make you feel alive again.”

“Just make me feel something. Please, please?”

He grinds his pelvis into mine, his hard cock pushing at my entrance. He slides a hand between us and shoves inside. I’m wet just from looking at him, but not enough that it doesn’t hurt. I cry out, but he doesn’t stop. He just pulls out a little of the way and slams right back in, hard enough that my back arches off the mattress. My nipples bead as his chest brushes them and I moan and hook my arms around his neck. I wrap my legs around his hips and dig my heels into his arse with each thrust, pushing him deeper.

“Jett,” I moan.

“Jesus, Angel. I could get used to your pussy milking my dick. Come on my cock, baby. I wanna see your face when you come, and know that I was responsible for it.”

I fall into the sensations of his body on top of mine, his cock inside me and the way my heart suddenly feels lighter, beats harder, and can finally be free to love him.

“Christ. You’re so fucking hot. How did I get so goddamn lucky?”

Tears slip from the corners of my eyes and I let go, of Joshua, of the guilt and shame, of everything. I come as I unravel. I cry his name, and I smile when he finally reaches his climax and empties inside me.

I’m limp as a wet noodle, pliable, and all his. Every nerve ending in my body exploded in bliss and longing, satiation, and hunger for him.More of him. I’ll never get enough of him, of this feeling, or of having him inside me.

When we’re both physically spent, I curl into the crook of Jett’s arm, and he touches my back with idle strokes. Neither of us says a thing. We don’t have to. My guilt slams into me—it just about eats me alive, and I wonder if it’s the same for him. Did he think of his wife? Does he wish she was here with him instead of me, so he could hold her one more time?

I attempt to sit up, but Jett pulls me closer. “Where are you goin’, darlin’?”

“I just ... I don’t know. I can’t be here.”

“Well, shit. Never picked you for the wham-bam-thank-you-man type. You really gonna run out on me in your own apartment?”

“I can’t breathe. We just ... my husband’s body is barely even covered and already I’ve jumped into bed with another man.”

“Not another man. With me.” He levels his gaze on me, as if that makes a difference. As if the fact that it’s Jett, a man I love, makes me any less of a whore. “You and I have been dancin’ around this shit for well over a year now, and I’d be willing to bet it’s not your husband that’s got you spooked. Because if you’re really honest with yourself, he was dead to you a lot longer than a few days ago.”

“Get out!”

“Raine.”

“How dare you say that to me!”

“Say what to you—the truth?” He stands, pulls on his leathers, and tosses his shirt over his head. “Like it or not, babe, we both know it. You haven’t had sex with that man for six years, and you never forgave him for trying to leave you, did you? You might still love him. Hell, you’ll probably always love him. Maybe more than the next schmuck who comes along and falls in love with you. That bastard who’s lucky enough to gain a glimpse into your world, your heart, your bed.”

“You need to leave.”

“More fool me, huh? For wantin’ to be that man.”

I bury my head in my hands. “I can’t deal with this right now.”

“But you can deal with my cock? Is that it? You ain’t got time for me unless I’m shoving my dick inside you? I thought you were different, darlin’. Turns out, I don’t know shit.” He grabs his cut from the floor and stalks out of the room.

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