Page 53 of Stick It
In the next moment, my back is being pressed into the couch cushions, and Jax’s weight settles over me. I’m burning up. Need like nothing I’ve felt before builds with such ferocity that I don’t know what to do other than claw and paw at him.
My hands are everywhere, sliding up the back of his T-shirt and gliding over the rough denim of his jeans as I cup his firm ass cheek in my palm.
More. I need more.
His touch is gasoline to a starved flame as he pushes up my top, his palms coarse and rough against my smooth skin as he easily wraps his large hands around my narrow waist and slides them up my back. I arch into him, shivering at the hard length that presses firmly against my core.
A pulsing starts up between my thighs, and suddenly all Ican think about is the two of us stripped naked, Jax above me as he drives into my clenching pussy in hard, long strokes that catapult me into oblivion. I know without a doubt that he would be insane in bed. Everything I’ve never experienced before. Sure and confident. Demanding yet reassuring. Rough yet gentle.
I want it all.
I want all ofhim.
I’m seconds from ripping his clothes off when the front door slams.
It jolts me out of my fever trance so abruptly that I nearly fall off the sofa in my haste to put distance between us. He moves to help me, but my gaze is stuck on the smirking, arrogant asshole who just walked in.
“Oops. Didn’t mean to interrupt.” His tone is taunting. “Can see why you didn’t come out with us tonight, man. No need to work for pussy when you’ve got it right here at home.”
“Fuck off, Kyle,” Jax growls, not even looking at him. His focus is still intent on me, but I can’t even look at him. I can’t look at either of them. I can feel the heat in my cheeks, embarrassment and self-loathing warring with the unsated need still running rampant through my lower region.
Kyle scoffs, muttering something too low for me to hear but sounds suspiciously like “As easy as they said she was,” before he walks into the kitchen.
“Are you okay?” Jax asks, keeping his voice low in case Kyle is eavesdropping, which he most definitely is. His face is threaded with concern, and his hand hovers in between us like he wants to touch me, but he’s not sure if that’s what I want right now.
Hell,I’mnot even sure.
His hands on me were electrifying, but no.
I shift away from him, coughing to clear my throat. I keep my gaze deliberately lowered. “I’m fine. I think I’m?—”
“You missed one hell of a night, man,” Kyle says, returning to the room. Instead of beating a hasty retreat like I was just about to, I grab the controller I’d dropped and resume the game. I don’t even care if Jax’s character is standing there, primed to die. I need the distraction. I need to get myself under control. I need to find wherever the hell my sanity ran off to so I can scream at it for letting me do something so reckless. So dangerous. So…fucking stupid.
Haven’t I learned from my past mistakes?
Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.
Jax and Kyle’s conversation is white noise as I stare fixedly at the screen. Focused solely on shooting zombies like it’s the only thing that matters right now. That is until Kyle steps directly in front of me, blocking my view. Frowning, I snap my gaze to him, barely noting the pointed sip he takes from a mug before I lean to the side to see around him.
My gaze snaps immediately back to him. “What are you doing?” I demand, my grip on the controller going slack and the game all but forgotten as I dart my gaze back and forth between the smug look on his punchable face and the mug in his hand.
The mug that is supposed to be on a shelf in my bedroom, along with all the others.
“What are you doing with that?” My voice is a little higher-pitched than usual. My heart beating just a little too fast—and not in the fun, exciting way it was a moment ago.
No, this is pure panic.
Fear.
Terror.
“This?” Kyle holds up the mug like he’s showing it off. “I found it. It’s nice, right?”
My breathing starts to change. “Why do you have my mug, Kyle?” There’s a firmness behind my words now, but he either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care.
“What’sgoing on?” Jax interjects, looking between us in confusion.
“That’s my mug,” I tell him, not once taking my eyes off the bright yellow-and-orange mug with the words San Francisco and a painting of the Golden Gate Bridge. “I… Kyle’s not supposed to have it. I keep it in my room.”
