No. I want more than that.

“I want you inside me,” I tell him.

“Yeah?” he says thickly.

“Yeah.” I take a slow breath. Now that I’ve made the decision, my pulse kicks into high gear, thudding in my ears. Sex isn’t something I give freely. “Do you have condoms?”

“Top drawer.”

I lazily stroke him before reaching for the nightstand. I grab the box of condoms from the drawer, pull out a strip, and rip one off. Before I can open it, Jake sits up and removes my shirt, his big hands cupping my breasts. Then I’m the one on my back, crushed by his muscular body, completely at his mercy.

“Get in me already.” I kiss him back impatiently, my hips rising of their own volition, seeking relief.

“Let me get you ready first.” His lips travel down my body, leaving shivers in their wake.

His callused fingertips abrade my skin as he lightly strokes my inner thighs before parting my legs. When his mouth touches my clit, pleasure dances through my body.

Jake rubs the tip of one finger over my opening. “Fuck,” he groans. “You’re so ready.”

I am. Kissing him is such a turn-on. “See? Now get up here.”

“No.” I feel him smiling against my flesh. His tongue comes out for another taste, and he goes down on me for several excruciating minutes, until my head lolls to the side and my hands clutch the sheets.

The telltale tingling in my clit warns of impending orgasm. I fight it, desperate to save the orgasm for when he’s inside me, because I haven’t had sex in so very long. And what if I can’t come again tonight?

“Jake,” I beg. “Please.” I snatch the condom and thrust it at him.

Chuckling, he suits up and kneels between my legs. The light from the bedside lamp is dim, but I don’t need much more than that to admire his chest. I trace his muscles with my fingers, loving the way they quiver at my touch.

The gleam of desire burns his gaze as he lifts my ass and angles his hips. I find myself holding my breath as I wait for him to slide inside. And when he finally does, it’s the sweetest, most exquisite feeling in the whole world. He stretches me, fills me up completely.

When the full length of him is buried in me, he bites out a low, tortured curse.

“Are you okay?” I ask immediately.

Jake’s chest rises as he sucks in a deep breath. “Why are you so tight? Are you sure you’re not a virgin?”

I chuckle. “ I told you, I just don’t do this often.”

“Why not?” he asks, then shakes his head as if to scold himself. “Uh, yeah, we can talk about that later. Right now I’m about three seconds from exploding.”

“Don’t you dare. We haven’t even started!”

He’s breathing harder. “I’ll do my best.” His features are strained, though. He moves ever so slightly. Groans again. Then he slowly curls his body over mine so we’re in the missionary position.

He kisses me, a slow, teasing seduction of my mouth. Meanwhile, his hips are moving so excruciatingly slowly that it isn’t long before I’m squirming with impatience. “Are you doing this on purpose?”

“No,” he growls. “I told you, I’m way too close. If I start pounding into you, I’m going to lose it.”

“Where’s your stamina?” I taunt.

“It’s inside your tight pussy, babe.”

Laughter sputters out of my chest. “So you’re saying I just need to get plowed more often so that it doesn’t feel as good for you?”

“Only if you’re being plowed by me. Or a vibrator. Anything else is against the law.”

“What law?”

“My law,” he mutters. He thrusts deep and we both make a strangled noise.

His chest is covered with a sheen of sweat. He hasn’t increased his pace at all, and it’s driving me crazy. I wrap my arms around his broad shoulders and stroke his back. His mouth latches onto the side of my throat as his hips move lazily. It’s almost unbearable. I want him to go faster, but I also never want this to end. I reach between us and lightly rub my clit.

That’s when he stops moving altogether.

“Are you kidding me?” I wail. “You’re going to lie here inside me without moving?”

“Only for a bit. Just while you get yourself close.” He watches my face as I stroke myself. “You’re goddamn beautiful.”

I swallow. Heat swims in his green eyes as they bore into me. It’s insanely intimate and yet I can’t break the eye contact. I rub harder and we both hear my breathing quicken.

“That’s it,” he encourages. “Fuck yeah, that’s it.”

I moan, trying to rock my hips.

He splays a big hand over my belly to still me. “Not yet.”

So I keep stroking with his cock lodged inside me. I feel so full. Our gazes are still locked. He’s so sexy I can’t look away. He licks his lips, and that’s what sends me flying over the edge.

“I’m coming,” I choke out, and suddenly he gives me what I’ve been begging for this entire time—deep, fast strokes, and holy hell the orgasm is like an explosion of pleasure.

The rest of the world disappears. It’s me and Jake. Body and soul. He’s plunging into me so hard. And when he comes, he honest-to-God bites my neck, a husky, blissed-out groan vibrating against my skin, and that one beautiful moment makes this entire night worthwhile.

28

Brenna

“Where have you been?”

I jump like a spooked horse when Dad suddenly appears behind me. I was at the kitchen counter waiting for my coffee to brew, and I hadn’t even heard him come in.

I turn to find him frowning at me. I frown back. “I texted you last night that I was staying with a friend in Boston.”

“And when I asked what friend, you didn’t text back.”

“Because you didn’t need to know more. You knew I was safe.”

“Is that a joke? Just because you stayed with a friend doesn’t mean you were safe. Who was this friend? Was it the boy who was here last week?”

I sigh. “You promised you weren’t going to do this anymore.”

“And you promised you weren’t going to be reckless.”

“How am I being reckless? Yes, sometimes I drink with my friends or go dancing. Sometimes I party—with your players, by the way.”

“As if that makes it better?” Anger flashes in his eyes. “The last time you went out with a hockey player, you almost destroyed your life.”

I experience a jolt of guilt. Dad would go apocalyptic if he knew I was helping Eric last night. Turning my back to him, I open the cupboard and grab a mug. “That was a long time ago, Dad. Five years, to be exact.”

“And yet you’re still sneaking around and staying out all night.”

“Dad.” I spin around. “Look at me.” I wave my hands up and down my body. “I’m in one piece. I’m alive. I’m not even hungover, because I didn’t drink last night. I stayed in Boston because of the storm and the power outages. I didn’t feel comfortable being out on the roads.” I slam the mug down in the middle of the counter. “I did the responsible thing and I’m getting shit for it. Do you to realize how ridiculous that is?”

“Really? So you were acting responsibly when you drove to Westlynn in the aforementioned storm and power outages to rescue Eric Royce from a crackhouse?”

I freeze. How the hell does he know about that?

As guilt climbs up my throat, I inhale slowly and remind myself that I have nothing to feel guilty about. I’m not obligated to tell my father every detail of my life.

He waits for me to say something. When I don’t, he spits out an expletive. “Louisa Royce called me last night. She didn’t have your cell phone number, and she wanted to thank you again for getting her son home safe. And here you are telling me you’re not doing anything reckless. Why are you seeing him again, Brenna? He’s trouble.”

“I’m not seeing him. He was in trouble and I went to help him.”

“Why? He doesn’t deserve your help. He doesn’t deserve shit.” The raw hatred in his voice is terrifying. Dad isn’t a Care Bear. He’s never going to shower you with kisses and compassion. But he’s also not coldhearted.

“Dad. Come on. Eric’s not an evil person. He’s just in a bad place.”

“And it’s not your duty to rescue him from that place.” He drags both hands over his scalp. His gaze is a little wild. “Do you know how worried I was after I got off the phone with his mother? Not knowing if you were all right?”

“You knew I was all right. I told you I was staying with a friend.”

“What friend?” he demands again.

“It doesn’t matter. But you know it wasn’t Eric, because Louisa wouldn’t have called to speak to me if I’d spent the night there. So please, just relax.”

“You want me to relax,” he mutters. “We have a crucial matchup this weekend, and instead of preparing for it, I’m worrying about whether or not my daughter is placing herself in danger.”

“I’m not placing myself in danger.” My throat tightens in frustration. I want to stomp my foot like a little kid, because I don’t understand him. Dad has two modes: he’s either ignoring me and completely disinterested in my life, or he’s screaming at me for shit that didn’t even happen.