“Don’t be. None of them were you. And I haven’t been with anyone in nearly a year.” Her voice is a sexy rasp, her eyes hooded as she stares all dazed back at me. “I’ll tell you a secret. Every time I came, I wished it was you between my legs.”
“Fuck, Faith, you’re killing me,” I say on a growl. I grab her and haul her off the ground. “I wanted this to be slow and seductive and all that nice shit. But that’s not happening.”
“I don’t want a sweet seduction. I want you.”
This woman.
We were always an inferno. Frantic. A little insane. Faith may not have been my first, but everything was new again and without boundaries with her. And after I ruined us, I chased the high I had when we were together. Like a fucking crackhead, scrounging for the unattainable perfect fix.
The impossible perfect lay.
But that was impossible, and maybe a little piece of me hated her because she was in Brighton. Living her best life while I stayed behind in Mayhem, pretending I wasn’t dying inside every single goddamn day she was gone. But that was before. This is now, and I tighten my grip on her hand because I’m not letting her get away twice.
“I’m going to light you up,” I promise, with all due confidence, as I lead her to the house.
“I know.”
But seriously. My ego. If it gets any bigger, the three of us won’t fit in the house. I walk her through the living room. Make a pitstop in the kitchen to grab my phone and a juice box. “You’re going to need these,” I warn her.
“Am I?”
“Oh yeah,” I say over my shoulder. “It’s gonna be a rough ride.”
Then we’re up the stairs and down the hallway. By the time we get to the bedroom, I’m ready to rip off her fucking clothes.
With my teeth.
But first things first.
I toss her on the mattress. The phone and juice box fly out of her hand. I make a fast recovery of them and use the phone to check her BG. All good. No need to prep her with a sugar boost. I place the items on the table and step back to savor the glorious sight of Faith Decker laid out on the bed. And not to sleep this time, thank friggin’ God, because this last week has been pure hell. I deserve an award for keeping my hands to myself when I wanted to put them all over her. Holy shit, behaving was the most challenging thing I ever did in my entire life.
Unfortunately, she’s not naked yet, but I plan to remedy that tragedy. And when I climb on the bed, hovering over her, those fierce brown eyes slice through me. Right to the heart of me. They lay me bare before I shed a single article of clothing.
And speaking of clothes…
I pull off my shirt, and her gaze shoots to my Unholy tattoo. Her hand follows. She traces the bold, Old English letters. Her delicate touch sears me, and I suck in a breath when an electric current vibrates across my pecs.
She arches a brow. “Did you say something?”
“Yeah, you little wiseass.” I tug at her shirt. “I said take this fucking thing off.”
“Bossy bastard,” she grumbles but wiggles out of the shirt.
When she goes to remove her pretty white lace bra, I stop her. “Nah, Fizzle, this here is my job.”
Faith is a gift, the bra a bow, and I unlatch the front hook and bare her gorgeous breasts. I feed off her frustration as I leisurely lick and suck on her nipples. Devour her. Totally taking advantage of our size difference. I’m bigger and stronger. She has to lie there and do as I say, because, hey… she said it herself. I broke her. This is me fixing her.
Lick by lick.
“Jester, please.”
“Please, what?”
She gasps when I tug on her nipple. “Please fuck me.”
“I intend to, but first, I’m having my fun.”
Her dramatic groan is hilarious. “I forgot how dirty you play. “
