“If we’re talking about burning the house down, then no,” I say. “I know all too well how good you are at that.” I manage to glare at him despite how tempting he looks. “But if we’re talking about convincing a police force that it was accidental and that your father wasn’t shot…” I bob my head back and forth, “then yes.”
“That’s the easy part.” His eyes flash with excitement.
“Because you own Landon Enterprises now?” The idea that he’s now the head of a prominent law firm is hard to wrap my head around. The fact that one word from him can make things go away.
“We’re untouchable, buttercup.” He plants his hands on my hips and sways me, as if he’s drunk on the thought.
“You’re in way too good of a mood right now.” I bat at him.
He freezes as if the unheard music has paused, his brows hardening. “Because I get to keep you,” he says, his voice so earnest, his gaze sweeping hungrily across my face. “You have no idea how terrified I was that Layton was going to get away with putting you behind bars, out of my reach.” He tucks a piece of my hair behind my ear, and then gives a sly smirk. “I mean, I would have burned down the prison to get you out, but still.”
I can’t help but laugh, his optimism contagious. “Now, that I don’t doubt.”
“Yeah?” He suddenly hoists me up. “What else don’t you doubt?”
I instinctively wrap my legs around him, gasping. “What are you doing?”
“Making sure you look freshly fucked for when the police arrive.”
“Jax! No—We’re—That—” I flail for an excuse even as my body heats up.
“We’re what?” He chuckles as he lays me down on the bed, caging me between his arms.
I don’t get a word out before he presses between my legs, the full length of him hard and throbbing. An involuntary moan escapes me, and I arch up for more.
“That’s what I thought,” he says, pulling his shirt over his head with one hand.
The plains of his chest ripple, the ink taut over his pecs. Unable to resist, I run my hands down him, his skin hot to the touch, and I suddenly don’t give a fuck what’s downstairs. I shed my own shirt, and he helps me tug down my pants. It’s heedless, inappropriate, but God if he isn’t exuding something that makes me feral. I latch the inner of my thighs around the hard cut of his waist, relishing the sting of heat as he undoes his zipper beneath my legs.
“Look at you,” he says. “So eager all the sudden.”
I hate the blush that burns my cheeks.
“Look at you,” I counter. “So cocky all the time.”
“I’ll show you cocky.” He smiles broadly and dips between my legs.
His breath is suddenly hot on my clit. And damn it if I ache for it and arch again, practically begging to feel his tongue and proving his point. His mouth hovers though, not immediately diving in, and I squirm for it as the bastard waits, clearly enjoying the tremble in my thighs. My hands fist in the sheets, and agitation mixes with need.
“Jax,” I try for a reprimand, but it comes out more pleading.
“Say you trust me.”
If I wasn’t so feral, I would roll my eyes, but he has me just where he wants me, needy and at his mercy. “I trust you,” I say, anything to get him to indulge me, but it isn’t a complete artifice. I do trust him, fully believe he would do something insane like burn down a prison for me, what I don’t trust is the situation.
“Like you mean it, baby.” He grazes his bottom lip over my slit.
My body tenses, and I squirm. “I trust you.”
He grazes again, this time slower. “Try again.”
It’s agony, the way his lip drags up, smearing the wetness I’ve made for him. I’m teeming, vibrating in anticipation.
“I trust you,” I cry out. “I trust you. Please.”
His tongue finally touches me and I gasp, hips jerking. He pins them down, palms keeping me open to him. Heat floods my veins, and the world narrows to his mouth, the sound of him breathing me in, the hungry laps and swipes of his tongue. I’m reduced to nothing but pleasure as he works. He uses every tool at his arsenal, his lips sucking, his teeth nipping, his tongue swirling, his breath cascading.
I sit up on my elbows to watch. His lips are glistening as he licks, the broad frame of his cut shoulders splaying me wide open. I’m a decadent spread for him, one he feasts on as if starving.
