“Come here,” I said, the words slipping out before I could stop them.
He hesitated, his broad shoulders tensing, like he was giving himself one last chance to leave. Then he rose, crossing the room in slow, deliberate steps, his boots silent on the rug. He stopped at the edge of the bed, towering over me, his breath coming in ragged, uneven gasps.
I reached for him first, fingers curling into his shirt, pulling him down to me. Our lips met, the kiss soft and tentative at the start, like we were both afraid it would shatter, but then his restraint cracked. He groaned low in his throat, one hand cupping my jaw, the other sliding into my hair as the kiss deepened. His mouth was warm, tasting faintly of cinnamon whiskey, and he kissed me like he was drowning, his tongue moving against mine in slow, desperate strokes that made my head spin.
His hands were gentle as they traced my sides, thumbs brushing the curve of my ribs through the thin fabric of my nightgown. There was no tearing urgency like Mr. Stonewood’s nights — no blindfold plunging me into sightless darkness, no harsh commands pinning me in place. This was just Jacob and me, raw and open. He peeled the nightgown away with care, lifting it over my head, his callused palms skimming my bare skin like he was memorizing every inch of me… like this was the first and last night he’d ever have the luxury of touching me this way.
I shivered as the cool air hit me, but his body followed, warm and solid, pressing me back into the pillows. I pushed at his chest gently, guiding him onto his back and straddling his hips. His shirt was already half-unbuttoned from earlier work, and I made quick work of the rest, spreading it open to reveal the map of scars across his chest and ribs. My heart clenched. I leaned down, pressing my lips to the jagged line on his cheek first, then his jaw. They were soft, lingering kisses that made him suck in a sharp breath. Then lower, to the twisted skin along his throat,tasting the salt of his skin. I moved across his chest, finding every puckered ridge, every faint white line on his hands as I laced our fingers, kissing them one by one like I could pour healing into the old wounds.
He shuddered beneath me, his hands gripping my thighs, whispering my name like a plea, gasping ‘Chrissy’ over and over, his voice breaking. I unbuckled his belt and unzipped his jeans, desperately tugging them down. He kicked off his boots and finished stripping, lying there bare and hard as a rock in front of me.
It was so different from the blindfolded nights with Mr. Stonewood. Those were a firestorm of blind sensation, his hands bruising my ass with sharp spanks that left me sobbing and soaked, his thrusts punishing and possessive, driving into me like he owned every cry he pulled from my throat. It left me aching, shamed by how much I craved the intensity, the way it made me feel claimed in the dark.
I slid down his body, kissing a slow path over the scars I’d just worshipped with my lips, tasting salt and heat and him. When I reached his cock — hard, flushed, already slick at the tip — I didn’t hesitate. I wrapped my fingers around the thick base and took him into my mouth with one long, deliberate glide. Jacob groaned, the sound raw and broken, his hips jerking once before he forced himself still. I savored the weight of him on my tongue, the velvet heat, the way he throbbed when I hollowed my cheeks and sucked, slow and deep. I traced every ridge with my lips, swirled around the head, took him to the back of my throat until my eyes watered and he cursed under his breath — low, reverent, desperate.
“Chrissy… fuck, angel…”
His hand threaded gently into my hair, not pushing, never forcing, just anchoring himself to me like I was the only thing keeping him on earth. I pulled off with a soft, wet pop, licked a stripe up the underside, and met his eyes as I gave him one last slow, teasing suck before crawling back up his body.
He was shaking.
I straddled him again, knees sinking into the mattress on either side of his hips, and guided him to my entrance. The blunt head nudged against me, hot and slick, and I sank down inch by torturous inch, feeling every stretch, every pulse as he filled me completely, watching his face the entire time — watching his jaw clench, his scarred throat work, those blue eyes wide and dilated black, fixed on me like I was the only thing he’d ever wanted. We both gasped at the same moment, my hands braced on his chest, his fingers digging into my hips, not bruising, just anchoring. When he was fully seated inside me, stretching me, filling me so perfectly it stole my breath, he let out a shuddering exhale and cupped my face with both hands.
“Stay right here,” he whispered, voice ragged. “Let me see you.”
His thumbs brushed my cheeks, tender, reverent, and then I started to move, rolling my hips in a slow, deliberate rhythm. He rose to meet me, thrusting up gently, deeply, matching me perfectly. His hands slid up my sides, thumbs brushing the undersides of my breasts, then higher, cupping them reverently as I rode him. The pleasure built in lazy, luxurious waves, nothing like the brutal, punishing crashes of the blindfolded nights with Ben Stonewood. This was warm and endless, a slow burn that made my thighs tremble and my breath hitch.
He never looked away, never hid behind a mask, or making me use a blindfold so I couldn’t see him. He just stared up at mewith those piercing blue eyes locked on mine, watching me fall apart with something like awe, like I was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.
This... this was gentle and loving. Jacob’s touch was reverent. He held my gaze the whole time. His hands guided my hips in a steady rhythm, building waves of pleasure that crested slow and shattering, not the brutal crashes of my nights with Mr. Stonewood. I rocked against him, feeling every slide, every pulse, my fingers digging into his shoulders as heat coiled tighter and tighter.
I hated myself for wanting both… the monster’s raw dominance that left marks on my body and soul, and this man’s tenderness that made me feel impossibly seen and cherished. How could I crave the punishment and the worship in equal measure?
Tears pricked my eyes as the pleasure built, overwhelming me. I leaned down, forehead pressed to his, and whispered against his lips, “I wish Mr. Stonewood was you, Jacob.”
He stilled for a heartbeat, his grip tightening on my hips, something raw flashing in his eyes. Then he pulled me closer, thrusting deeper and harder for a moment, like he could erase the words and make me forget the monster waiting in the shadows. His mouth claimed mine again, swallowing my moans as we moved together, faster now, but still tender, until the wave broke. I came with a quiet cry, clenching around him, and he followed seconds later, burying his face in my neck, groaning my name as he spilled inside me, his hips jerking helplessly.
We collapsed together, breaths ragged, sweat-slick skin cooling in the firelight. He held me close, lingering touches tracing lazy patterns down my back, my sides, like he couldn’t stop touchingme. I nestled into his chest, listening to his heartbeat slow, feeling safe in a way I hadn’t since arriving here.
This was pure indulgence… one stolen night of softness before I signed my life away to the monster forever because no matter how much I wanted Jacob or how perfectly he fit against me, I couldn’t afford to lose the game. Granny Irene needed the prize money. She needed me to win, to marry Ben Stonewood and secure everything. I couldn’t afford to throw it away for this, no matter how much my heart ached at the thought of losing Jacob forever after what we’d just shared.
He fell asleep beside me eventually, his arm heavy and protective over my waist, his breathing deep and even. I didn’t wake him. Just one night, I told myself. We both deserved that much.
Morning light filtered weakly through the iced-over windows, gray and cold, when the door creaked open. I stirred, blinking against the dim glow, Jacob still asleep beside me, his scarred face relaxed in a way that made my chest tighten.
Mei stood in the doorway, a laundry basket clutched to her chest like a shield. Her eyes widened as they flicked from his bare shoulder peeking above the covers, to my flushed face and tangled hair.
She swallowed hard, her voice barely above a whisper.
“I’m going to have to report this to Mr. Stonewood if I want to keep my job.”
Chapter
Twenty-Four
HENRY
December 15, 6:11 AM
