Page 326 of Don’t Say Mafia

“I think I want you to keep me, Jagger.”

I grinned and rolled my hips against hers until she gasped. “You never had another choice.”

CHAPTER 31

EDEN

My body ached in places I hadn’t known could ache, with a deep, delicious soreness between my thighs, a faint burn along my inner muscles, and tender spots on my hips where his fingers had gripped too hard. My breasts felt heavy and sensitive, and my nipples were slightly swollen from his mouth. My lips were puffy, and when I swallowed, I realized my throat hurt from crying out his name too many times to count.

I shifted beneath the covers, and the silk sheets slid over my skin in a cool, liquid glide that made me inhale softly. I was naked . . . completely naked. And I was happy.

The realization was like a burst of sunlight—radiant and warm and almost too bright to look at directly. I hadn’t woken up alone. I hadn’t woken up upset. For the first time in years, I didn’t brace for disappointment the second my eyes opened.

Something soft dragged along my side, a slow, featherlight trail from my ribs to my waist, then up again, tracing the curve under my breast. I shivered, my skin pebbling instantly.

My breath caught, and I opened my eyes.

Jagger was propped on one elbow beside me, watching my face with a quiet intensity. In his other hand he held a single red rose, long-stemmed with petals that were velvet-soft and perfect. He dragged the bloom down my stomach now slowly, the cool silk of the petals making me arch into the touch.

“Morning,” he murmured in a voice still rough from sleep and sex and everything we’d done to each other last night.

I swallowed, suddenly aware of how exposed I was with my legs tangled in the sheets, my breasts bare . . . and my thighs still sticky with him.

“Morning,” I whispered back as I flushed under his gaze.

He smiled and continued his lazy path with the rose. Up the underside of one breast, circling the areola without quite touching the nipple. My breath shuddered out and the nipple tightened, aching for more.

I watched the rose move, the petals brushing my skin in teasing trails, and a small, breathless laugh escaped me.

“Is that still considered a friendship rose?” I teased, remembering the first time he’d given me roses.

Jagger’s eyes darkened instantly, and he smirked. “Absolutely not,” he said firmly. “And spoiler alert . . . those first roses weren’t, either.”

Before I could respond, he leaned down and closed his mouth over one nipple, sucking the peak deep with a slow pull that made my back arch and a moan tear from my throat.

I was so sensitive after last night.

At the same time, he dragged the rose petals lower, sliding them through my folds and brushing my swollen clit in tender strokes that made my hips jerk and my thighs tremble.

I gasped his name and twisted my fingers in the sheets as I tried to hold myself together.

Jagger released my nipple with a wet pop, kissed the flushed peak once more, and then lifted his head to meet my eyes. “We’re never going to do friendship again,” he promised.

I was finding I was all right with that.

He kissed me then, his tongue sliding against mine as the rose continued its teasing path between my legs.

After a few minutes of exquisite torture and one smooth, shuddering orgasm, Jagger finally pulled back. He slipped out of bed without a word, not bothering to cover himself as he walked naked across the room. Every step flexed the lean, sculpted muscles of his back, intricate tattoos rippling over his shoulders and down his spine like living shadows. His ass was firm and perfect, and my mouth watered just staring at it. His cock was fully erect and swaying slightly with each stride. The sight of him sent a fresh wave of heat curling through me, my nipples tightening all over again as I watched him move.

“Where are you going?” I called softly.

He paused in the doorway and glanced back over his shoulder. That slow, wicked grin spread across his face, the one that always made my stomach flip. “Gotta feed you, baby,” he said.

My gaze dipped involuntarily—down the strong line of his back and back over the curve of his ass. His grin widened when he caught me looking. “Later,” he murmured, the word dripping with dark intent.

After a few minutes, he returned carrying a tray of strawberries, a small bowl of whipped cream, another of fresh cream, and coffee steaming in two mugs. He set it on the nightstand and climbed back onto the mattress, settling beside me.

He picked up a strawberry slice, dipped it in the cream, and held it to my lips. “Open,” he murmured . . . Of course I obeyed immediately.