Page 103 of Sweet Surrender

The mirror shows her face—the pleasure etched in every line of it—and makes me want to give her more. To take more.

“More,” she pants out, urging me to trail a hand up her back and tangle it in her hair. She gasps as I pull it, because it only serves to seat me deeper in the process.

“Yes,” she cries out, her voice breaking around another moan. My fingers work her clit in the rhythm of our bodies, faster and harder, until she’s trembling beneath my hands. “Just like that.”

She comes undone all around me. Her body arches as I watch her reflection. She’s wild and stunning and everything I never wanted but can’t seem to step away from now.

The sight of her shattered like this and by my hand sends me right over the edge with her.

“Fuck. Yes.” It’s a half-growl, half-shout, seconds before my world goes black, then white, as consuming pleasure blazes through me and leaves me wanting more. Of her. Of this.

Always more.

We stay like that for a moment—her lips parted, eyes shut tight, skin flushed—while I feel like I’ve just been to battle and come out victorious on the other side.

My pants are still around my ankles and her dress is still up over her hips when I slip out of her and sigh. She turns to face me, and the disheveled look in her hazel eyes makes me want to take her all over again.

She straightens her dress, and fuck, if that isn’t an image that will fuel my fantasies for years. Lips swollen, hair wild, cheeks flushed.

“Guess we need to figure out how to celebrate this kind of first, huh?” Then she throws her head back and laughs.

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

Hendrix

Now what?

That’s the question I keep asking myself as we drive home in the limo from the gala. Something has shifted, changed, and I don’t know what exactly that is.

It’s in Jase’s silence as he stares outside at the world passing by.

It’s in the energy crackling between us. It feels different. More undeniable. More real.

My go-to in these situations is to crack a joke, to lighten the mood with something silly, but I don’t say a word. It’s like an inexplicable line was crossed, and I don’t know how to navigate that.

So I let the silence stretch, and a suffocating weight settles between us.

Did I do something wrong?

I thought the sex was fun and flirty . . . definitely the hottest thing I’ve ever done . . . but did something happen after that when we went back to the party for the short time before the car came?

When we step inside the house, the tension only thickens to the point that I can’t stand it anymore.

“So what gives?” I ask. My heels are in one hand and I hold them up as I shrug. “What did I do wrong? Why are you not talking?”

Jase just looks at me like a tiger casing his prey, and I’m not sure if I should be unnerved by it or turned on.

But his lack of words wreaks havoc on my nerves.

“Hello? Say something. Anything?”

“Not a big fan of all the men talking to you tonight.”

“Pot? Meet kettle,” I say and roll my eyes. He can’t be serious. Madison was far from the only woman hoping to get beneath him tonight.

“Still. Not a fan.”

“Then maybe you shouldn’t have picked me for a wife, huh?” I don’t know why I’m raring for a fight. Maybe it’s because I feel like I’ve done something wrong and I’m trying to create a defense, just in case.