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My heart skipped a beat. “Why is that?”
“You taste like apples.” His voice was deep and raspy, like gravel. He sounded starved. I would’ve offered him a cronut, but I knew he wasn’t hungry for food. “And lavender,” he added as an afterthought.
Ignoring his strange insight and seizing the moment, I pulled another piece of pastry into my mouth, closing my eyes and savoring every hidden flavor. Jack had assumed I was coming to his place tonight, otherwise he wouldn’t have had Steven shop and set out my favorite dessert. Not to mention an insanely expensive bottle of champagne—but that could wait.
I almost choked as something hot and wet touched the inside of my ankle. Gasping, I dropped the half-eaten cronut into the box. Jack had disappeared under the skirt of my sundress, wrapping his fingers around my thighs, nudging my panties aside with his nose. He darted his tongue out, parting my slit.
He groaned, his warm breath making my toes curl. “Fuck, I’ve missed this.”
I leaned back on my elbows and went with it. Sugar and he was going down on me? I felt like a well-attended princess.
Jack was skilled in many ways but this, by far, was my favorite. He could live between my legs and we’d both be happy. He spent his time licking the length of my folds, delving his fingers inside to find my most sensitive spot—a spot no one else, not even me, had been able to locate. I would’ve fallen off the counter if he wasn’t holding me so tight.
He sucked and swirled and nipped at the tiny bundle of nerves, pushing me to the edge he’d taunted me with earlier. My lips parted, my head rolling along my shoulder blades. The marble of the kitchen island was cool against my flushed skin. I churned my hips, shameless as I rode his face. He grunted, spurring me on.
“Please, please,” I whispered, the words barely leaving my mouth. But Jack always heard me. He palmed my thigh, signaling that it was okay to let go. On the next curl of his fingers, I did just that. Moaning his name, I reached forward to sift my hands through his chocolatey locks. As I came, he snarled into my flesh—the vibration heightening my raw senses. Jack lapped greedily as I clenched around his fingers, his facial hair rubbing at the insides of my thighs.
“Holy Mother,” I breathed, attempting to copy his Irish accent. Jack peered up at me, his tongue caught between his teeth, my wetness coating his chin. “That was a hell of a welcome home.”
He licked his lips, eyes half-lidded. “I seem to recall you owe me a dance.”
My mouth popped open in mock outrage. “You got more than a dance, Jack!”
He walked backward toward the living room, taking a seat in the leather armchair. His movements were lazy, but I knew he was waiting, his patience wearing thin. Over the past ten months, I’d learned that Jack was a man of instant gratification. He made exceptions for me—barely.
“Still, I want one of my own.” He wrinkled his chin in a fake pout. “Just for me, dove, please?”
“There isn’t any music.”
Jack hit a few buttons on his phone, then tossed it aside. Seconds later, a song by Rosenfeld filtered through the surrounding speakers, the deep bass rattling the walls.
Realizing he was far from kidding, I jumped off the counter and entered the living room, standing a few feet in front of him. I held a finger up—signaling that I needed a moment—and turned to face the glass wall of Jack’s living room.
The lights of the city were familiar, helping me find that girl from Scarlett’s Closet again. The sultry woman in the mirror who didn’t give two fucks about performing for a room full of men. If I could do it then, I could do it now. Jack’s eyes burned into the bare skin of my back, his gaze traveling the length of my body.
We were only allowed the present. I didn’t want to think of the dead that lay in our wake or bogeymen that hid under false names. I didn’t care to predict when Don Luca would ask for proof of Nate’s suicide note, which would end the security I’d garnered for Jack and myself. For one night, I wanted to let the worries go, to give Jack the control he craved. To fully submit, to grant him his every wish.
Listening to the slow rhythm of the song, I lifted my hands over my head and let my hips sway back and forth, getting into the mood. Before I turned around, I undid the bow at my lower back. Instead of letting the dress fall to the floor as I had at the club, I pulled it over my head, dropping it from my outstretched fingers. It pooled into a heap on the large white rug.
I glanced at Jack from underneath my lashes. He appeared drunk on my presence alone, his thighs spread, the thick length of his erection straining against his jeans. The way he observed, relaxed but enraptured, lit me up from the inside out. A fire roared in my belly, spreading to my fingertips and toes.
“Jesus Christ, Emma,” Jack cursed, wiping a finger back and forth across his bottom lip. His emerald eyes were bottomless pits. “Get on your knees.”
I sank to the floor, untying my hair from its elastic.
Jack swallowed, a dark cloud descending over him. “Now crawl,” he growled.
The satisfaction I felt from demeaning myself surprised me. I was naked, crawling, yet an overwhelming surge of power sluiced through my bloodstream. Jack was looking at me like I was the answer to every question he’d ever had, like I was the angel who would grant him entrance to heaven. He shifted his hips as I neared, like he hoped the fabric on his jeans would be enough to get him off. The rug chafed my palms, awakening my nerve endings. Jack bit his lip, digging his teeth into the plump flesh. When I reached him, I placed my hands on his thighs, awaiting further instruction.
“Sit on my lap, Emma,” he ordered.
For the second time that night, I straddled him. He leaned back, studying the swivel of my hips as I ground on his erection, getting lost in the song, the moment, my desire.
“I wasn’t very kind to you today, was I?” he ruminated, cupping my breasts, weighing them in each hand like a prospector.
I shook my head, then dove in to bite his neck, delving my fingers into his hair.
He skated his fingers to my backside, reaching around to sink into my pussy. The heel of his hand pressed against the bud of my anus, which he knew was off-limits for now, but Jack had a way of making me question myself. The pressure against that virginal area was foreign, but not unwelcome.
