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“I’ll be fine. Probably watch some more TV and get to bed early.” I didn’t meet his eyes.
“Good. Don’t worry about anything, it’s all going to work out.”
I nodded, tightly, guessing he was reminding himself as much as assuring me. He had a whole life to get back to, with his bar and his girl.
“Oh, and I’ll pick up a phone for you. One that can’t be traced.” He paused a moment, as if he wanted to do or say something more.
“Let’s get a move on.” Zeke led him into the garage. He followed without saying anything more.
The next five hours seemed like the longest of my life. No phone, nothing to bake, not able to leave the house, I thought I’d lose my mind. I showered just for something to do. I flicked through movies and shows, nothing capturing my attention for even a fraction of a second.
What were they doing? What was the conversation they were having like? Was it going well? Was Jax safe? Maybe I should have gone with him, or at least offered? I’d tried to handle this all on my own, leaving Mike without any help. Now it looked like things were happening the other way around, with Jax doing all the maneuvering and planning. I should be a part of things.
I guessed I should also be feeling some burden, a heavy weight over my soul. They weren’t talking about bringing Mike to justice under due process of law. There would be no trial. They were talking about meting out their own version of justice, an eye for an eye. A finger for a finger. The thought popped into my head, unbidden, along with what I’d seen that night at the club. The image of his laughter, his boastful, proud face as he showed off some guy’s bloody finger, that filled me with more certainty than even the memory of his heated attempt to kill me.
It was the sociopathic laughter, the disassociation of his cheerful demeanor with the graphic, disturbing evidence of extreme violence that hardened my resolve. Mike needed to taste the fruit of his labor. He’d been a bad man for a long time. It was time to stop him, by any means necessary.
Finally, around midnight, I managed to drift off into a troubled sleep. Images of Nikki danced through my dreams, her laughter, light like a balloon drifting off up into the summer sunshine. Meanwhile I sat in the dark, weighted down with pain.
Tormented, my eyes opened around three a.m. I looked for Jax on the couch but it was empty. Were they still out meeting with the Reapers’?
The light was on in the hallway and I tiptoed toward it. Maybe he and Zeke were up in the living room. I could go ask what had happened.
I didn’t hear voices, no sound at all except the roaring rush of water coming from the adjoining bathroom. Drawing closer, the door slightly ajar, I could hear that someone was taking a shower. Probably Jax.
I should have turned around and headed back to bed. Maybe it was because my nightmares had been so dreadful, pulling and pushing me around like demons, but I stayed there, at the door. And I nudged it open an inch more.
Inside, the bathroom was steamy. But I had a direct view of the shower. And what I saw wasn’t a curtain. Zeke’s house was pretty tricked out. I guess sometimes crime did pay, because he had a pretty high-end glass shower. It gave me quite a view.
Jax had his back turned toward me. I’d known he was muscular. You’d have to be blind to not pick up on that fact. But seeing him naked took my breath away. His shoulders rippled with definition as the water pounded down along them. His torso formed a perfect V, the broad width of his back tapering down to his hips and then, dear God his ass. Round and muscular and sculpted, I couldn’t look away.
And then I realized what he was doing. He groaned and shifted slightly, turning to rest one of his palms against a shower wall. The other palm was moving, back and forth, stroking his thick, hard cock.
I bit my lip. I should go. I shouldn’t be there in the hallway spying on him. What if he looked up and saw me? The way he was turned now, he could catch me if he glanced at the door. But I couldn’t move. I was fascinated, riveted, watching him stroke himself, bring himself pleasure.
I couldn’t help it, it made me throb so much to see him. I slipped my hands down, past the hemline of the T-shirt I wore—his T-shirt, tempting and surrounding me with his scent. I slid inside my panties, parting my legs and moving my fingers down to find the part of me that ached. I had to stifle a moan when I felt how wet I already was, watching him, seeing the tension build in his body. His muscles so hard, bulging in the heat. The pace of his hand increasing, the way his lips parted slightly as he leaned over his hand.
I matched his movements, circling my clit, stroking my slick pussy, pushing my hips into my fingers. I pressed against the doorframe, clutching it with my free hand, both supporting myself and stopping myself from walking inside. What would he do if I joined him? So aroused, so close to cumming, would he welcome me into the wet heat? Would he fuck me hard with that huge cock of his, parting my legs and pushing me up against the wall, making me scream it felt so good?
His buttocks clenched and he groaned, low and throaty, as he started to cum, spurting out in thick jets I wished I could taste. My own shudders climaxed, seeing him there, joining him as orgasmic ripples of pleasure tore through my body. Trying to bite back my moan, closing my eyes it felt so intense, I couldn’t be sure exactly what I heard him say. I was distracted, caught up in my own orgasm, but I thought I heard him say something as he came. Over the rush of the water, the blood pounding in my ears, I could have sworn I heard him groan, “Sky.”
Sucking my breath in, I took my hand out of my panties, almost feeling like I’d been caught. But my furtive glance over to him didn’t reveal anything other than him standing, still now as he leaned heavily toward the wall, forehead against his hand. I took my ‘get out of jail free’ card and ran with it, padding swiftly barefoot back to the bedroom. I threw myself into bed quicker than a teenager about to get caught for sneaking out.
Covers up and over me, head turned into the pillow, all lights off, I presented a convincing portrait. At least, I hoped I did. Jax came in about ten minutes later, and I could smell him, freshly showered. I wanted to run my hands all over that delicious body, see if he’d missed any drops in toweling off. I’d catch them with my tongue.
But I lay there, forcing my breathing to stay slow and steady, my eyes to remain closed. I could hear him stub his toe in the blackness, swear softly, then make his way to the couch. He sank onto it, over 200 pounds of muscle and man. He turned and shifted, trying to get comfortable.
I could invite him into the bed. It would be polite, considerate, helpful. Or I could offer to sleep on the couch instead. I felt embarrassed I hadn’t insisted on it. Last night I’d been so tired I barely remembered falling asleep. But tonight I could tell him we should switch, that it made no sense for him to suffer on that lumpy couch. His feet probably dangled off the end of it, but I’d tuck myself in easy.
But I didn’t because I didn’t trust myself. My body still tingled and glowed from my orgasm, the one he’d brought me to, watching him so glorious and naked and animalistic, stroking the biggest cock I’d ever seen. Plus I kept thinking ab
out the moment —possibly imagined, but there it was, lodged in my brain nonetheless—when he might have called out my name. The thought that he might want me as much as I wanted him? That would not make for an easy transition, me lying neatly down on the couch while he climbed into bed. That would inevitably lead to fumbling in the dark, my hands reaching out, twisting, pulling, kissing. So I kept my eyes closed, and eventually my fake sleep turned into the real thing.
§
The next morning, I found Jax in the kitchen drinking some coffee. The clock on the stove read 10:15.
“I can’t believe I slept so late!” I brought my hand to my face, rubbing my eyes. “I never sleep this late.”
“You’ve got a lot on your mind. And it’s good for you to sleep.” Jax poured me some coffee. What a man, not even asking first. Add that to the list of reasons why it was getting harder and harder to keep my hands off of him.
“Thank you.” I took the mug from him, grateful. His glance slid from my face, down my body where I still wore just his T-shirt and panties from the night’s sleep. I probably should have slipped on my jeans first. I’d jumped up, wondering what time it was when I’d awakened to sunlight streaming through the window.
He looked away, seeming almost pained. “How’re the injuries today? Wrist? Shoulder?”
“Better.” I rolled my shoulder, finding it still sore but nothing another day of Ibuprofen wouldn’t help me through. I hadn’t told him I’d gotten hurt there. But he must have noticed me favoring it, in that observant way of his.
“And your throat?” He watched as I ran my hand over my neck.
“I’m good.” I swallowed, feeling no pain. I’d been lucky that night, so lucky I’d been able to defend myself. He could have done so much worse. “How did it go last night?”
“They’re interested, like I thought they would be.” His gaze met mine, his dark, intense eyes drawing me to him. “He wants to meet you.”
