Page 101 of Sweet Surrender

Rocket raises his hands in surrender, his chuckle drawing others to look our way. “Relax. I was just messing with you.”

But I’m not laughing. Because this isn’t a joke.

Across the room, Hendrix glances my way. Our eyes meet, and for a moment, I forget that Rocket and Vince are standing there or that no doubt, Hawkin is somewhere close by about to chime into their razzing.

You could have called me.

Those words ring in my ear. They were sincere, and despite the fact they came from someone I definitely hurt earlier, she said them as a woman trying to help me right a wrong.

A lump forms in my throat and I struggle with these foreign feelings. I don’t quite understand them.

Then my phone buzzes.

Hendrix: Why are you looking at me like that?

I smirk.

Me: Like what?

Hendrix: Like you want to cause a scene.

Me: Maybe I do. Sounds par for the course.

Hendrix: You’re supposed to be on your best behavior. Remember?

Me: And you’re not supposed to be charming every man who comes and talks to you.

I watch her smile curl up as she reads the text.

Hendrix: Maybe this is all part of my master plan.

Me: Master plan? To do what?

Her eyes widen slightly, a flush creeping up her neck. And damn if I don’t want to drag her out of here right now. All I can hope is that the text she’s typing me gives me a reason to do just that.

Hendrix: To find somewhere very soon, very near, where you can put that smart mouth of yours to good use.

Me: Are you asking what I think you’re asking, Cookie? Say the words. Tell me what you want.

Hendrix: I want you to fuck me, Jase. Hard. Fast. In this dress. Against a wall. On the floor. Bent over. I don’t care so long as it’s soon.

Me: Is that so?

Hendrix: Maybe I want to fuck the Madison Sinclair right out of you. Operation Live-A-Little.

Jesus. Fucking. Christ.

I reread the text again to make sure she really just sent that to me. That she really just said that.

Yep.

She sure as fuck did.

My cock stirs and I don’t need anyone, let alone these fuckers, to see it. “I’ll be right back. Hendrix needs to be rescued.” The lie is quick and easy and is greeted with chuckles from the guys.

But I don’t care. All I see is the purple dress. All I can think about is slipping it up over her hips, bending her over, and sliding into her tight pussy.

Operation Live-A-Little is the best fucking plan I’ve ever had.