Page 68 of Jackpot Joker

Dario’s large hands grip my ass, pulling me closer to him, and I rest my forehead against his. The connection as he pumps me onto his incredible cock is too much, and my body tightens around him.

“Fuck, Jasmine, your pussy is so fucking perfect. You are so fucking perfect. You were made for me, Jaz. Do you feel it? Do you feel how good we are together?”

“Yes,” I cry out. “You feel so good, Dario. Don’t stop. Please don’t stop.”

“Not gonna fucking stop,” Dario growls. “I can’t get enough of you. You are mine.”

With each word, he thrusts inside, and it tips me over. The orgasm crashes into me, and I throw my head back, but Dario never loosens his grip, not even as his cum fills me up and I begin to feel it slide between my thighs.

Chapter 34

Jasmine

Dario’s bare ass is on the concrete floor of the closet, but he holds me to him, never allowing me to touch the ground. I place a kiss on his shoulder, then trail my lips down to his impressive biceps.

“How often do you work out?” I ask, genuinely curious because I have never seen a man’s body look this damn good.

Dario runs his hand over my hair. “Daily.”

“Really?” I pull my head up and look at him. There’s an amused expression on his face. “You work out every single day?”

He shrugs. “It’s a habit. Our father made us when we were younger so we could become his strong soldiers, and I’ve kept it up over the years. Why do you ask?”

“You’re the only one who has ever carried me,” I confess.

“During sex?” Dario asks, and I shake my head.

“Ever.”

His eyebrows turn down. “Your parents didn’t carry you around when you were little?”

“Well, of course they did when I was an infant, and I’m sure when I was a toddler, too. But, in my childhood? No. I remember one summer when I was eight, I was playing softball. I tripped over third base, making my way to home plate, and twisted my ankle. There was no way I could put any weight on it. My coach came over and picked me up to bring me to the dugout, where my parents had rushed over. My ankle was already swollen, and I was in so much pain, but neither of them moved to carry me to the car. They made me hop on one foot all the way there, insisting nothing was wrong and I was making a big deal out of nothing.”

“Was something wrong?”

I nod. “I had torn a tendon. It was my one and only surgery I’ve had.”

“Your parents should be punished for making you go through that pain.”

I shake my head and place a hand on his chest before giving him a soft smile. “They didn’t know. They’re good parents, but they strongly believe in the walk-it-off method. That’s basically what they said any time I got hurt, whether physically or emotionally. I learned that expressing my emotions and crying was futile, so I don’t.”

Dario’s hand glides to the back of my neck, and he pulls me down for a soft, slow kiss. I melt into him, loving the way he’s holding me. “I’ve seen them a few times here and there. Your emotions. And every single time, I savor them. I love when you’re mad. I crave every exasperated eye roll. Your smiles make my heart skip a beat. And when you flash your eyes at me and look at me as though I’m something you want to devour, my entire body vibrates.”

We stare at each other, and the intensity is almost too much. “Every eye roll?” I tease.

Dario caresses my cheek. “Every. Single. One.” His lips move against mine once more, and it’s far too soon when he pulls away. “I want all of your emotions, Jasmine. I want you to know that I will carry you through anything and everything.”

I look into his eyes and know he means what he says, and I realize I want that, too. I don’t want to be the girl who doesn’t feel. I don’t want to be the woman who thinks acting on emotion is frivolous. I want to be the woman who has a partner who walks through them in life and believes in them the way Dario believes in me.

I slide my hand down his chest, past his flawless abs, and then grip his length. My hand slides over his length. “I want you, Dario. Again.”

“Have you seen my panties?” I ask Dario, turning around in time to see him shove something inside his pockets.

He looks up at the ceiling and does that thing where he snaps as he connects his fist to his palm. “Umm, nope. Don’t know where those must have gone.”

I roll my eyes, knowing he’s kept his own little souvenir, but I continue to straighten myself up and remove as much evidence from this crime scene as possible. I glance over at the lifeless man, noting the large wet spot on his jeans and wondering how much of it is from me and how much is nature running its course. Guess there isn’t much I can do about that.

“Umm, so what do we do with him?” I ask, jutting my chin in the direction of the body I made my personal sex chair.