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“You’re beautiful,” I assure her. “Even with mascara all over your face.”
Her eyes go wide. “Oh God. Do I really have mascara all over my face?”
“You do,” I laugh, because fuck me, she’s adorable. Sweet. Honest. Too honest to be with York which still puzzles me. Too honest to be like her father, but her brother is another story, and that’s a problem for us I’ll deal with when the time comes. And it will come.
She surprises me and pushes to her toes, kissing my cheek. “Thank you, Jax.” I have no idea what she’s thanking me for, and I don’t get to ask. With that statement, she turns and hurries up the stairs, a woman born to be my enemy and yet, she’s already starting to matter to me, too easily she’s starting to matter to me. I wanted to hit York. I wanted to yank his balls through his damn nose. Because he hit her. I know it. I don’t even want to know what else he did to her. He’s going to pay. He’s going to know my name like he knows no other.
Searching for my clothes, I snatch up my shirt that has somehow landed in the foyer, and I pull it on. York had to have seen it when he walked in. Considering the neighbor’s commentsabout Emma’s lack of male companionship, that must have shocked the fuck out of him. I hope it burned a hole in his ego. I ignore my tuxedo jacket, and head into the kitchen, where I find trash bags and paper towels, as well as some carpet cleaner. The rug will be the easiest of the messes I’m cleaning up considering what I put into play with Eric Mitchell yesterday. I wanted to hurt her family. Now, I just want to protect her.
Heading up the stairs, I enter the bedroom and find the bathroom door shut. I walk to the mess by the lounge chair and find the ice cream is contained inside the pints for the most part. Clean-up is quick and easy, and when I stand up, my gaze lands on the journal on the floor by the bed. Damn it to hell, I want to read what’s inside that thing. I want to know why my damn brother would even consider selling the castle, which means the entire whiskey operation. There was no financial reason that I’ve found. There was something else going on. Something he died knowing and I need to fucking know what, but if I pick that journal up, if I start reading, it will change who I am with Emma.
I squeeze my eyes shut and picture her face when I reached for my belt, and I can almost feel her trembling in my arms when she wanted to go at York. I can’t do it. Not without talking to her. Not without her permission and she’s not ready to hear what I have to say. I’m not ready to tell her yet, either. I can’t risk a misstep. I can’t risk being wrong about her.
The bathroom door opens and Emma steps into the bedroom, her hair smoothed out, her lips glossy. She holds up a toothbrush. “Brand new in the package. I’m assuming that’s why you haven’t kissed me good morning because any other answer smites more than a little. And I’m minty fresh, in case you’re wondering.”
I laugh and set the trash bag by the door. “A toothbrush, you, and a kiss in the morning is exactly what I need.”
I pause just beside her and kiss her neck, whispering, “But once I kiss you, I might not stop and we might not make it to my hotel room.”
Her hand touches my face and just that easily, I’m hot and hard, and ready to fuck her here and now. Screw the hotel room. Screw breakfast. I nip her earlobe and groan with the effort it takes to walk away, and cross to enter the bathroom. Just inside the small room, the lingering scent of freshly-sprayed floral perfume insinuates itself into my nostrils and reminds me of every naked, unexpected moment I’d spent with her last night. Because everything with Emma has been unexpected.
I brush my teeth and when I’m done, I study the room with more thought. It’s square-shaped with white-tile and a simple tub to match the simple room. I frown at what might spell big money in San Francisco but doesn’t match the only daughter of the Knight king. And she has to pay rent for this? Something feels off.
I exit the room to find Emma by the bed. “I’m ready when you are,” she says, patting the small bag hanging on her shoulder. “I brought what I need to shower at the hotel and I got rid of the trash.”
She’s ready to leave and I suddenly wonder if she’s as eager as I am to be out of Knight territory. I wonder what reasons she has beyond the obvious to need escape. Closing the small space between us, I slide the bag off her shoulder, onto mine, and catch her hip. “You sure you don’t want to get away and stay at my place? Room service and us in bed?”
“Takeout and us in bed here,” she says, her hand on my cheek. “I’m not letting York run me out of my own apartment.”
It’s a smart answer, one of a strong woman who hasn’t denied abuse, and proves she isn’t beat but York is. He just doesn’t know it yet. “Do you know how badly I want to fuck you right now?”
“Obviously not too badly, since you still haven’t kissed me.”
I warned her that a kiss wouldn’t be enough and she didn’t listen. I toss her bag on the bed, preparing to make good on that promise.
Chapter nineteen
Jax
You still haven’t kissed me.
At Emma’s words, I catch the loose strands of her dark hair in my fingers, dragging her mouth to mine. “And now I have,” I say, my lips slanting over her lips and I lick past her teeth, the taste of her sweet in a way I wouldn’t have believed a Knight could ever be sweet. I fold her closer, and she makes this soft, sexy sound that drives me fucking wild. Everything about this woman affects me. For once, I’m not thinking about a fuck and a finish. I’m thinking about how I make her sigh for me again. I’m thinking about how I can send her to bed with my name on her lips, and her, all of her, on mine.
And that’s exactly where I want her now.
I slide my hands under the loose-fitting sweats to find no panties, and a free zone to that sweet spot between her legs. I settle on one knee, press my lips to her belly, dragging her sweats lower, squeezing her sweet little backside. Her fingers jab into my hair and I lean her on the bed, and drag her pants down her hips. “How’s this for a kiss?” I ask, my gaze catching hers before my tongue flicks her clit, a tease, a promise for more.
She sucks in a breath, her hands gripping the mattress. “Jax,” she whispers, my name on her lips, exactly what I want, her pleasure and nothing more. I can wait. She needs to know I don’t have to take. I’m not fucking York. Just thinking about him touching her, taking a belt to her in some mockery of sexual pleasure has me suckling her deeper, sliding a finger along her sex, seeking what he clearly did not. Her satisfaction.
Right now, I want and need what she claimed I can’t have, what I swore I’d never ask for. I want to own her, at least her pleasure, her body. I lick her again, my fingers flexing on her backside. There are so many things I want to do with Emma and to Emma, but I remind myself to go slow, she needs me to go slow, to focus on one orgasm and then the next.
I suckle her clit. I lick into her sex. I fuck her with my tongue, my mouth, fast and deep, and then I pull back. I slow myself down. I slow her down. Now it’s all about gentle, tender licks, the taste of her salty and sweet, the sounds she’s making—low pants and moans—tightening my balls. I want inside her. I want to thrust and drive and pump. I want all that wet, tight heat clenching my cock, and I show her with my mouth. Over and over I lick her until that last desperate lift of her hips, with my fingers buried deep inside her, sets her to trembling, spasms milking my fingers where I wish like fuck my cock was buried right now. She jerks and then moans before sitting up, leaning forward, and burying her face in my neck.
“Jax,” she whispers again, stroking my cock through my zipper. “I need you inside me.”
I catch her hand. “No condom, sweetheart,” I say, and thank fuck I have a reason to have willpower, to stick to my vow, to make this about her, not me.
She pulls back and looks at me, her eyes heavy. “I’m on the pill,” she whispers. “Not for him. For cramps. I’m clean. I’m safe. I made him use a condom. I didn’t trust him and—”
