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For him.
With concerted effort, he subdued the urge to take her. To stake his claim. Instead, he strove to be the better man. To prove that she was gorgeous, inside and out. He traced the largest welt on her abdomen, the one shaped like a tic-tac-toe grid, and she tensed beneath him. Her pulse throbbed even harder in her neck.
Flat on her back, she lifted a brow. “Tic-tac-toe isn’t the game I had in mind when you pulled off my suit.”
Despite the glimmer of concern in her eyes, she was clearly trying to keep her tone nonchalant. He ignored her attempt to keep it light and shifted down her body, his lips landing on the angrily puckered, permanent welt.
A hiss of frustration—laced with a hint of confusion—whooshed from her lips.
Moving his mouth across her belly, her muscles tense beneath his tongue, he traced the long length of the scar with his lips and placed a hand between her legs. In response, goose bumps peppered her flesh and her body began to relax, the tension easing from her muscles. Encouraged, he began to place imaginary X’s with his tongue and O’s with openmouthed kisses, concentrating on the mark she’d carved on her fourteenth birthday.
“Nobody wins at tic-tac-toe,” she said, her voice
notably breathless.
He looked up at her, noting the flush of desire on her cheeks.
His words came out as a satisfied rumble. “Oh, I’m winning all right.”
A sultry smile slipped up her face, and she threaded her fingers through his damp hair as she arched her back again, and need twisted hard inside him. With her hands, she urged his head lower, almost writhing beneath him now.
“Fun and games are over,” she said. “It’s time to get serious.”
“Not yet.”
And he’d never been more serious in his life.
He eased his fingers into the silken heat between her legs, and Jax bit her lower lip and groaned.
“Yes,” she breathed, almost in relief.
His tongue continued to trace the marks on her belly, blazing a trail as he dedicated himself to tasting every scar on her torso. And when she whispered something to the effect that she’d die if he didn’t end her agony soon, his thumb brushed hard across her nub. Jax whimpered.
Sweat broke out at the nape of his neck, but not from the heat of the sun on his back. He knew she wanted him inside her. And his body screamed to give her exactly that. It was what they both wanted. Longed for. Craved.
But, damn it, he would be the stronger man. Even if it killed him.
Mouth on her scarred skin, hand between her legs, he drove her higher, enjoying the return of the tension in her abdomen, because this time the strain was due to pleasure. As he brought her closer to the edge, her groans grew louder as she rocked her hips in time with his hand.
Until finally, he firmly flicked his thumb across her nub, and she arched her back, taking the fall.
“Blake,” she called, clutching his shoulders as her muscles clenched around him.
While the aftershocks of Jax’s orgasm continued, Blake kept one eye on the beautiful sight as he quickly retrieved a condom from the beach bag and shucked his swim trunks, sheathing himself before shifting up her body. Caught up in the overwhelming need to capture a little of her indomitable spirit, to attain a bit of her amazing fortitude for himself, he cupped her face and thrust deep, burying himself in her wet, welcoming warmth.
* * *
The morning she received the fabulous news that the rap star Bulldog had decided to sponsor the South Glade Teen Center music program, Jax threw up for the third time in as many days.
One episode was easy to dismiss as a fluke. With two, she’d prayed hard it was the beginning of a debilitating stomach flu. But three times, without the rest of the symptoms of a virus, could only mean one thing.
Heart pounding, one hand propped against the bathroom wall of the guest cottage, Jax tightened her grip around the phone. A phone still pressed against her chest from her attempt to block the sound of her breakfast making a surprise reappearance. As Jax grappled with the ominous implications, her mind spun. But she was mostly busy struggling to keep her wobbly knees from collapsing. Holding an intelligent conversation with Blake’s mother at the same time was really asking too much.
“Jax?” Abigail’s muffled voice called out from the phone, “Are you still there? What was that horrible sound?”
