JACE-1(Lane Brothers, Book 3)(16)

I remember every kiss, caress, and lick he ever gave me. I still dream of him at night. I still think about the way he felt inside me, the way he would go slow or get so wild that the headboard would pound against the wall with his every frenzied thrust, so hard and raw.

It’s all still there in my memory, playing over and over again in a loop that makes me miss the sex, the pleasure…him.

And I hate it! I hate missing him so much that I’m still weak enough to cry some nights and wonder what it was about me that wasn’t enough.

“Tracy?”

I startle and spin away to swipe at the moisture gathering in my eyes, wishing for the hundredth time that I’d never come back here. And then thanking God that I did.

The thing about locking myself away and only focusing on what I need to do to send my father to prison is that I haven’t lived in three years. I eat and sleep and sometimes I laugh at silly stuff, like kittens doing cute things or the way my mom looks in the morning before brushing her hair.

But that’s it, and I think I may have ruined myself here, stored it all for him just to get to this moment. Goddammit! I hate this shit so much. Where’s the hard-nosed FBI profiler who told her boss to go jack a horse?

He’s doing it again; he’s ruining me and changing me and I don’t like it.

“What, Lane? What the hell is it that you really want from me here, huh? Technically speaking, you shouldn’t even be here, and these little ‘chance encounters’ we keep having should be awkward as hell.”

That makes him smile, a tilt of his lips that looks sad and resigned at the same moment.

“And yet it isn’t. Ever ask yourself why that is, Tracy?”

“Sure, lots, and I think I must have hit my head really hard or something to even be talking to you at all.”

He comes closer, doing that sidling thing that hot guys do because they know it’s hot and enthralling and has the power to captivate me despite my resistance.

“Show me where and I’ll kiss it better,” he drawls.

I have to crane my neck to look back up at him, and when I do, he uses the moment to lean down and seal our lips in a soft, slow kiss that makes my toes gouge grooves in the tile.

Kissing him back is as natural as breathing, and I give him the same slow caress, telling myself the whole time that I’m just using him, that he doesn’t matter and I don’t care about anything but the sex.

“God, you still taste so good, Trace.” He groans, going back in, but this time with a hand in my hair so he can control the pressure and angle of the kiss.

The contact is combustible—everything I remember it to be and I have the insane urge to climb his body and start grinding away at him to alleviate the need settling in a hot pool between my thighs.

I want to devour him, conquer him the way he conquered me so that this time, when I leave, he’ll remember me the way I’ve remembered him and suffer, knowing that I will never be his again.

The moaning sound I make when he hoists me up with his hands cradling my ass and settles me on the kitchen island is breathy and needy but I don’t care, not when he pushes me down, his lips still on mine, and starts attacking the zipper running down the side of my dress.

I’m in my panties and bra seconds later with Jace rising above me, his eyes taking it all in as if he’s never seen me like this before.

“You still prefer cotton?”

“Yes.”

That makes him smile and I gasp when he moves down and just dives right in, settling his mouth over my pantie-clad sex. The fabric should dull the sensations; it really should. Instead, I feel it all when he starts licking me, wetting the cotton and driving me insane.

“Jace.”

“Hmm? What, babe? Tell me what you want,” he growls, slipping a finger into the crotch and pulling my panties away with a sigh.

“Please.”

I don’t want to beg, but I can’t stop myself even as my hips start grinding up, searching for contact with his wicked tongue.

“This?”

His tongue flicks over me quickly and retreats, and we both groan low in our throats at the contact.

“More.”

“This?”

He licks again, going lower, deeper, making me writhe with the desperate need brewing inside.

“No! Please. More,” I sob, spearing my hands through his hair to press him exactly where I want him.

The feeling is explosive at the first rough swipe over my clit, and I clench against the urge to come quickly, wanting something more than a quick—

Sex. Just sex, Tracy. No slow and gentle. No buildup.

That snaps me out of the lust-filled fog and I start riding his face with a desperation that overtakes everything and anything I could want.