The Dirty Series 2(41)

Jett wraps his fingers through my hair, a gentle pressure forming on the back of my head, and it can’t be more than twenty seconds before he growls, deep and low, then steps away releasing himself from my mouth. He pulls me up to my feet and then scoops me effortlessly into his arms.

“I want more of you,” he says in a hoarse whisper as he walks me across to the bed. He tears away my bra and panties and spreads me out across the duvet.

“Take it,” I say, tilting my head back, raising my hips just a little. “Take it.”





Chapter Eight





Jett



I can’t keep my hands off of Angelica.

I don’t want to keep my hands off her.

So I don’t.

Fucking her is the only thing in the world I want to do. At least that’s the only thing I’m going to admit to wanting right now, even though, in the back of my mind, it occurs to me that I’d be fine if the only entertainment left on earth was looking into her eyes.

Every second her lips are on mine magnifies the electric need I have for her, this woman I’ve known for only a total of four hours, and she meets my every move with more passion. I thought Emerald was the fieriest woman I’d ever met. Next to Angelica, she’s an extinguished candle.

The one thing I know is that I can’t get attached. When morning comes, I’m going to have to dismiss how perfect it feels to have my hands on Angelica’s curves, my mouth on her mouth, how she yields and attacks at exactly the right moments, how I have never kissed a woman like this, and I’ve never wanted for a woman like I want for Angelica.

I could lose myself in Angelica.

It would be a disaster if that happened. I see it now—Emerald was nothing more than a pretty distraction. I can’t afford to let this earth-shattering woman take control of my life, my world, because the house of cards I’ve built would come tumbling down. Emerald showed me how easy it can be to lose your grip. It won’t happen again.

But that’s not something I can think about right now, not when Angelica’s delicious body is underneath my hands, sensuous and soft, not when it feels like my clothes are sandpaper against my skin, and not when she kneels down on the plush carpet of my bedroom and takes me into her mouth.

I almost lose it when she expertly swirls her tongue around my rock-hard shaft, holding me in place with one hand. If I had forever with her, I’d let her do this for days, but all I’m guaranteed is tonight—and I’ll be damned if I let her suck me off right at the beginning.

I force myself to step back, and her face tightens. “I want more of you,” I say, pulling her to her feet, pulling her into my arms. Her body relaxes into my strength. She might as well be weightless.

I’m at the bed in four steps, perching her on the edge and tearing at the clasps of her bra, stripping her panties down her legs, and then I guide her head back until she’s completely open on the comforter, the sight of her lighting every one of my last nerves on fire, her lithe legs, the heated slickness between them, and her flat belly sloping down to her hips, which she raises toward me in offering.

“Take it,” she says, her voice sultry and soft. “Take it.”

So I do.

I climb up over her and cover her mouth with mine, tasting her deeply, slowly, until she’s writhing underneath me, her hands tight on my shoulders, her breaths coming hard and fast.

With one hand, I gather both her wrists and pin her arms above her head and she gasps, one sharp breath, as I leave a wet trail down the side of her neck to her collarbone, then lick it. Her skin is so sweet, so soft. With my knee, I knock her legs farther apart and she tests my grip on her wrists, smiling a little when I don’t ease up.

“Beg.”

“Please.”

“I’m not convinced.”

“Please.” Angelica bucks her hips against mine, tries to wrap one leg around my waist. I feel her hot wetness against my skin.

I lean down, whispering into her ear, “Please what, Angelica?”

“Please. Fuck. Me.” An emphasis on every word, an ache in her voice—she’s not playing a game.

“Only because you asked so nicely,” I tease, and then I line my cock up with her slit and slam it home.

She’s soaking, ready, so there’s no resistance—I’m in to the hilt on the first stroke and she moans, her muscles clenching around me, tightening, tightening. I piston myself in and out, in and out. Angelica meets every thrust. Her hands are above her head, her breasts straining to make contact with my chest, and I let her struggle against me until she’s panting, gasping.

The second her hands are free they’re on my shoulders and she throws her weight against my body. I don’t have to let her win but I do, and we roll over. Straddling me, she lines herself up and plunges down over my cock, her hips working in small circles.