The Phoenix Candidate(31)

He rubs his temples as if the question causes him physical pain. “Because this is not how it works for me.”

I summon a wry smile. “It’s not exactly working for me right now either, Jared.”

His head drops again. “I’m sorry, Grace. I can’t.”

“Can’t what? Do I need to pull out one of your pep talks? That’s why I’m here. To fix it. And I came to tell you that I’m not quitting. Not us or the race. This fight might be over before it starts if Conover picks Rivera, but there’s a hell of a lot of fight still left in me.”

Jared drops his other hand without my prompting and finally looks at me. His red-rimmed eyes are hollow, searching. “Yes,” he answers slowly, “I believe there is.”

I stand. “Then we’re doing this.” I grab the edges of my T-shirt and whip it over my head before I have a chance to chicken out. My bra, my yoga pants, my panties. They drop to the floor, and I’m bare before him.

Jared looks up at me, and for the first time I don’t see the cocky, dominant man who lives to tease and torture me. I see someone far more humble, more vulnerable, more real.

“Grace, I can’t give you everything you want.”

“Then give me something. One thing.” I pull off his T-shirt and push him back on the bed. “Just give me tonight.”





Chapter Twenty





Jared’s breath rattles as I strip off his boxers. I press his knees apart, planting kisses up the inside of his thighs. I feel the muscles in his legs harden beneath my hands and I flick my tongue against his shaft.

Once. Twice. His cock twitches in response.

I trace my tongue up the vein, my fingers trailing between his thighs and cupping his sac. Soft, short curls. The smell of musk and man. The ridge and velvety head as my lips close around him.

Jared’s groan is deep, vibrating through his chest.

Emboldened, I take him deeper. My teeth tease the head of his cock, then I pull him deeper into me, my tongue stroking in a building rhythm that matches his breath. Shorter pants, sharper gasps.

The power over him in this moment sends electricity skittering across my bare skin. My jaw aches, my knees grind into the hotel room carpet, and my breasts brush the rough comforter cover. In this moment of strange suspension, I feel my connection to Jared amplify, morph, and blend in my own skin.

My fingers work beneath his sac, his seam, and his balls that draw tight, the skin wrinkling as I bring him closer. I swallow and take him deeper in my throat, lost in this darkness and desire.

Jared’s body hardens, his legs squeeze around me as his climax builds. Three more strokes, my tongue works his length. Two more. I add pressure from my lips and my jaw, sealing myself tightly to him as my fingers press between his legs.

It’s his undoing. A deep growl builds in his belly as I take him all the way over the edge. His whole body convulses with the climax, his breath ripped from his lungs.

“Grace.” It’s a plea for release that’s coming hard and fast. His hand fists in my hair so tightly my scalp tingles. I tighten my hold on him and swallow, refusing to release him until he’s emptied himself completely. With one last convulsion, he shudders and goes slack.

I release him slowly, sliding my lips from his cock, placing one soft kiss there before I slide up his body and into his embrace.

“Grace.” This time he says my name reverently, tenderly. His hand combs through my hair, from my nape up my scalp, and he pulls my body tightly to his. “You don’t know what you do to me, woman.”

I grin into the darkness, a secret smile he can’t see. “I think I have a pretty good idea.”

“No, Grace. You truly don’t know. You could be addictive.”

“And you’re not?” I toss out playfully. I run my hands through his chest hair, feeling the hard planes of muscle across his stomach.

“Not like this—this much.” Jared’s still breathing hard, and I pull away from him enough to see the dim light reflected in mahogany eyes. “You’re too much, Grace. Too real.”

“Too alive?” I challenge. “Because this is what you said I needed to be, right? Living.”

He doesn’t answer. For a long time, I just lie there, curled under his arm, listening to our breathing grow deeper, slower, more even. I’m drifting to sleep when I hear his whisper.

“You make me want to be that alive, too.”





***





My phone’s alarm sounds foreign and I stir, disoriented in this bed.

I roll, finding the rest of the bed empty.

As is the room.

No Jared. No clothes or papers or mess. No suitcase.

And suddenly I feel horribly alone.

What have I done?