Wrong (A Bad Boy Romance)(121)

Instead I carry her into the main part of the bar. The tables are mostly empty, but the chairs are sitting on them, upside down. I shove them off inelegantly, paying no attention to where they land. Salt and pepper shakers go flying along with a napkin dispenser. I sit Jess on the table and move between her legs, finding her mouth again, kissing her hard.

She makes no more protests, but loops her arms around my neck, pulling me closer. I pulse my hips between her thighs, feeling her heat even through her clothes and mine. I’m past thinking about anything else right now; all I want is her. All I want is to be inside her.

There are clothes in the way, the angle is all wrong, and I’m bleeding again above my eye. I can feel it. But I’m not going to stop. I start dragging at the snap and zipper of my jeans, doing what I can to get them out of the way as quickly as possible. She cooperates, pulling at her own clothes. Why didn’t she wear a dress today? Seriously, is that too much to ask? I mean, she should be prepared to have me fuck her in a bar, right?

The thought almost makes me laugh, but when I smile into her mouth she bites my bottom lip and I’m not thinking much anymore after that. My jeans finally come loose and hit the floor with a rattle of belt buckle. She starts wiggling, and I step back a little to give her room to work her way out of her own jeans. While she’s doing that, I shove a hand up her shirt and palm her breast. The jut of her nipple against my palm is familiar by now, a hot, thrusting nub. I pinch it. She gasps. As her jeans slide completely off, I lean forward and bite her nipple right through her shirt.

“God, Cain…”

And then I’m inside her, and she’s not talking anymore. She’s so hot, so slick. It hurts for me to thrust into her, but I don’t let that stop me. I can taste my own blood in her mouth as I kiss her. My fingers comb into her hair, holding her head stationary as I press her mouth open with mine, as I bite her tongue.

I realize as I accelerate my pace that she’s started to cry again, but her hands are clutching at me, nails digging into my back. I’m probably bleeding there, too, but it doesn’t matter. She wants something from me—needs it—and I’m more than happy to give it to her. It feels like she’s trying to claw her way into me, like she thinks there’s safety there.

I can’t guarantee her anything. I also can’t make a coherent thought. So I just hold on to her, and she buries her face in my neck while I pound into her, her legs wrapped around my hips, her arms strapped around my torso. Her teeth latch on to the muscle of my shoulder, biting down. I grunt at the pain, but I don’t mind it. I can feel her hips thrusting back against me, hard and desperate. Her teeth clench harder on me, and suddenly I’m coming deep inside that clutching heat, and then she clamps down on my cock and starts to pulse, her voice coming out in a wordless, grating breath.

“Cain…” she says, but nothing else.

I tighten my arms around her. “It’ll be all right, Jess. I promise. You’re mine now. I’ve got you.”

I hope to hell I’m telling her the truth.





CHAPTER EIGHT



Jessica



We’ve been home from our honeymoon for a week, and it’s been fairly quiet since the incident when Cain went to the grocery store. It seems ridiculous that a trip to the store ended so intensely, but it did. And Pop, in trying to drive us apart, actually pushed us closer together. It’s like it’s him and me against the world, or at least against Pop. We talk more, spend time just getting to know each other instead of fucking day in and day out. I’ve been happy to discover Cain and I actually have things to talk about, things in common. That I really enjoy spending time with him.

It’s been occurring to me lately that I might actually be in love with him.

It’s also been occurring to me that I might have a stomach bug. At first I thought food poisoning, but I didn’t have a fever, and it went away after about two in the afternoon, only to start up again the next morning. Then I thought stomach bug, but again, the symptoms didn’t quite fit.

I finally let myself put two and two together, after several days of denying it out of sheer desperation. And now I’m not sure what the hell I’m going to do. I have no idea how Cain might react. Not to mention my father. To say he will probably flip his shit is one of the biggest understatements ever understated.

Right now I’m standing next to the ring at Cain’s gym, watching him spar and train with Paul. Paul seems like an okay guy, although he keeps giving me the side-eye like he can’t figure out why I’m here. He saw the ring on my hand, saw the matching one that Cain took off before he wrapped his hands and gloved up. Surely he, too, has put two and two together—that is, if he didn’t know already. I’d figured the news would travel pretty fast among Pop’s cronies. Either way, he doesn’t seem inclined to ask any questions.