Wrong (A Bad Boy Romance)(76)

But I’m proud of this place. It’s mine. I paid for it with my own sweat and blood. All before I got hooked in with Spada and his mob cronies and everything that relationship brings with it. Yeah, I’ve got more money now, but I’m beginning to think I’d rather earn it with sweat and blood than with lies and bullshit.

Jessica gives the building a hard, sweeping glance as I escort her to the front door. It’s been all I could do to keep it in my pants on the short drive from the club; I’m so fucking hard I’m afraid something’s going to break in there if I move wrong. I have a hard time getting the key in the lock, and then my fingers fumble on the alarm keypad.

Finally we’re inside. I prepare myself for the niceties—maybe a quick tour of the place, offer her a drink, see if she needs to know where the bathroom is—but before I can so much as turn around to take her coat, Jessica Spada is on me, arms around my neck, one leg cocked up over the jut of my hipbone. Her mouth takes mine, hard and bruising, and I return the favor. Chances are good we’ll both taste like blood before this night is over.

The kiss hurts on my mouth where I took that punch to the face tonight. Tory was good, and he fought hard, but he’s never been as good as me. Which was the main reason I managed to knock him out even though I was supposed to throw the fight.

Jessica’s tongue prods into my lip like she’s trying to taste that damn cut. I make a noise in my throat and start to push her back, but damn, that slice of pain is making my dick throb. She bites at my lips and then eases off.

“You want to do this in the bedroom, or right here?”

“I really don’t care,” I tell her. “You want me to fuck you pretty, or you want me to fuck you dirty, like over the kitchen counter? The back of the couch?” I glance toward the living area. “Up against that wall?”

“Shit.” She drags my head down again, kisses me again, and then jumps up into my arms, wrapping her legs around my waist. I didn’t expect it, but I still catch her easily. “You fuck me wherever’s going to get you inside me faster.”

God. I’m not sure what I expected from her, but I know it wasn’t this. She’s no shrinking violet, withdrawing from my hard hands. I figured she’d be scared, or at the very least hesitant. Sure, she put on a good show back at the club, but it’s easy to change your mind once the rubber hits the road.

Or, you know, once the rubber hits my dick. I do have some, don’t I? Yeah… A box in the kitchen cabinet, I remember. I steer her that way. “Kitchen cabinet it is, then,” I tell her, and she bites my lip. Hard.

“Minx,” I say. “God, you are…” I trail off. I honestly don’t know what to say to her right now. Mostly because every bit of blood I own is fighting for space inside my dick and not one drop has stayed behind in my brain.

She grins. “Unexpected? Well…” There’s a hesitation as I plop her ass on the kitchen counter and rummage in the towel drawer for the extra box of condoms. She seems to lose her train of thought at that. “Cain…you keep condoms in the kitchen?”

“Never know when they might come in handy.” I rip one off the strip with my teeth and hold it, grinning around it. She takes it and whaps me in the nose with it.

“I’m putting this on you,” she tells me.

“How are you going to put it on me when I’m fucking your ass from behind?”

An eyebrow moves up. “You can fuck me from behind, but you’re not fucking my ass.”

It isn’t actually what I meant, but it’s good to know she has lines and is willing to draw them. I lean forward. “Maybe not tonight…” Then I bite her earlobe.

“God, get on with it.”

I’m not sure I want to get on with it. Maybe I just want to take my time, put my hands all over her. I push between her thighs where they’re splayed open, her knees bent, feet dangling off the edge of the cabinet. She’s wearing a skirt, which is handy; it’s shoved up to the tops of her thighs, already out of the way, and her panties show, a wink of pink as she shifts. She’s hot and wet against my stomach; I can feel it right through her panties, my shirt. Kissing her, I start to pull at the buttons on her top.

She reaches for the hem of my shirt and peels it up. Her fingernails scrape over my skin as the shirt rises, and I shudder a little, an involuntary noise coming out of me, like a growl. She chuckles, drags the shirt over my head, and gives it a random toss over her shoulder.

“You look good, Cain.”

I drag the sides of her unbuttoned blouse open and look down at her breasts, swelling out of the cups of an orchid-colored silk bra. Her skin is pale and flawless, especially in contrast to mine—darker, scarred, my left forearm inked to the wrist. “So do you, Jess.”