Page 55 of Knotted Laces

It’ll be mutually beneficial. Pleasure for both of us and then…moving forward—Cam toward some nice girl who’ll recognize that family doesn’t mean sharing DNA, me toward a case I’ll be able to take on with a level head.

Because Cam is right.

Tommy may have given his life for mine, but I would have done the same given the chance, and I’m going to make sure his sacrifice is worth something.

I inhale, feel that fact settle deep inside.

Then I tuck it away.

Enough of that right now.

Enough of anything except Cam and I and the pleasure we can bring each other—or the pleasure I’m going to bringhimbecause he’s done an exemplary job of pleasuringme.

He’s tracing circles on my belly, random patterns that raise goose flesh on my skin, that wake my nerves, start building heat between my legs. But he doesn’t show any urgency to climb atop me and fuck me.

Patient.

A gentleman.

Not rushing. Pleasuring me first. Looking after me.

I inhale because that settles deep, right next to my grief for Tommy, the way I feel about Lex and Martha and the rest of the Jacksons, including Cam.

Though Cam…

Well, he’s the only Jackson I want to fuck.

The only Jackson I’mgoingto fuck.

I brush his hand away, push at his chest.

He doesn’t move, though he looks up at me, our gazes connecting. “Something you’re trying to tell me, cupcake?” he asks quietly, his lips twitching. He settles his hand back on my side, his big, warm palm spanning my waist, his fingers dipping south, brushingoh so slowlyclose to?—

I snag his wrist.

As much as I’m okay with him working me with those magic fingers, I need to take charge of this, need him to be pleasured and looked after and taken care of too.

Ignoring the blip of alarm that raises in me, I push at his chest again, roll him to his back, and clamber atop that hard, hot body.

Time to focus on something—anything—else.

And luckily, his smile grows.

“Something you want toride, baby?”

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Cam

I knowby the smile on her face that I’m in way over my head.

And I can’t give a fuck.

So, I don’t fight her as she pushes me back onto the rug, don’t argue when she climbs on top of me, when the slick, swollen folds of her pussy brush at my cock.

“Condom?” she asks, slowly lowering herself, rubbing against me, driving me crazy with the wet heat I’m desperate to fuck.

I want to tell her to forget it, that I’m clean, that I can’t get her pregnant.

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