Page 25 of Riding Dirty for Christmas

She's tightening around me, her body trembling on the edge. I reach between us, my thumb finding her clit with sure, firm circles.

“Let go for me,” I growl against her throat. “I've got you.”

“Jack!” She cries out my name like salvation as she comes undone in my arms.

The sight of her lost in pleasure, trusting me completely with her vulnerability, pushes me over the edge.

I thrust into her one final time, my release tearing through me with an intensity that leaves me shaking.

I rest my forehead against hers, our breaths mingling as we come down. My hands gentle now, stroking her back, her sides, unable to stop touching her.

Even as our breathing slows and reality starts to creep back in, I can't bring myself to let her go completely.

I help her down from the bar, her body sliding against mine in a way that threatens to reignite everything. When she bends to grab her clothes, hair falling around her face like a shield, every protective instinct in me rises up.

I want to gather her close, carry her upstairs, keep her safe and satisfied until she forgets why she ever thought of leaving.

Instead, I clean up quickly, tucking myself away. The silence between us grows heavy with unspoken words and lingering desire. But beneath it all, something has shifted.

Something fundamental has changed between us, and we both know it.

I carefully remove and dispose of the condom, tucking myself back into my jeans. Then I help her gather her scattered clothing, handing her items one by one as we both dress in silence.

I may have given her space to retreat, but I'm not letting her run.

Not this time.

Not ever.

Chapter 7

Eden

Iease the front door closed, wincing at the faintest click of the latch. The house creaks beneath my feet as I creep past Mom’s bedroom.

The hum of her white noise machine seeps through the closed door, masking any other sounds. I can’t tell if Robert is in there with her, and I’m not sure which option is worse.

My skin tingles where Jack’s hands traced paths across my body.

The memory of his mouth on my neck, the solid press of him against me, sends an involuntary shiver down my spine. I pause at the top of the stairs, my free hand unconsciously touching my lips where I can still taste him.

Guilt crashes over me like a wave. Here I am, sneaking in like a teenager, my face raw with beard burn and Jack’s scent clinging to my skin.

If Mom or Robert saw me now, looking thoroughly debauched, what would they think? How could I possibly explain this?

It can’t happen again. It won’t happen again. Just one more week, I tell myself, but the words ring hollow even in my own mind.

My childhood bedroom door squeaks as I push it open, a familiar sound that now feels like an accusation.

I sink onto my childhood bed, the sheets smelling of Mom’s favorite lavender detergent. Somehow, that familiar scent makes everything worse.

She trusts me to support her through this wedding, while I’m secretly falling for the one person I absolutely can’t have.

How can I interfere in their marriage when I’m sneaking around, having sex with my soon-to-be stepbrother?

The hypocrisy of it all threatens to suffocate me. I’m plotting to stop the wedding while betraying Mom’s trust in the worst possible way. What a mess I’ve made. What a terrible daughter I’ve become.

I press my face into the cool pillow, but it doesn’t help. I can still taste him, hear his ragged breathing…

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