Page 27 of Jagger

“I thought you liked me wet though,” she whispers, all seemingly innocent and shit.

Is she trying to kill me?

Dipping my head low, I lash my tongue out between the swells of her tits and lap up the droplets clinging to her chest, the ones dripping down her neck too… “I do like you wet, soaking wet if I’m being honest, but I figured you’d want some warm clothes while you ride out the storm.”

“I’m surprised you’re offering me any clothes at all,” she breathes, wrapping her arms around my neck.

“Touché, but the one and only reason is because Mila’s here.”

Vida stills against me. “Oh my God—that’s right. And here I am—”

“Being a naughty little vixen, which I love by the way. We’ll just have to be quiet since she’s asleep. Think you can behave?”

A mute nod is my response, but if the sly little smirk she gleams at me as I lead her through the apartment to my bedroom says anything at all, it’s that she doesn’t think I can behave.

She’s probably right.

Mila or no Mila, I’ve been craving this woman for weeks, getting little tastes here and there. And now here she is—in my home, with no Betty or fifteen minute rule in sight…

“That tee will work just fine,” she says as I rifle through my dresser for a pair of sweatpants that might fit her.

Turning my head toward her, I arch a curious brow at just how brazen her admission sounds. “So much for behaving, huh?”

“I’m just saying.” She hooks a shoulder. “I’ll have to roll your pants a million times for them to fit, but I guarantee that shirt is long enough to cover the goods.”

“What if I don’t want them covered?”

Those lips curl in a chastising fashion. “Don’t start…”

“Baby, you started it long ago.”

“Hey, it’s not my fault I got soaked on my way up here.”

“I’m not talking about tonight, I mean from the first night I saw you,” I counter, shoving the drawer closed and stalking to where she stands. My arms circle her waist. “You have no idea how badly you got me sprung, do you?”

Vida gulps, her entire body trembling in my grasp as she shakes her head. “Are you sure it’s not just ‘oops, I fucked my client and happen to like her pussy’ syndrome?”

“No. I’ll admit, I’ve bagged plenty of chicks from that club, but I’ve never liked any of them enough to want only their pussy. You though?" I scoff, pinning her roughly against the wall, a firm hand at her jaw. "I hadn’t even been inside you yet and I was already losing my fucking marbles over you.”

There’s a hitch in her breath.

A brief hitch in time as we stare each other down.

“Can I be honest?” Her question comes after a beat.

I nod. “Always.”

She takes a deep breath, as if stealing herself for whatever she’s about to divulge, then lets it rip. “I’ve never felt this before, Jag, with anyone—not even with Carl. Quite frankly, it’s scary as hell, crazy-fast, too, and my brain keeps telling me this is nothing more than a disaster waiting to happen. Maybe it is, you know, but I’m so addicted to it, to you, and I can’t seem to find one good reason to let this thing between us fizzle out.”

Her concession literally leaves me speechless. Reeling. I don’t know how to respond, what to do. She feels this, too, this urgency, this crazy chemistry between us.

Fueled by renewed purpose and a deep sense of propriety, I’m quick to throw out my demand, eager to erase all doubts from her mind. “Take your clothes off, Vida…”

“W-what? Why?”

“Just do it,” I grit, the slight bite in my tone setting everything in motion.

With shaky hands, she unzips her charcoal gray pencil skirt from behind. The sodden garment pools at her feet. Her thong follows, then her blouse and her bra.

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