Page 9 of Jett in Jeopardy

“If you want me to stop, say so. I will.”

I shook my head but pressed against the sofa cushion, I wasn’t sure he’d notice. “I don’t.” My voice sounded thin, even to me, and my face heated. “I don’t want you to stop.”

He rubbed a slow circle over my bare ass with the palm of his hand, and I let out an embarrassing whimper, grinding my cock against the cushioned arm of the sofa.

He chuckled softly, the low rumble making me shiver. His hand lifted, cool air whisper over the skin of my naked ass.

He struck without warning, his open palm connecting fast and hard, rocking me forward so my dick rubbed the leather arm under me. A hot sting spread across the cheek, fueling the need already clawing inside me.

“Too much?” he asked. His voice sounded as if it had dropped an octave.

“No,” I told him, my own voice barely more than a whisper.

“Good?”

“Sogood.”

His hand came again…and again, stinging slaps peppering my cheeks until my entire ass burned pleasantly. Between the heat lighting up my backside and the friction on my dick as it ground against the leather, I thought I would lose my mind.

When he stopped, my every nerve-ending hummed beneath my skin, a dull buzz filling my ears.

“Oh fuck, please,” I groaned, not even sure what I was asking for.

Brody chuckled, hand gripping my ass cheeks again, squeezing and kneading and intensifying the burning ache. “Fuck, you should see how good you look, ass pink from my hand.”

I whimpered, hips stuttering, cock dragging deliciously against the leather.

“Do you need to come, baby?” Brody asked.

I nodded. “Please.”

I heard him shuffle forward, then he was folding his body over mine, draping himself across my back, his jean-clad erection pressed against my ass. I pushed back the hard ridge of his cock.

“Sorry, baby,” his lips brushed against my ear, and I shivered, “only good boys get to come.”

“Fuck,” I hissed. I should have been furious, and a part of me was. I was bent over the man’s sofa, ass stinging, desperate and aching to get fucked, and yet this was the single hottest experience of my life.

But more importantly, I knew something I hadn’t when I’d walked into The Dunes last night. Brody Harris wanted me as badly as I wanted him.

Things were looking up.

Chapter Four

Brody

Istaredblanklyatthe computer screen in front of me, the numbers not registering while I tried to put together the week’s payroll. Since Jett had left my apartment a couple of hours ago with a delighted grin spread across his face, I hadn’t been able to stop thinking about him.

The way he’d looked bent over the arm of my sofa. Round globes of his ass pink from my hand. The way his hips had wriggled while he ground his cock against my couch, desperate for release. And the look he gave me before he left, hungry and cocky, as if he knew we were going to do this again. And why wouldn’t he look like that? I was pretty sure he was right.

“Shit,” I whispered, scrubbing both hands down my face. I was making a huge mistake, and I knew it. Jett was young, reckless, verging on self-destructive, and sure, I would have loved nothing more than to take him in hand and show him some far more interesting ways to channel all that pent-up energy. I knew it would be a mistake. Yet a very big part of me didn’t care. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d felt this good, this alive.

No, that was a lie. I could remember. It was six years ago before Ryan had died.

Guilt swept over me like a wave, stealing my breath and leaving me a little sick to my stomach. I stood up from my desk, dragged my hands through my hair and started to pace the small office tucked in the back corner of the bar.

I needed to get out of there. The air suddenly felt too hot and thick to breathe, the walls as though they were closing in around me. My focus was shit, anyway. My brain refused to stop. I needed to get out and clear my head.

I picked up my phone and shot off a text to Daniel.

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