Page 93 of The Convict Gets His Girl

She stood slowly, her movements deliberate, holding his intense gaze as her fingers traced the hem of her shirt. One by one, layers fell away. Her shirt drifted to the floor. Her jeans followed, pooling around her ankles.

"All of it?" she asked, her fingers already sliding to her bra clasp.

"Every. Single. Piece."

Her fingers trembled slightly as she unhooked it, letting it fall to the floor. Chase's gaze burned into her, intense and hungry. When her underwear dropped, she was completely exposed—not just physically, but emotionally.

Chase watched her, his hand still wrapped around himself, stroking languidly. The haunted look from earlier had transformed into something predatory, hungry. His eyes devoured her, tracking every curve, every subtle movement.

"Come here," he whispered, reaching out.

She didn't hesitate but immediately stepped toward him like a moth to flame. He didn't pull her close but simply traced a single finger along her hip bone. A touch so light it was almost a suggestion rather than contact.

She hesitated. They'd been intimate before, but this felt heavier somehow, more vulnerable. Her stretch marks stood bright against her skin, and his tanned, calloused finger traced a faint line.

His touch was reverent, almost worshipful. She held her breath, uncertain whether he was memorizing her or exorcising some internal demon.

His hand moved from her hip, sliding around her waist and pulling her closer. Not with sexual urgency, but with a desperate need for connection. For grounding. His forehead pressed against her stomach, and for a moment, she thought he might weep.

But Chase didn't weep; he breathed deep, ragged breaths that seemed to pull something painful from his core.

Her fingers threaded through his hair, holding him against her. Then he pulled back and kissed her stomach.

Chase's eyes never left her body. His finger continued its exploration, sliding from her hip to the soft curve of her stomach, then up across her ribs. When he reached her breast, his touch became firmer. His thumb brushed her nipple, and she inhaled sharply.

"Tell me what you want," he murmured. "I want to please you."

The vulnerability in his voice matched the vulnerability of her naked body. This wasn't just about physical release anymore. This was about healing and connection.

She ran her hands through his hair and looked down into his chiseled face, his five o'clock shadow already casting shadows.

"Pleasing you will please me. Now sit back and let me love you."

Her words hung between them like a promise, but she didn't take them back. His eyes flashed at the words, but he didn't call her out on it. Thank God, he didn't ask her to define what this was between them.

She lowered herself to her knees, her hands sliding along his thighs with deliberate slowness. The wooden floor was cool against her skin, a stark contrast to the heat radiating between them.

Her breath ghosted across the sensitive skin of his inner thigh, and she felt him tremble. She looked up, meeting his eyes. They were no longer haunted, but watchful, waiting, flashing when she took his dick in her hands and stroked up.

Her tongue traced a delicate path along his thigh, tasting salt and his unique taste. His fingers tangled in her hair, not pushing, but just resting, anchoring.

When her mouth finally wrapped around him, Chase let out a sound that was half-groan, half-sigh. His fingers tightened in her hair, but he didn't take control like the last guy she'd been with from a decade ago.

Jewel moved slowly, deliberately, her mouth and hands working in tandem. Each movement was calculated to draw out his pleasure, to keep him present and grounded. Every few moments a low sound would escape him—not quite a moan, more like a wounded animal finding relief.

Chase's breathing grew ragged, his hips moving in subtle rhythm with her ministrations. His fingers remained threaded in her hair, not controlling, but connected. She could feel the tension in his muscles—not just sexual tension, but something deeper. Emotional. Fragile.

She hollowed her cheeks, taking him deeper. Her hand moved in rhythm with her mouth, creating a synchronized motion that made his muscles clench. His thighs trembled slightly, and her other hand cupped her breast, twisting her nipple.

His gazed followed her hand, and he groaned, his breathing changed, and the slight tremor of his thigh muscles grew tighter. She pulled back slightly, looking up at him. Her hand continued its measured stroking, her lips just inches from him.

"Look at me," she said, not recognizing her throaty, breathy voice.

Chase's eyes locked onto hers, pupils dilated, breath ragged as he drew closer to the edge. The connection was electric, raw—something she refused to define. Her tongue traced a slow, deliberate path along his length, maintaining eye contact as she took the tip into her mouth, hollowed her cheeks, and sucked like her life depended on it.

His body shuddered, fingers tightening in her hair. "Oh, fuck, yes," he hissed, his body going rigid as he filled her mouth with warmth. She swallowed on instinct, the tanginess barely registering as she watched his face in rapture.

Jewel didn't move immediately but pulsed her mouth around him until she felt his tense body shudder and then relax. She rested her cheek against his thigh, feeling the rapid beat of his pulse, listening to his breathing slowly return to normal.

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