Page 73 of Beneath the Hood

My abs tense when her hands graze my stomach, her hips rotating against me. Her palm presses against my erection, stroking me from root to tip through the fabric. My balls tighten and I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from groaning.

“Does that feel okay?” she whispers.

Her question grips onto the little bit of logic I have left and draws it to the surface. Every single cell in my body begs for me to ignore it, but instead, I reluctantly pull away.

My hand releases her hair and reaches down, wrapping around her wrist, stopping her movements.

It’s so easy to forget her age. Her inexperience.

“Was I doing something wrong?” she asks, her eyes glancing down to where she’s gripping me.

It takes literallyallof my willpower not to thrust into her palm.

I lean my forehead against hers. “No, baby, I just need a minute, or I’ll fuck you on this table.”

She smirks. “And?”

My thumb traces down her cheek. “And you deserve more than that.”

She sighs. “I can decide what I deserve, Jackson.”

“I want to take my time with you.” I press my lips to hers and she pushes into me, her tongue licking along the seam of my mouth.

My heart revs and I sink back into her, my grip on her wrist growing lax.

A door slams in the distance and I jump back, my stomach shooting to my throat. Running my hand over my head, my heart rams against my ribs, praying like hell it isn’t her dad.

Blakely smiles and winks, righting her shirt and running her thumb along her bottom lip. She slides off the table, and at first glance, it looks like she doesn’t have a care in the world. But look a little closer and it’s easy to see the tensing of her shoulders and the stiffening of her jaw. The way her hands curl into fists at her sides.

She saunters away and I’m lost, staring after her, adjusting my hard-on and willing it away. My throat is parched, already dehydrated from the loss of her around me.

I start to follow but pause when I hear her voice cut through the air.

“Hey, Karen,” she chirps.

My heart stops, Karen watching us the other week flashing through my mind and nausea creeps through my gut, wondering if she’s suspicious.

“Miss Donahue, the phone was ringing off the hook and I was getting worried when you didn’t come back quickly.”

I watch from the shadows as Karen’s eyes scan the garage, pressing myself further into the shelving to hide from her view.

“Karen, how many times do I have to tell you to call me Blakely?”

“As long as it takes for you to realize you’re wasting your breath,” she snaps back.

My stomach sours at Karen’s tone.

Has she always been so cold towardBlakely?

I rack my brain, trying to remember other times I’ve seen them interact, but come up short. In fact, I don’t know that I’ve seenanyonein the building give Blakely so much as a smile. My chest twists, regret slicing through me at all the times I was a dick to her, when what she really needed was a friend.

“I’m dropping off the package for Jackson, just like you asked me to, Karen. What’s itlooklike I’m doing?” Blakely’s voice is sugary sweet, her head tilting with her question.

And that’s my cue.

Walking out into the open, I paste a grin on my face. Karen’s always been a sucker for the smile. “Hey Kare-bear.”

Blakely and Karen both turn toward me.

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