Jace (Kings of Country 1)

“Sex?” He sighed.

It was getting harder to breathe. “What else? Come on, Jace. Wake up. You’re right, there is an attraction, but it wouldn’t take much to get you out of my system.” It would take so much more than that. Jace was…more. He deserves better. She had to say it—and make him believe it. “Honestly, I sort of hoped you were banging some fangirl. You’re getting a little too fixated on me.” It was hateful; she was hateful. That’s who she was. It was best for everyone that way.

Silence.

“Why are you here?” The words were brittle.

“To make things clear.” She stared straight ahead. At his chest. His beautiful, sculpted, tattoo-adorned, all-muscles chest. The thorn-covered vine inked around his upper right arm seemed a safe enough focal point.

More silence.

“Then let’s do this.”

The tattoo blurred and she was staring up into his face. His beautiful, rigid, angry face. This was not expected. He should be disappointed, a little disgusted even, but keep his cool. That whole gentleman thing he did so well. A gentleman would show her to the door and that would be the end of it.

This Jace looked nothing like a gentleman.

Did she want him? More than anything. Ached for him. So much. “Now?”

He nodded, the muscle in his jaw rolling.

She’d hurt him. Good. He needed to believe her. If he hated her, she’d done her job. There was only one way to make sure he believed her. “Fine.” In the seconds it took to pull her sweatshirt off, she tried to shut off the part of her brain protesting her stupid, stupid plan.

The other part of her brain? Oh so excited. Craving this. Craving him. That was the part of the brain she was going to listen to. She dropped her sweatshirt on the floor and kicked it aside.

His nostrils flared, his gaze going molten as his attention fell to her bright fuchsia bra. Hands fisted at his sides, he seemed to be fighting her. Why? This was his idea—an idea she was going to enjoy to the fullest.

Was he waiting for her to chicken out?

No going back. She didn’t want to. Tomorrow she might regret this, but she’d worry about that then. Tonight, he was all hers. She was going to make every second count.

Impatience kicked in as she toed off her shoes and shimmied out of her leggings. His knuckles whitened at the sight of her tiny black thong, but the rest of him remained frozen. Her heart was tripping over itself, but he couldn’t know that. When she closed the distance between them, she ran her hands up his arms…slowly. She took a deep breath and met his gaze.

He was breathing hard, his nostrils flared, muscles strung tight. The blazing hunger in his eyes burned through any hesitation. She pressed herself against him, wrapped her arms around his neck, and brushed her lips to his.

The contact, skin on skin and mouth to mouth, flipped a switch.

She threaded her hands through his still-wet hair, pulling him closer and tracing the seam of his lips with her tongue. His arms were around her, all muscles and warmth, wrapping her up in Jace. Spicy soap and minty shampoo. The coarse stubble on his jaw. His calloused fingers trailed along her spine. The brush of his lips against the corner of her mouth, teasing. When his lips covered hers again, she was lost, arching into him, her curves crushed against the wall of his chest.

His broken groan shook them both. Lips parted, his tongue slid deep, his hand bracing her head so his kiss could go on and on. She was sucking his lower lip, nipping the soft skin, gripping his shoulders to stay on her feet. Breath and tongues, teeth and lips, they came together with unexpected ferocity.

Years of playing guitar and hard work had left his hands strong and his fingertips calloused. And every rough caress was more potent than the last. His touch slid between her shoulders and down her back, coming to rest on the curve of her hip. She pressed tightly against him, wanting more—needing more. She was so close, but not close enough. Not yet. She reached behind her, frantic to unhook her bra but his hands were already there.

The hook popped free and he slid the lacy straps aside. Seeing the muscles of his jaw working, the flare of his nostrils, had her shaking with anticipation. Yes, he wanted her—like she wanted him. Once would never be enough.

The brush of his thumb on her nipple stole her breath. And his gaze blazed into hers. Over and over, he stroked and teased, his lips pressed to hers and his tongue sliding deep. She was holding on, barely breathing, and frantic for more.

The plane of his stomach was rock hard. Her fingers dipped lower, closing on the towel at his waist and tugging. In seconds, her panties were on the floor and he was on his knees in front of her. The heat of his breath on her skin was too much for her.

“Jace.” She gripped his shoulders, pulling him up. “I want you. Now.”

In a matter of seconds, she was on the bed, staring up at him—throbbing for him. He stood on the side of the bed, staring down at her with a hunger so raw she felt it.

He watched as his fingers trailed down her breasts, across her stomach, around the curve of her hip, and toward her knee. And then his magical fingers reversed direction, teasing the sensitive skin behind her knee, featherlight up the inside of her thigh, to hover between her legs. The ache was near painful when he touched her. But it was worth the wait. The things he did with his fingers, his hand. She reached up, holding on to the headboard and turning her face into the pillow.

The pillow disappeared.

“If I’m doing something right, I want to know.” His voice was low and gruff and delicious against her ear.