Ruthless Kings (Windsor Academy 2)

She yelps when I stand abruptly, wrapping her ankles behind my back. “Now, we go take our own shower.”

Her musical laughter rings down the hall as I carry her to the guest bedroom. I decide at that moment that I'm going to do everything in my power to hear that sound as often as possible.

“MMM. GOOD MORNING.” Jazz draws lazy circles on my chest as she snuggles into me.

"Yes. Yes, it is. Although, I think my dick may be broken."

Jazz laughs, sliding her hand beneath the stark white sheet. “Hmm...doesn’t feel broken.”

I was already hard before she touched me, but as she pumps her hand up and down, I swell. Jesus, we’ve fucked five times in the last nine hours, and when I say fucked, I do mean thoroughly. I honestly don’t know how my dick is still working.

I still can't believe last night started out the way it did. I've never felt more helpless than I did when Jazz had that panic attack. Her eyes, which are typically so expressive, were completely vacant. Haunted. I wasn't getting through to her with words, so I did the only thing I could think of and kissed her.

While the kiss helped pull Jazz out of the headspace she was trapped in, it also brought out the most primitive version of her. I meant every word when I told her I wouldn't share. And I still feel that way now, but apparently, I can't say no to this girl. When Jazz called out to Bentley, asking him to stay, putting a stop to it never crossed my mind.

Every instinct inside of me wanted to push Fitzgerald away and beat his ass. I won’t lie and say watching him devour her pussy didn’t turn me on. It was live porn, for fuck’s sake. But it was more about her getting off than the act itself.

If I'm honest with myself, the rational part of my brain knew what happened last night was inevitable. Well, minus the panic attack. Jazz had to resolve the tension between them, and Bentley needed to learn that Jazz isn't going to replace Carissa. I know he thinks he might love Jazz, but I know my brother, and I know that's not true. Bentley may love Jazz, but he's not in love with her. He’s just confused because she’s the first girl to come along since Carissa died that he actually cares about.

Regardless of his misguided affection, Bent's acquiescence couldn't have been any more apparent. After last night, I'd say he's crystal clear that Jazz could never be his because she was made for me. I’ve no doubt there will never be another woman who gets me the way she does. This girl sees straight down into the darkest depths of my soul. She knows there’s a monster lurking inside of me, but there’s a similar darkness in her, waiting to be unleashed.

Jazz needs someone who understands the pull. Her meltdown last night proves there’s a fucking hurricane of diverging emotions that she doesn’t understand, doesn’t know how to control. Lucky for her, I’ve become quite familiar with my demons over the last couple of years. I’ve learned when to chain them and when to set them free, and I can share that knowledge with her when she’s ready.

I tilt Jazz’s chin up so she can look me in the eye. “You okay?”

She sucks her lower lip into her mouth. “Yeah. I mean, I’ll probably be walking funny for a week, but I feel pretty damn great.”

“Well, then my job here is done.” We both laugh. “I was talking about up here, though.” I tap her temple.

Jazz's full lips turn down. "Um...yeah, I guess. I don't feel like I'm losing my mind, so that's a plus. I'm sorry you had to witness that."

“Nuh-uh.” I shake my head. “Don’t do that. Everyone’s allowed to lose it every now and again. We wouldn’t be human if we didn’t. Considering what a rock you’ve been, after everything you’ve gone through lately, I’d say it was long overdue.”

“Maybe.” Jazz climbs on top of me and straddles my hips.

Her tits are bare, so I can’t help myself. I yank her into me and suck her peaked nipple into my mouth.

“God, I fucking love your tits,” I mumble against her skin.

Her body immediately tenses, and I internally curse myself for using those words. I know she’s thinking about what Peyton said at her goddamn birthday party.

Jazz tries scooting off of me, but I grab her hips to stop the movement. “Hey, look at me.”

Jazz normally exudes confidence, but I see the insecurity trying to force its way in as she pulls the sheet around her to cover her chest.

Fucking Peyton.

My grip on her tightens. “Don’t let Peyton get inside your head. She’s a bitter, jealous bitch. Being with you is a world away from any other chick I’ve slept with. There’s no comparison, Jazz. Nobody else matters. And I love every goddamn inch of your body.”

“But you did say those words to her. Many, many times, as you were fucking her tits. And I'm guessing Peyton's not the only one who's heard those exact same words while you were doing that exact same thing."

I take a deep breath and let it out. “I don’t know what the right thing to say here is, Jazz. I don’t want to lie to you.”

She sighs. “If that’s what you’re really into...if that’s something you need, I can’t give that to you, Kingston. A boob job will never be in my future. I don’t want giant tits.”

I maneuver our bodies, so Jazz is beneath me. "That's not something I will ever need. If you really want to know, anything I’ve done in my past was likely because it was offered. Plain and simple. There was never a request on my end or something I felt was missing.

“Yeah, sometimes, nothing was off-limits because those chicks thought sex was their golden ticket to my wallet, but here’s the thing: I never cared if they got off. Not once. I've never had a sleepover before you or cuddled with someone afterward. Because I never wanted to. I’ll be the first to admit I was a selfish prick. All I cared about with any of them—including Peyton—was getting off and getting out as fast as possible.”