Gage (Pittsburgh Titans 3)

Rather than maul me, she steps in and presses a kiss right where my heart rests on the left side of my chest. The tenderness of her lips touching my skin is erotic, and a bolt of lust shoots straight to my dick.

My knees almost buckle when Jenna drags her lips over my nipple and rolls her tongue there, eliciting a deep growl. Then she fucking nips it with her teeth, and I about lose my fucking mind.

Mindless with need, my hands pull at the hem of her turtleneck tucked into her tight jeans. I tug it upward, but it snags on her arms, which don’t raise to give me access to strip her.

Jenna lifts her gaze to mine, and I’m pained by the uncertainty in her eyes.

“The lamp,” she whispers, nodding at it behind me.

I have no clue if this is the right move, but I want to push her. I shake my head. “No. I want to see all of you, Jenna.”

Those honey-brown eyes swirl with fear and desire. Two competing emotions battling for control.

“I want to see you,” I repeat softly. “I want every part of you.”

“I’m scared,” she whispers.

“I know.” I take her hands in mine, bend down, and brush my lips against her forehead. “All I can do is promise you a few things. I’ll never be disgusted or turned off by your scars. I’ve felt them. I think I know what to expect. I can’t deny I won’t be a bit shocked, because you know I will be. And I’m sure I’m going to be angry at fate for making you go through this. I’ll probably feel empathy, but never pity. Most of all, I’m going to revel in the way you share yourself with me, and I will admire you all the more for your courage. Your scars are evidence of a battle you’ve won, and they make you more beautiful than you will ever know.”

Jenna’s eyes bore into mine, still clouded with doubt. But her arms relax, and then rise, and she lets me pull her shirt up and over her head.

I stare down at the lacy black bra she purchased for the sole purpose of being sexy and spurring my lust. It’s working.

With my fingertips, I drag just one cup down and over her nipple, scraping it along the way. It puckers before my eyes.

Using both my hands, I undo the front clasp and allow her breasts to spill free. I slide my fingers under the straps and push the lacy material to the floor.

My palms cover her breasts, and I gently squeeze them. “You are so fucking beautiful,” I say reverently as I rub my thumbs over her nipples. I smile at the responsiveness, the tight little buds shriveling from the barest touch. “So sensitive.”

I bend down and suck one into my mouth, and I’m not gentle about it. Jenna moans, her hands sliding into my hair to hold me there.

I pull away with a pop and give the same treatment to the other nipple. “Gage,” she gasps, jerking at my hair.

My hands work the button and then the zipper of her jeans. I slide my hands inside at her hips, straight under her panties, and push the pants down her legs, squatting as I go.

“Hold on,” I say gruffly as I lift a foot to pull off her boot. Next comes the sock as she balances with her hands on my shoulders. Jenna’s breath comes faster, and I feel it blowing over the top of my head.

I tug her jeans the rest of the way off and then lift my head to stare up at her. Her eyes are shadowed from the lamplight, so I don’t know how she’s feeling. My palms go to her ass, feeling the welted skin as I press my face into her sex. “I am going to destroy this with my mouth.”

I give her a long lick to show her what’s coming, and Jenna cries out.

But before I go down on her with the sole intention of making her come hard, I stand back up and take her face in my hands. I kiss her softly on the mouth and then lower my hands to her shoulders.

“Turn around for me,” I murmur.

Her breath stutters and she swallows hard, but her chin lifts. Ever so slowly, she pulls on her immense bravery and relies on the trust she has in me.

Jenna gives me her back.

I gather her long hair and rest it over one shoulder so I can see everything. The red, mottled skin seems to have been pieced together like a patchwork quilt, extending over most of her back, buttocks, and thighs. My heart aches for the physical torment she must’ve endured during her recovery. For the emotional toll it has taken.

Jenna’s body is stiff, and she’s holding her breath. With my fingertips, I start at the back of her shoulder and trace the various scarred lines. Leaning in, I brush my lips over each one.