Stella jolts with a small cry and pushes against me, silently demanding more. I suck her like a man starved. I don’t even realize I’m coming until I feel it hot and wet on my hand, hitting my stomach. For a long moment, I slump on her, my mouth open and panting against her trembling breast. I give her a lingering lick that makes her whimper before I roll away, landing on my back with a heavy exhale.

We lay there, both of us breathing hard in the silent dark. Rain taps at the windows, the room still as if nothing happened, as though my world didn’t turn over on its head. Stella moves, righting her clothes with clumsy fumbles. I grab a tissue from the box sitting on the side table and wipe myself off, aware that she’s watching me do it. Weird how I find that sexy too.

“Wow,” she says softly, and I know she isn’t talking about my cleaning up.

I toss the tissue into the trash can, pull up my boxers, and roll onto my side to face her. She’s staring up at the ceiling, her hair mussed. As if feeling my gaze, she turns her head and a small smile quirks her lips. She doesn’t say anything, just looks.

“Stells.” My fingers trace the curve of her jaw. Her skin is warm and damp, and I cup her cheek before resting my head on a pillow.

She moves my way, cuddling close. She smells of sex and sweat and something freshly sweet. I draw it in, closing my eyes. Why does this feel so good? Just this.

I need to find a way to hold onto this feeling, to keep it safe. I have no idea how to do that. It feels essential that I learn.

“John?”

“Yeah?” I toy with her satiny hair, twisting a strand around my finger.

“If we don’t fuck each other’s brains out when we get home, I’m going to have to kill you.”

I stiffen for a second, then burst out laughing, trying to keep it low. She squeezes my side, and I lean further into her. “Fuck yeah, we are, Button.”

Like that, I’m counting down the minutes.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Stella

* * *

“I hope you slept well, Jax.” Corinne sets a mug of coffee on the table for him.

At my side, Hank grunts and cuts a glare at John. I bite the inside of my mouth. Last night, we’d fallen asleep wrapped up in each other, only to wake with Hank standing over John, giving him the stink eye. “I don’t know why I bothered.”

“Yes, ma’am, I did.” John shovels a huge bite of buttery pancake into his mouth, smartly keeping his eyes on his plate, but there’s a tiny smile playing on the edges of his lips. Beneath the table, his knee bounces an agitated rhythm. Since we’re sitting close, his thigh lightly rubs against mine. That small contact zings along my skin.

Memories of what we did drift through my head, making it hard to concentrate on anything. I keep seeing his rippled torso clenching, ropy muscles on his forearm shifting and flexing as he worked his hard cock. God, he has a nice cock. Rounded head, a thick shaft that curves just a little to the right.

Heat washes over my skin. Stop thinking about his dick at the table. That is so wrong. Twisted, Stells. Twisted.

And foolish. All I can think about now is John pleasuring himself, his plump balls bouncing against his fist with each downstroke, his face tight with concentration, and his lips soft with panting. It had been the most glorious thing I’d ever seen. I want to see it again. In full daylight. Maybe in slow motion. On repeat.

Good God, does Corinne have the heat on or something?

I take a hasty sip of coffee and it burns the back of my throat.

John’s green eyes narrow at the sound of my small gurgle. “You okay, Button?”

No. I’m so horny my lower belly hurts, and I’m fantasizing about making movies featuring your dick.

Weakly, I smile and pick up a piece of perfectly cooked bacon. “Great.”

John’s eyes hold mine, and his small smile grows a little devious. I doubt he’s having movie-making fantasies, but he’s definitely thinking about last night. The pink tip of his tongue sneaks out to catch an errant dot of syrup on his lower lip. It’s all I can do not to lick him too.

We need to get out of here.

His knee keeps bouncing, a frenetic jostle that’s beginning to rattle the table. I set my hand on his thigh, and he instantly stills. His hand covers mine and squeezes.

Corinne is still talking, idle chatter. “I swear we had so much rain last night. Hank, you better check the basement. You know how that back stairwell tends to flood.”

“Mmm,” Hank says. Translation: I checked it. Everything is fine, but I want to eat without you pestering me.

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