The Lover’s Promise (No Exceptions #3)(35)
Author: J.C. Reed

“Then why would you go there?” I narrowed my eyes on him.

“You know why. The same reason I followed you to Italy.” His gaze brushed my face and settled on my lips. Under his intensive, probing glance, I felt exposed and heat began to radiate through me. Slowly the corners of his lips twitched. He must have known the impact his body had on me, or why else would his cockiness and massive ego begin to resurface?

“Remind me to finish this conversation later when we’re done,” he whispered.

“Done with what?”

My breath hitched when he pulled me to him, crushing my mouth against his. Beneath his clothes, I could feel he was hard—for me. He pressed his bottom lip between mine, forcing me to open my mouth only to run his tongue over mine in a long heated mind-blowing kiss.

Holy cow.

The guy knew how to kiss, and kiss good.

Talk about marvelously good.

My whole body was on fire, begging him to set me free, urging me to get the closeness I had been missing.

Screw the fight.

I wanted him bad. I wanted him now—when he still had that dangerous glint in his eyes and was looking so dangerously handsome, his half-naked body a sinful temptation.

As his tongue dipped into my mouth, swirling in and out in slow, hard moves, my head began to spin harder and my knees grew weaker. Deep inside of me I could feel something pulsating to life.

Longing. Desire.

I need it, needed him. And from the way his hardness kept pressing against me, he needed it, too—in whatever way. There was no doubt about the fact that I was more than willing to sleep with him.

“Don’t mistake my lust for weakness,” I whispered.

Or forgiveness, for that matter.

“Don’t worry. I won’t.” His lips curled into the most stunning smile, flashing his perfect teeth, all straight and white.

I sucked in my breath as he pushed my hair to one side, only for his lips to hover over my skin. He was so rough and yet so demanding in his movement, his touch perfect, experienced, determined—leaving me in perfect balance of want and need. His touch, warm and soft, sent shivers down my spine. I moaned ever so slightly. It had been so long. Too long.

The anticipation of touching him, of feeling him inside me was growing bigger by the second. I knew I was about to lose my pathetic self-control. My hands reached for his training shorts, sliding inside the waistband, and then I pulled down. My breath hitched in my throat as his erection jerked out.

He wasn’t just big.

He was impressive—like a king among queens. I flicked my tongue over my lips as my fingers tenderly moved over the slick crown and my hands were about to run down his hard shaft when his fingers closed around mine, holding me captive in my movement.

“You’ve lost that privilege,” he whispered, pulling my wrist behind my back. “From this moment on, I’ll be making all the decisions.”

“What?” I whispered as his lips crashed on mine again, cutting off my words. I moaned when he circled my tongue, sucking it deep into his mouth like a wild tornado on fire, and he began to unbutton my shirt with one hand, the other holding my wrist. I shuddered at the way his fingers touched my skin whenever a button came loose while his tongue continued to conquer my mouth.

After what seemed like an eternity, he removed my shirt. The coldness of the room hit my bare skin and I sucked in my breath.

And then his hand touched the zip of my skirt. Somewhere inside my brain, I could hear that we were about to embark on public make-up-sex, that anyone could enter the hall and catch us in mid-action, but I didn’t care. Jett was the only man who was capable of making me forget the world around me. He was the only person, who was like ecstasy—dangerous and addicting.

Lowering myself onto the hard mat, I pulled him on top of me, breathing in the scent of his aftershave.

Before I knew it, I was naked and Jett accommodated his weight on top of me, his knees on either side of my body, pausing, waiting.

Confused, I looked up, unsure why he was watching me when he grabbed my wrists and leaned into me. I didn’t mind. It was an opportunity for me to stare at his wide shoulders and beautiful, tattooed chest.

Holy pearls.

His chest was so broad, his arms so strong they could carry a woman until the end of time.

“Brooke?” he whispered, drawing my attention back from his muscles and the throbbing between my legs. I couldn’t help but think how much I loved him calling my name. As if I belonged only to him, as if I was the only woman in his world. The only one that mattered now that I was lying beneath his hard body, my entire being turned to liquid.

“Yeah?”

He smiled gently as he looked at me. “I’m so pissed off at you.”

“Me, too.” I returned his smile. “I’m raging.”

He shook his head and the smile disappeared. “No. You don’t understand.” I narrowed my eyes as his hands slowly moved away from my wrists and started circling my breasts, focusing on my hardening nipples. “I’m so jealous I don’t think I can share you with anyone. Ever.”

“Then we have something in common.”

“Do we?” He cocked his eyebrow. “Because I doubt it.”

My breath hitched in my throat, the words stuck in my throat, as his hands moved up my arms, then alongside my collarbones, one thumb stopping at the sensitive hollow of my neck, the sternal notch. With a soft movement, he tilted my head to one side and then he began to kiss me, sending a tremble through my body as his lips settled on my earlobe.

“Do you have any idea what I’m going to do to you for all the things you said?” he whispered in my ear. His voice was so deep and low, full of dark promises to unmake and punish me.

“No.” In spite of my attempt at infusing some much needed confidence into my tone, my voice broke. “But what makes you think I’d let you do that?”

“You want me to, Miss Stewart,” he whispered, rising up on his knees and his hand moved between my legs. “I can sense your needs.”

His confidence made me not only nervous, I felt like I was having my first time all over again. The hint of a southern accent in his angry tone was even sexier than I could have dreamed of.

If Jett Mayfield weren’t the owner of a successful company, he would have made his fortune by becoming a narrator. Or judging from his body, he would have been a model. I smiled at the image of him posing, his muscles glorified by the camera.

And then I remembered that he had no idea that I had tried my hand at posing as a pin-up girl. I had no idea how he’d react if he found out.