The Lover’s Secret (No Exceptions #1)(10)
Author: J.C. Reed

The glass under my hands felt cold, a welcome distraction from the heat inside me. With Jett behind me and my legs spread apart to accommodate the slow but persistent thrusting of his fingers, I leaned into him, nearing my release. The pressure was building, and soon I would fall apart.

“Please, Jett,” I whispered at last, when I thought I couldn’t bear it any longer.

Inside, I was vibrating. My body was trembling. I was ready for him. There was so much want—for his touch, for him—that I was ready to beg some more, just so he’d finally give me the release I desperately craved. I expected endless asking and shameless pleading, but he stopped before I could ask again, and he pulled his fingers out of me.

Ready to protest, I turned to face him. As our eyes connected, a stronger, deeper ache began to throb between my legs—the kind that just crashed on me. With shaky hands, I fumbled to unzip his pants, urging him to undress.

Sweet mercy.

He was horny and hard.

It was then that I realized just how much I wanted him, how willing I was to do whatever it would take to have him inside me.

Right now.

As if sensing my desire, he pushed me against the window. The cold glass caressed my feverish skin as his hot mouth descended upon me, kissing me hard.

“God, you smell so good. Are you even real?” he whispered as his hands cupped my ass. His hot tongue dipped into my mouth, intensifying the hotness and pulsating between my legs. “Not yet, baby,” Jett whispered hoarsely.

But I had to have him inside me! I wasn’t going to wait a second longer.

“I need you, Jett,” I said, barely able to speak. “I want you…now.” I wasn’t just asking; I was pleading, begging him to take me.

Pressing my back against the glass, he entered me in one swift motion, pushing his entire length into me so fast that he almost made me come. I sucked in my lip as my sex welcomed his fast thrusts, each deeper than the previous, every one of them perfect, as if he and I were strung together as one musical instrument.

Throbbing heat gathered in my core. I tensed in a futile attempt to prolong my pleasure, but it was too late for more. Between his fast moves, his quick breathing, the pulsing and rubbing inside, my being shattered, and I came undone. Distantly, I heard his deep, sexy moan. I felt his moisture spilling inside me, and a smile lit up my lips at how perfect that moment was.

Chapter 7

We were lying on the couch, my chin resting against his chest. The soft glow of the fireplace illuminated the room, turning our naked skin into a game of light and shadows.

We’d performed three different sex positions in less than an hour, a number that wasn’t bad at all. We had done it against the window and the piano, and finally in front of the fireplace. To claim I was exhausted would have been an understatement; my core was still throbbing. I felt free, fulfilled, lost in the euphoric aftermath of my climax—a part of me wishing time would stop, holding us captive in that afterglow forever.

So, when he stirred and got up, I propped myself on my elbows, confused.

“Just stay put until I get back.”

I frowned. “Why?”

“I need to do something. It won’t take long.”

I looked at him, my curiosity instantly piqued. “Okay.”

He gave me a short kiss, and then he was gone.

With a shrug, I leaned back, pondering what could be so important that I couldn’t go with him. By the time he returned, I had squeezed back into my black dress. There was no sense in running around naked.

“Ready?” he asked, flashing unnaturally white teeth.

I eyed him suspiciously. Something was going on, but I couldn’t figure out what it was. It was too late to ask anyway, because his hand settled on my back, nudging me to walk ahead of him. When we entered the dining room, my breath caught in my throat. Jett had lit candles and scattered rose petals on the hardwood floor.

“I got us dessert,” he said, his voice giving away a hint of uncharacteristic nervousness.

I turned to him in surprise, only to find his dark green eyes boring into me. He was so beautiful that it broke my heart.

Scratch beautiful!

He looked like he could steal one’s soul with just a glance and get away with it.

Maybe it was the intoxicating scent of the candles, or maybe the way Jett kept watching me full of anticipation, but in that instant a strange thought entered my head—completely unrelated, and partly frightening:

Oh, my god. Is he going to propose?

It couldn’t be. Not Jett, not here. Or could it be?

My breath hitched in my throat again and my heart started to race as I narrowed my eyes, really looking at him, my mind simultaneously ticking boxes:

I was pregnant. Check. And we had something really good going on. Check. His suggestion to spend the night at one of the most expensive hotels had come out of the blue, and what a night it had been. Jett had told me he was in love with me weeks ago. So was that it, the big moment?

Is he that serious? And will I say yes? Can I? Should I?

My head was spinning. He had stolen my heart and soul to make me his. It would only be fair to steal his last name and make him mine. Slowly, I brushed my hair out of my face and curved my lips into a dazzling, encouraging smile. Then, all of a sudden, I was overcome with fear. I didn’t know how I’d react if he asked the question, but I sure knew the answer.

“What?” he asked me, sensing my nervousness. A dimple appeared on his face.

“Nothing. It’s just beautiful here,” I whispered and almost choked on my own thoughts.

What if he asked me? Would I really say yes?

Hell, yeah, I would.

In the blink of an eye, with no hesitation, no fear.

Thoughts continued to swirl around in my head, but I didn’t have to ask myself, to consider, to decide. I knew I wanted to marry him. Jett was so sexy and so bad that he was good. Plus, he could drive a car like he stole it.

What woman in her right mind would refuse a ring from him, no matter how small the stone? Definitely not me.

I groaned inwardly at my own weakness for him and promised myself that, if he asked me, if it ever happened, I’d force myself to pause. I would just hesitate for a tiny bit. Under no circumstances would I jump into his arms or scream with joy, saying yes over and over again, God knows how many times. I wouldn’t act like those silly girls in the movies, nor do anything that would make me sound too desperate. At twenty-three, I wasn’t desperate; I refused to be.

No, I would act like a reasonable, elegant, and mature woman. I would nod, smile tenderly, act utterly surprised or maybe even shocked. I would say, “Are you sure?” or “Wait, is this a proposal?” and then answer in one word, “yes”, and dab my eyes with Kleenex to make sure my mascara wouldn’t smudge.