Page 23

Leaning against the wall, I cross my arms too, and Jayk and I stare one another down.

“Did you really think this would impress me?” I ask, exasperated.

Jayk pushes off the bookcase, the corner of his mouth lifting mockingly. “You really going to pretend like it doesn’t?”

He prowls closer, and I bite the corner of my lip, and even though he’s being an ass, my pulse starts to dance. Maybe because he’s being an ass. That dare in his eyes is a promise I want to make.

No, no, no . We’re talking tonight.

Warily, I push off the wall too, edging sideways.

“You know I’m involved with the others, too!” I hiss. “We talked about this.”

He snorts dismissively. “Yeah, Dom seemed real invested. And let’s not even mention the doc—that was just sad.”

That smacks right over the fresh cuts inside me. Swiveling, I pick up a pillow and throw it at him. Jayk bats it away, and he stalks closer.

“Come on, Eden. You can do better than that.”

I scramble onto the bed. “You’re being a jerk.

Beau and I just.. . we’re just fighting.

It happens to couples . Which we are. A couple.

A great couple, even.” I shuffle backward as he advances and the soft blankets tangle around my hands.

Too slow, too slow . “We’re a couple, and it will be fine.

Dom will be fine. Everyone will be fine. ”

Jayk lunges forward and grasps my ankle, then drags me down the bed. At the last moment, I slam my hands down, catching the far edge of the mattress with the tips of my fingers to stop my desperate slide. They strain , turning white, one by one.

This really doesn’t feel like talking.

“Except you. I’m going to wreck you, sugar,” Jayk taunts.

He yanks me hard, and my grip breaks with pathetic ease. I shriek, slipping through the sheets and flipping over. Frantically, I kick out with my free foot, catching him hard in the gut, and the breath coughs out of him.

“Nice,” he grunts approvingly.

I try to scramble away, but he lashes my other ankle too, catching it in his punishing grip. In moments, he’s wrestled my legs open and dragged them around his thighs.

“Oh, you?—”

He lets go of my legs as I try to sit up, wrapping one hand around my throat and pinning me to the bed. I cut off, glowering at him, hating that I feel myself wanting to grind into him. Hating that he’s hovering high enough above me that I have nothing to grind against.

“You were awful to the others, Jayk. That wasn’t what we talked ab?—”

Jayk bends down and fits his mouth against mine.

It’s wet and scorching hot, and he gives me a thorough, filthy kiss that I whimper helplessly into.

His five-o’clock shadow abrades my lips, and I suddenly can’t stop shivering at the scrape.

Giving in, I moan and kiss him back angrily, overcome. I’m too shaky, irritated, needy .

When he pulls back, I’m gasping. “I . . . you . . .”

Snorting, he grasps his tool belt and pops it open with one hand. It drops a moment later. I try not to watch, not to notice the hard, delicious length of him straining obnoxiously against his jeans.

“We need to...” I swallow against his palm, and it tightens around my neck. My nipples furl painfully in my bra. “Talk. We need to?—”

He kisses me again, harder this time, and frees the button on his jeans. I gasp as he bites down on my lower lip, and he sucks away the sting. Squirming, I pant into his mouth.

This isn’t fair . I break the kiss and ready to scold him, but my mouth turns dry.

His jeans sit low on his hips, low enough to reveal a dusting of dark hair that I want to trace with my tongue. He drags his zipper down, then strokes himself through his briefs, and I watch the outline of his cock against the fabric, mesmerized.

Everything in me turns liquid, and I force myself to remember that he’s in trouble.

“We have to... we can’t just keep having sex instead of actually having a?—”

“I think that’s enough talking.” Jayk bends down and yanks something textured and white out of his toolbelt. His voice is hot and almost breathless with snarky amusement. “Three slaps to stop me, sugar.”

Slaps? Why would I need my non-verbals? There’s nothing in my?—

Suddenly fabric is being stuffed into my mouth with two rough fingers.

Oh, he didn’t .

Instinctively, I try to bite down, but Jayk casually grabs my jaw with his other hand, pressing my cheeks until my teeth pry open. His fingers force their way past the barrier, filling my mouth.

I try to throw myself to the side, but he lowers his bodyweight onto me, pinning me hard. My jaw strains, and I choke. Panic edges into my indignation, and I try to push the dry rag out with my tongue, but his wide hand is pressing it down, holding it in.

“Breathe through your nose,” he orders, watching me closely.

I’m supposed to be breathing?

The panic doubles when I realize I’m not , in fact, doing that, and Jayk pauses, panting. His eyes are dark and intent on my face, like deep sea anchors as he waits.

I grip his arms, and those eyes hold enough space for thoughts to wrestle their way back in—to see the bed, the room. To hear Beau explaining traffic lights in his slow, easy accent.

And to remember Jayk’s white face in the woods when I didn’t use my safeword.

Yellow, yellow, yellow.

My heart racing, I slap his shoulders twice.

His grip gentles, and he tenses, but he doesn’t let go yet. He waits a beat for the third, searching my face for the stop , but that’s not what I want.

I want air.

“Breathe, Eden,” Jayk demands, tapping my cheek. “Through your nose. Now.”

His eyes fill my vision again, demanding and scorching hot, and I drag in a deep breath through my nose. It’s bright. Freeing. Easy . It smells like Jayk and need and the beginnings of filthy sex.

Why didn’t I do this before?

The panic bleeds out of me as air slips into my lungs, and the tension around his eyes relaxes.

As if he can’t help himself, he grinds his hips up, rubbing himself against me through our clothes, and I can’t help my involuntary moan.

All the adrenaline in me starts to crash in giddy, daring waves, and I almost giggle into his hand.

Jayk snorts at me, his smirk warmer than usual, and tinged with more than one shade of relief.

“Fucking terrifying woman,” he mutters, and I snort, my heart rate spinning into something thrilled and edged with danger.

At my teasing sound, his brows lift, and he looks down at me. “You want to play it like that? I can play.”

With one hand wrestling my mouth closed, he leans down and pulls something else from his tool belt, and I hear the rip of duct tape as he drags it over my mouth.

Duct tape?

He bends down to tear the end off with his teeth. Stunned, I lift my hands to touch it as he sticks down the edges against my cheeks, tight and puckered. And I’m not sure why, if it’s the hot laughter in his eyes or my own curious stubbornness, but it doesn’t really occur to me to rip it off.

I take another deep breath through my nose, and my pulse begins to skid into an infuriated, pounding beat as what he did registers.

He gagged me!

With a rag !

“Don’t freak out. It’s clean,” he mocks, then mutters, “Mostly.”

I glare at him, and he snorts a laugh at my muffled, livid protest. My nails dig into his shoulders bitterly enough to draw blood.

I might not want to ruin his game, but it doesn’t mean I won’t punish him for it.

He hovers over me, then squeezes my cheeks again. “You wanted to talk, right, sugar? Let’s talk. If you have a problem with me being the only person you ever get to fuck again, tell me now.”

Oohhhh. No. I’m going to murder him.

I incinerate him with my eyes, squeaking an irate protest into the gag. He nods, a self-satisfied smile on his face as he listens.

“Not a word? Works for me.” Jayk’s mouth finds my throat, burning hot and rough-bristled enough to scrape me.

I shove at his shoulders, careful not to slap, and he wedges his hips into place between mine. His cock is heavy and hard against me, and I shudder in... annoyance.

I arch against him.

Definitely annoyance.

“Yeah, you’re right,” he continues, far too much amusement in his voice. “You should keep doing my laundry for me. Just speak up if you have a problem with that.”

“ Asshole !” I shout into my gag—or I try to. It comes out garbled and squeaky, and his shoulders shake. He is insufferable .

I glower at him, and he fucks against me like it doesn’t faze him at all.

I know it doesn’t faze him, and it makes me want to scream all over again.

I’m edgy. Sparking. Combustible . Jayk riles my frustration like he was born to it, and things start loosening inside me. Heating like rising particles.

I’ve been sweet all week. Contrite and patient and soothing and calm, even though I’ve felt anything but.

And yes, Jayk is being ridiculous. Unkind to the others and absurd in dragging me off like an oversexed neanderthal, but that frustration is just the flame to my powder keg.

There are barrels and barrels of dormant dynamite waiting to explode.

Because the Sinners won .

It was right there . It could have been perfect.

We could have been fed and safe, and Dom wouldn’t have bruises in his eyes, and Lucky wouldn’t be an anxious mess.

We all lost so much that night. I’m furious, just livid and frustrated over all of it, but.

.. I can’t say any of that. The others haven’t needed my fury this week.

They’ve needed someone to gentle the storm.

But with Jayk, I don’t need to be sweet anything.

With Jayk, we are the storm.

His hair is almost too short to grab, but I snare it in my fingers anyway and wrench it viciously as I squeeze my legs around his waist.

“You’re fucking feral, you know that?” he groans, arousal brutalizing his voice. His breaths are hot against my ear, and I can feel him fighting for control. “Three slaps, Eden. Remember it. Give me three, and I’ll stop. Gag comes out.”