The Fear That Divides Us (The Devil's Dust #3)(19)

“I know you love coffee. You care about your daughter more than anything. You’re strong and take no shit.” I pause, trying to think about something personal, like a hobby. “I know you love to surf, love cherry cheesecake—”

“Stop!” she demands, running her hand through my hair.

“How do you know those things?” she asks, leaning into me, her lips brushing against mine. I close my eyes, and try to calm my anxious breathing.

“You are always stealing my coffee; plus, you smell of it. You go to great lengths to keep your daughter safe, and I have seen the shit you have gone through to do it. I have had you in my bed with sun-kissed cheeks and the smell of salt lingering on your body, bruises etching your knees from when you have surfed that day, not to mention your surfboard is attached to your Jeep to confirm it. And when we have family parties, you always go straight for the cheesecake,” I explain, pulling her face to look at me. “I know you, Jessica Wren,” I mutter. I know most things about her, just not her darkest secrets. That’s what kills me. I want to know everything about her.

She smashes her pouty lips against mine, her tongue greedy as it assaults my own. My hands slip from her waist to her thighs finding bare skin. I slowly slide my hands up and under her dress, my fingers teasing the hem of her panties. My cock throbs painfully, begging to be inside of her.

I know I am not a good man. I have done plenty of things that would justify that. But the feeling I have with Jessica, the way her scent surrounds me and the comforting high I get from her warm skin against mine while we are together, makes everything seem as though I am finally in the right place; doing what I was meant to be doing. There’s no guns blazing, transactions of the club to be dealt with, or blood being shed. It’s raw emotion; Jessica bringing a side out of me I don’t get to experience near enough.

She pulls her lips away, and her head lolls back as a seductive moan escapes her parted mouth.

“Damn,” I growl. That sexy-ass mewl that escapes her mouth when she’s turned on does something to me. It unhinges me and any morsel of self-control I have. My only mission is to have her, be inside of her, and make her mine for the night.

I dig my fingers into her thighs, rocking her clit against my hard cock. The only thing keeping me from being inside of her are my boxers and her dainty underwear.

I slip my finger and thumb under the elastic of her panties, and tear them from her excited body. Our heavy breaths and the tear of the fabric echo through the dark room. The friction feels f*cking amazing, causing me to clench my teeth.

Her * parts, ready for me to take her, as it crosses the material of my boxers, sliding over my dick that’s sticking up under the thin fabric. She’s wet, the damp heat slipping through my boxers as she firmly rocks against me. My rough hands edge up her back, reaching for a way to remove her dress. I’m ready to take her.

“It’s a zipper,” she tells me, her voice breathy and nearly incoherent.

I find the zipper and pull it down, my hands sliding along her curves as the material loosens. I want to take my time, savor every second we have together, because I know hours from now, she’ll be gone. But it’s nearly impossible to take my time and go slow when all I want is to feel her body wrapped around mine as she whispers my name while she comes.

She slips the straps of her dress off her shoulders, making it fall to her waist. I cup the back of her neck and lean my head down grazing the swell of her breast with my teeth, causing her breath to catch in her throat. My hands skim from her neck downward, before they glide across rough grooves; the scars that mar her perfect body. Her body stiffens, and she pushes herself off me. She pulls on my arm, hinting she is ready to be on the bottom.

It’s the position Jessica usually demands when we have sex; she has to be on the bottom. She has these rules, or rituals, when we f*ck. No lights, nothing but missionary so she is always on her back, and no asking why. Sex is still excellent with her; it’s the best actually.

She pulls on my arm again, trying to get me to let her go so she can roll over. I stiffen my arms and look at her, wanting her to ride me, to let loose.

“Bobby, I can’t, you know that,” she whispers. I trail my tongue along my upper lip, and nod.

Whatever it is that keeps her from doing anything more adventurous than missionary, she won’t tell me. I’ve tried to get her to talk about it, but pushing her to discuss her scars, or try anything more than what she is comfortable with, causes bad memories. The pain that flashes across her face and the way her eyes take on that look of terror, it kills me, and that’s why I don’t push her. I am pretty sure it goes back to her husband, though.

I flip Jessica on her back, my body hovering over hers. Her blonde hair spreads across the pillow as she looks up at me with heavy eyes. I grip the dress tangling around her waist and pull it down her legs. She leans up, grabs the elastic of my boxers hugging my hips, and pulls them down to my knees. I push her legs open with my hands and slide myself between them, resting my elbows on either side of her head. My dick finds her * quickly, and slides in with welcomed arousal. She’s the only chick I’ll let ride my dick without a condom. She’s the only girl I trust to be clean and she’s told me before that she’s on birth control. Her back arches off the bed and a sexy growl sounds from her chest. I lean down and pull her nipple into my mouth, the sweet taste of her skin gliding along my tongue.