Block Shot (Hoops #2)(91)

“Mean it, Ban,” I say fiercely into the scented cove behind her ear. “I need you to mean that.”

“I do.” Her breath chops up against my neck. Her fingers twine in my hair. Her knees tighten at my hips the harder and deeper and faster we fuck. “I promise it’s more.”

“I won’t share you.” I pull back and grasp her chin, forcing her to look at me. “I know it’s hypocritical. I know I took you. I don’t care. I won’t share.”

“You won’t have to.” The breathless promise tumbles past her lips and into that hole, filling it more. Soothing the empty ache of it. She takes me by surprise, grabbing my chin and clenching her inner muscles around my dick possessively, making me groan. “And I won’t share you.”

The idea that, with all the women I’ve fucked and never felt even a fraction of this intensity, I would jeopardize my connection to Banner is laughable, but I don’t laugh because I see the same questions, the same need for reassurance, for more, in her eyes that I know is in mine.

“It’s just you, Ban.” I reach between us, stroking and pinching her clit as an electric bolt strikes from the base of my spine and down my legs, strangling my next words. “I promise.”

That vow steals the last of my control, and every doubt, every hesitation leaves as I spill into the warm welcome of her body. My release triggers hers, and we both cry out, our voices loud and echoing on the empty terrace. We’ve forgotten the server could come back any minute. We don’t consider some misguided diner possibly stumbling into our private space. There is only the Caribbean Sea, a sheet of blue-hued glass beneath us. Only the sweat-damp parts of us soaking up the breeze. There is only a promise we whispered before we both came, stronger than steel and as fragile as the beam of moonlight illuminating us.





30





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“Did you save room for dessert?”

My question reminds me of our server who must have been horrified when he realized what we were doing on that terrace. Since I was under the table with Jared’s dick in my mouth, I couldn’t see his face. The memory burns my cheeks, but an irrepressible grin spreads across my lips.

“What’s so funny?” Jared asks from his side of the table. “And I’m good for now on dessert. Stuffed actually.”

“Okay.” I rise from my seat, pick up my plate and reach for Jared’s.

“I got it,” he says, gathering his plate, wine glass, and fork, and heads toward the kitchen. “Now what made you smile like the cat who ate the cream?”

An uncharacteristic giggle pops past my lips.

“Ironically, I was thinking about that poor waiter from the restaurant.”

“He was anything but poor after that tip I gave him.” Jared laughs and loads his plate into the dishwasher. “His eyes got bigger when he saw his gratuity than when he realized what you were doing under the table, believe me.”

I cover the portion of the enchiladas we didn’t eat and set down the bu?uelos I prepared for dessert.

“These do look good,” Jared says, plucking one of the doughnut-like sweetened balls from the basket I placed them in.

“They’re so good.” I breathe in their aroma and sigh. “Mama used to cook them for us all the time. I haven’t had them in years.”

Jared chews one, groaning his approval.

“Delicious.” He grabs another one, biting half and offering me the other half. “Taste.”

I hesitate, unable to turn off my inner calculator, tallying points.

“Just one bite,” Jared persuades, rubbing the sweet fried dough across my bottom lip. “We’re on vacation.”

I nod and accept it, squeezing my eyes shut when the flavor explodes on my tongue along with a thousand memories from my childhood.

“So good,” I say, swallowing the last of the dessert. “It’s been forever since I had them. A few Christmases ago when Mama made them.”

I look up and catch a thoughtful expression on Jared’s face, the one I’m learning usually precedes a probing question.

“How do you think your family will react to you and Zo breaking up?” he asks.

I’d left that question with my points, checked at the door of this island villa, but now it intrudes. The closer we come to leaving, to returning to LA and dealing with the inevitable fallout of what we did, the harder it is to forget I have several difficult conversations awaiting me, including my family.

“They’ll be surprised.” I turn off the light in the kitchen, and we stroll back to the well-appointed salon. As we walk, Jared takes my hand, linking our fingers and drawing me into his side. He touches me constantly, possessively. Each caress and kiss and touch subtly establishing ownership. I don’t mind. I touch him the same way. I feel the same way, like I need to mark my territory even though there’s no one here to threaten my claim.

“Surprised and upset?”

Jared flops onto the leather couch positioned prominently in the center of the room and pulls me onto his lap. There was a time I would sit tense and tight, wondering the whole time if I’m too heavy, if my weight is too much for him, but I relax, sitting sideways, my shoulder pressed into his chest and my head tucked into his shoulder.