Jet (Marked Men, #2)(37)

I felt like I had been starving for this my entire life and now the seven-course meal that was Jet Keller was mine for the tasting and I was about to turn into a gluttonous beast. He was doing a pretty good job of making me lose track of every thought by assaulting my mouth with kisses that had more bite and more sting than I was used to. He was holding my head still, and playing a game of attack and retreat with his tongue that was making me moan. My only recourse was to slide my hands around his narrow waist and dig my fingers into the tight muscle above his ass. The pressure was enough to get him to lift his head, and when he did, I couldn’t help the dart of satisfaction that flared in me at the obsidian glimmer in his dark eyes, the gold completely obliterated by a hazy, passionate gleam. His mouth was damp and when his tongue brushed over it, my knees instinctively bent so that he was cradled right at the heart of where he needed to be.

I slid a couple of fingers under the tight edge of his pants and lifted a dark eyebrow. “How do these come off?”

He had lowered his head and was doing something amazing with his tongue on the tendon of my neck, so his reply was muttered against skin that was quivering at his lightest touch. I hooked a long leg around one of his and pressed up against the part of him that I wanted and was being denied access to. “Seriously, those pants are ridiculous. How am I supposed to get them off?”

Everything I had on was stretchy and designed for comfort and cuddling in bed. I made a face at him and he pushed up off me, and had zero trouble taking my tank top with him as he went. The look that crossed his face when he stared back at me had heat surging up my chest and into my face. I took pretty good care of myself, and I wasn’t an idiot, so I knew I was better than all right to look at. But when he looked at me, I had never felt more appreciated, more valued, more adored than I did in that minute. Something serious was going on in those dark eyes, and if I stopped to think about it, I was going to freak out and bolt for my own room. Luckily, he must have felt it brewing, because he clambered over me to climb to his feet and started working on the buckle to his belt.

“They aren’t that tight.”

I propped myself up on my elbows to watch the show and implore him to hurry with my greedy eyes.

“Yes they are, and right now they are in the way.”

He stopped messing with his zipper for a second to stare at me, but I was shimmying out of my yoga pants and that was enough to spurn him back into action. The denim and leather hit the floor with a clatter and I blinked in surprise when I was face-to-face with not only an impressive erection and ripped abs, but another hoop that I hadn’t been expecting. Since Shaw and I talked about everything, I knew that this group of guys was into this kind of thing, but I had never seen it before, let alone had one anywhere near me. I licked my bottom lip and twirled a finger in the air in front of him.

“What am I supposed to do with that?”

He laughed a little and pushed his hair back from his face. “Enjoy it?”

I shook my head a little as he grabbed my ankle and pulled me to the edge of the bed so that I was way closer to it and to him than I was ready for. Anticipation was building and steaming under the surface, but the fear of the unknown was still lurking, and the metal in the unexpected place was a welcome distraction. “Doesn’t it hurt?”

He laughed again and I wanted to touch it. I was reaching out tentatively, worried that it would hurt him, worried that I was going to do something wrong. He grabbed my hand and wrapped the whole thing around the shaft and gave it a squeeze. “I’ve had it forever. I don’t even think about it. You can touch it, you can lick it—in fact why don’t you do both of those things on a regular basis?”

I slid my hand back and forth and felt him shudder a little under my light touch. I let go and used my index finger to gently brush the metal. It was hot from being pressed against his skin and the little ball in the center of the ring was smooth. I could only imagine what it felt like when he did his thing. It was as hot as it was intimidating.

“This should be interesting.”

He winked at me and leaned over to grab a condom out of the nightstand next to his bed. I was sure the anticipation was going to kill me. He handed me the little foil package and shoved me back on the bed. I wrapped my arms around his broad shoulders and looked up into eyes that held everything I ever wanted in them.

“We have to get you to step outside the box, Ayd. None of the best stuff is found in the mainstream.”

He was right. But the mainstream was safe, and no one ever got hurt or judged or ostracized in the mainstream. Now wasn’t the time for that argument, because he was kissing me again and doing things to my puckered nipples that only a guy who played the guitar like he did could do. There was something in the way he touched me, the way his fingers pressed into my skin, the way his teeth left marks, and the way the metal scattered here and there sent goose bumps chasing after it, that erased any and all others who had ever tried to get to me. He was hard and he was soft; his mouth was all velvet and steel, and I wondered if there was no going back from this point with him.

Only Jet made that happen. Only Jet had me forgetting that I wasn’t a girl who simply gave herself over to passion and mindless oblivion, and only Jet made me scream his name when he pushed my legs apart and touched me, stroked me, did all the things he did to me in that bathroom the other night. Only this time, it ended with me seeing stars and pushing him over onto his back so that I could climb on top of him. This boy could play a woman as well as he could play a guitar; there was no doubt about it.