Wasted Lust - JA Huss Page 0,49
all makes sense. You’re connected to Ford through James Fenici, who did a job in Fort Collins where you finished growing up the year after you were supposed to have been killed out in that harbor. Someday you’ll have to tell me how Assassin Number Six managed to shoot you in the chest in front of a dozen people and you survived.”
“He really did shoot me.”
“I believe you. And your aunt believed all the reports of your death for weeks. She was so relieved when you turned up at that party.”
“I can’t think about that night right now. I really can’t. It was the worst night of my life. Even worse than losing my father. Because the night my dad died, I was sorta expecting it. He was acting so weird leading up to that job. But the night Nick Tate decided that working for a drug lord in Honduras was better than spending his life with me… well, nothing prepares a lovestruck thirteen-year-old for that kind of rejection.”
“For someone who can’t think about it, you sure did explain a lot about you in a few sentences.”
He’s right. So I shut up.
We reach the car where a man is holding the back door open. Jax sets me down on the gray leather seat and waits for me to get settled before closing the door and walking to the other side. He exchanges a few words with our driver, who gets in the front, and then Jax joins me in the back, his arms wrapping around me protectively, the same way he was holding me outside. The opaque black glass slides up, secluding us from the eyes and ears of whoever it is at the wheel.
Pressure on the back of my head makes me gasp.
“It’s a pretty good gash, but the blood is clotting well. You shouldn’t need stitches.” He pulls a handkerchief out of his coat pocket and applies it to the wound.
“I still feel dizzy.”
“Come here,” he says, pulling me into his lap and repositioning me so my head is cradled in the crook of his arm. “Put your feet up on the seat and just rest. It’s a good hour drive to where we’re going.”
I could resist. He’s not entirely trustworthy. And he’s a stalker. That’s pretty creepy. I wonder how deep that obsession goes. I wonder if it’s safe to even be in this car with him.
But his embrace feels too good to make him stop.
My dress was not made for being cradled in a man’s arms. Or maybe it was? Because the slits up each side bare my thighs, and the heat of his hand on my skin stirs up the longing I’ve been pushing away for years, making me shut my eyes.
His fingers stroke me gently, back and forth across the top of my thigh. It feels so damn good, I lose myself in the pleasure. I lean into him and his hand drops down between my thighs, making me gasp.
“Sorry,” he says, removing the offending hand.
I reach out and place his hand back where it was. “Don’t stop touching me. Please. It feels good. I don’t get a lot of intimate interaction anymore.”
My eyes are still closed when I say this to him, but the ensuing silence and the tenseness of his hand on my skin—his hesitant touch—forces me to open them. It forces me to seek him out.
And I guess he wins, doesn’t he? He’s got me right where he needs me. Wanting more as I gaze up into his eyes.
“Pull your dress up, Sasha.”
I wasn’t expecting that command. But it absolutely is a command. He’ll give me what I’m asking for, but he won’t give it away for free.
“Do it,” he says. “You’ve been pushing me away all day. You’ve complained about my kisses and threatened to break my fingers. And now you’re here in my lap. Vulnerable and needy. So if this is what you really want, you need to participate. I won’t force you to succumb. I won’t take advantage of your longing for Nick, or your very bad day, or the panic that seems overwhelming. If you want me, show me.”
So I do. I do it without thinking or rationalizing. I just want it. My hand reaches for the silky fabric of my dress all bunched between my legs, and I pull it up. Inch by inch, until the coolness of the air sweeps across my lace panties.
He licks his lips as he watches.
The heat I feel is immediate.
“What