But a man had been murdered, Jennifer’s father. Diane was definitely the prime suspect. I surmised whoever (or whomever) watched Jenn and I were not the police, but I felt certain the police were the ones watching Diane all the time. Repo was a criminal, no denying that. As the money man for the club, he was a money launderer and a thief. Indirectly, he was also complicit in any number of crimes—drug dealing, smuggling, destruction of property, assault, murder, prostitution—you name it, his hands were covered in it.
And yet I was no angel. I was a criminal who’d never been caught, and Jenn loved me. Was I more worthy of love than Repo because I’d been smart enough to evade the law—thus far—and he hadn’t? Or was it the nature and number of our crimes that separated us?
That seemed like a slippery slope, a maple syrup hill with a slathering of lube.
“Cletus.”
“Jennifer.” I sidled up to her.
She tracked me with her eyes. “She doesn’t love him. And there’s no way someone like that could ever make her happy. He’s a terrible man.”
“He’s pretty terrible.” He was also pretty smart, clever, and based on other facts I knew about him, surprisingly unselfish at times. I wasn’t sure what the man’s hard lines were, what moral code he subscribed to, but I knew he had hard lines and a moral code. That was more—much more—than could be said for my father. Or Jenn’s.
But enough about Repo. Jenn and I were alone with a light on. I’d told her the truth and she wasn’t angry at me. The bass from the club below thrummed in the background, just enough to provide a soundtrack for . . . activities.
Reaching around, I slid my fingertips down her spine. Her lashes fluttered, a new kind of heat kindling behind her gaze.
“I didn’t bring you here for this.” I bent, then brushed a kiss against her lips, nuzzling her nose with mine. “But since we are here.”
“Cletus,” she said my name, the word breathless, and I reveled in the sudden change.
One of the sexiest things about my woman was how very ready she was for me, each and every time. One moment we’d be discussing tulips, and she’d be lamenting that they only bloomed once a year, and then I’d look at her or I’d touch her and this—this look right here, this dreamy, hopeful look—lit behind her eyes.
She’d said once that she didn’t think she was made for love. I’d told her, It’s exactly what you’re made for, and I’d been right. I should’ve known something was amiss when she’d rebuffed me weeks ago only to reach for me at night.
“I miss looking at you,” I said, hooking my fingers into the strap of her bra. I slid it down her shoulder. “I miss doing things to you with the lights on. I miss watching . . .”
Her body trembled and she swayed, pulling air into her lungs as though the oxygen was in short supply. Reaching down, I unbuttoned her jeans, and she moved the black dress out of the way, setting it on the desk behind her. Her bra sagged without the support of its straps and I bent, swirling my tongue around the center of her breast.
Jenn’s nails were in my hair and she shimmied her hips, helping me remove her pants and underwear. “What are—what are you gonna do?”
“What do you want me to do?” I asked. I was open for anything, always. But what I really wanted was her sitting on the desk naked, legs open for my mouth. There were very few things I loved more than watching Jennifer Sylvester, short woman baker, lose her mind while I ate out her pussy. Prior to the solidifying of our relationship, it had been my most frequent—and at the time, most inconvenient—daydream. And night dream. And wet dream.
“Can we—” her breath hitched, and I moved to the other breast, encouraging her to lean back on the desk and sit on her dress “—try something new?”
Something new? Getting naked in a strange office above a club we’d never patronized wasn’t new? Images of her and me together, things we hadn’t done yet, possibilities flitted through my head. Both heads.
“What did you have in mind?” I asked. Though I had many ideas, many, many, many ideas, I wanted to know what she fantasized about. Then I wanted to do that. Jennifer successfully freed herself from her shoes and pants using her feet while I lavished her breasts with wet kisses, keeping my eyes open the whole time. I didn’t want to miss a moment.
“A shower.”
I paused, frowning. “A shower.”
She squirmed, pushing her chest toward my mouth, and smoothing her palms down my body. Fitting her hands inside my jacket, she shoved it off, and then grabbed the hem of my shirt, lifting, pushing it up.
“I guess not here, but later?”
“Taking showers together has been on your mind?” I smiled, liking that she’d been thinking sexy thoughts.
Her fingers reached inside my boxers, encircled me, tugged. “Yessss . . .”
I grunted, the muscles in my stomach, back, bottom, and legs tensing, and my palms came to the table on either side of her for balance because she’d started stroking me with one hand while shoving at my pants with the other.
“I need you,” she moaned, opening her legs wider, pulling me forward by my dick. “I need you, I need—”
“Shh.” I covered her hand with mine, slowing her movements and staring into her eyes. She looked desperate.
Jenn was already on the cusp, and I’d barely touched her. If I took her like this, in this position, she’d come in ten seconds.
“Lie back.” I fit my hand in the crook of her back and encouraged her to recline on the desk.
Once in position, her legs dangling over the edge, I stepped between her thighs, entering her slowly. Panting, her body bowed, her hands grabbing at nothing, her eyebrows lifting, her lips parting.
I swallowed a rush of saliva, my heart hammering in my chest as I greedily devoured the sight of her, prone, naked. I thought about withdrawing and kneeling, taking her with my mouth first, like I’d wanted. Our eyes locked, and she must’ve read the temptation in my eyes because she moaned again, her head rolling back, exposing her neck. She tilted her hips, her body instinctively seeking friction for that sweet spot at the juncture of her thighs. Not yet.
Canvasing her body, every delectable dip and soft curve, I lowered my eyes to watch as my cock stretched her opening. Hot and tight and slick. A shock of electricity climbed up my spine, the feel of her was too good, perfect, I couldn’t think. She felt—
“Fuck.” I began to withdraw, my stomach muscles tensing. Some base instinct had me pushing deeper inside, lulled by the feel of her walls against my bare skin. No wonder she felt so good. I wasn’t wearing a condom!
“Wha-what’s wrong?”
“I didn’t put one on.” I managed the words between clenched teeth while the thought tethering them slipped away, some primitive part of my mind urging me to just fucking forget about the stupid fucking condom. Jenn was on birth control.
Enjoy. Yourself.
“Put . . . what . . . on?”
God, watching her body move in response to mine, how she shifted, her lips parted, her breasts jostled with each rhythmic roll of my hips. Hypnotizing. Skin against skin felt amazing, so amazing, so perfect and hot and tight and yielding.
“Cletus?”