I grab my phone and tap his number in my Favorites contact list. He answers before the second ring. “Hey.”
“Hey,” I say, hating that my breath sounds a bit shaky. “I was wondering if I could see you.”
“Tonight?” he asks in confusion.
“Yes, if that’s alright.”
“Want me to come to you?” he asks, ever the gentleman, and the squeeze on my heart lessens considerably.
“Actually… I’m outside your building.”
He told me to come into the underground garage he’d previously given me the code to. I had not done that directly as it seemed intrusive when I was the one calling the break, but I feel even lighter of heart at the invitation.
When I make it to his floor and his door is in sight, my heart starts thundering. When he opens it up, he leans against the jamb, hands tucked into his pockets casually, and watches me walk toward him.
My face heats as I get closer, because while I couldn’t begin to guess the myriad of emotions he might be feeling, I’m shocked that what I’m seeing now is hunger and need in his eyes.
I’m also affected.
Like, everywhere.
It’s been way too long since we’ve had true alone time and I tingle from the top of my head to the tips of my toes.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” I ask him softly when I’m a mere few feet away.
His eyes roam down my body slowly, one side of his mouth pulling up into a lazy smile before meeting my gaze head-on. “You here to tell me you’ve reconsidered?”
“I am,” I reply simply, figuring he might pull me in for a kiss. We’d sit on the couch for a bit so I could profusely apologize then we could make up in a delightful way. Based on his demeanor, I know there’s no way we’re not making up.
Not that we really broke up. I just asked for a break and I think two hours is sufficient.
But Jett shocks me into an embarrassing yelp when he steps into the hall, bends at the waist and puts his shoulder to my stomach. I go up and over him into a fireman’s carry and he turns, careful my head doesn’t hit the jamb.
Gracefully, he steps over his threshold and when we’re clear, kicks his foot back to shut the door.
There’s no hesitation.
He doesn’t go to the couch but stalks around it and moves into his bedroom with deliberation. I start to squirm as he heads toward the bed, but it’s short-lived as he dumps me there.
I bounce once before his body comes down on me and then his mouth descends. I react quickly, putting my hand over it to stop him. His eyebrows rise.
“Am I forgiven for being so stupid?” I ask.
He responds by baring his teeth and biting the palm of my hand, not enough to hurt, but enough to make me snatch it back.
Then his lips are on mine, his tongue is in my mouth and I think I know what the answer is.
I am forgiven.
I don’t know how it happens. One moment we’re clothed, and the next we’re naked. Jett straddles my hips, legs spread, and his palms resting on his thighs as he looks down at me. It’s lewd and beautiful at the same time, especially with his thick cock at erect attention right over my belly.
Without hesitation, I take it in hand and squeeze at the base, pulling along the length. Jett’s head tips back and he groans in pleasure. I continue to stroke him and his eyes come back to me, blistering with need. His hips rotate and flex, helping me stroke him. There’s a rumbling in his chest, an indication to me that he won’t take much more of this.
He’s so fucking perfect.
“Get on your back,” I mutter, releasing his shaft and pushing at his stomach. His muscles tighten but he doesn’t move. In fact, his body is entirely still as he stares down at me.
“I want my mouth on you, Jett,” I explain and a muscle twitches in his jaw.
“Now,” I order, and he rolls off me quickly, coming to rest flat on his back.
Laughing, I roll to follow his trajectory, but come up to rest on my knees. Shifting closer, I place a hand on his belly, loving the way his muscles jump under my touch. My hand closes around his erection once more and as I start to bend over him, he sucks in a lungful of air.
My mouth closes around the head of his cock, and it all comes whooshing out in a big gust of relief mixed with a need for more.
I give him more, taking him in deep and sucking hard on the backstroke.
“Christ,” he mutters, his hand going to my hair. I feel his fingers slide through, curl, and then grasp hard to hold me in place.
He doesn’t have to worry.
I’m not going anywhere.
♦
Our breathing returned to normal, legs entwined and my head on his chest, Jett seems comfortable with the silence. The steady glide of his fingers back and forth against my hip has me getting drowsy.
Yet I’m not comfortable staying silent. I came here to talk.
Now, I don’t mind what we did. I’ll never regret pulse-pounding orgasms or watching pleasure etch across his face.
But we need to talk.
“I’m sorry,” I say, busting into the silence of the room.
“For what?” he asks, and I can hear the humor in his tone.
“For being stupid,” I admit to him. “As Jenna put it plainly, I was the one running from you and you should have been running from me and my special brand of crazy.”
Jett snorts and his hand tightens on my hip. “I really, really like your sister. Did I ever tell you that?”
“You actually have,” I remind him. He’s said it to me on more than one occasion, having grown close to Jenna as he’d done Felicity.
“I didn’t think I could handle everything. I felt I’d be failing you because I have so much other stuff to deal with, and that it would be better to…”
My words trail off and I tip my head to look up at him. “I have no clue why I thought it would be better by pushing you away for a bit. I have no clue why I didn’t accept your offer of strength.”
“You were scared,” he says simply. “And you’re proud.”
I lay my head back down on his chest and nod. “I guess.”
“And you’re not anymore.” His voice is low, rumbling but gentle.
“I’m still scared, but I’m not stupid anymore,” I reply with a nervous laugh.
“Only took you a few hours to get unstupid,” he commends me. “That’s probably a record in the history of breakups.”
“We didn’t break up,” I remind him with a poke to the ribs and he jerks to the side. “I just wanted to take a break. Big difference.”
“So you say.” His voice is languid in dismissal of our difference of opinion.
It goes quiet again and his fingers start stroking my hip. The sensation is soothing and my eyes start to get heavy. “You forgive me, right?”
“I gave you an orgasm, didn’t I?” he quips.
“Two,” I remind him. “Am I forgiven?”
Jett doesn’t answer me right away and my heart starts thudding with fear. Had I misread all of this? Was this just another roll in the hay for him before we part ways?
I lift my head so I can look at him. I need to be able to read his expression along with any words he chooses to give. “Am I forgiven?” I repeat, enunciating my words a little more profoundly.