JAX (The Beckett Boys, Book Two) (6 page)

When we finally get to my room and the door closes behind me, I lock it, and Jax steps toward me. He grips the back of my head and slants my mouth in a hard, insistent kiss. I find my knees weakening and I grip him to keep myself standing.

His cock is an iron rod pressed against my thigh. I feel it pulsing, and my pussy clenches in some kind of instinctive need.
No,
I chant to myself,
I can’t do that
. No sex. Just…I don’t know what, but I want more of him though. I can’t even imagine the things he could show me. The ways he could please me.

He pulls back and his lips are parted, his eyes dark on mine with the blue of his pupils barely visible. He’s panting, and his breaths are matching my own frantic inhales. “God, I’ve wanted to taste this mouth for far too long now.”

When his fingers reach for the bottom of my shirt, I pause.

He stops moving and swallows. I can see the urgent need in his body, in the tightness of his muscles. “Tell me what you want, darling.”

The fact that he stops instantly and read my nervousness makes me feel a little safer. “Um.” I lick my lips and shrug. “I…don’t quite know. More of what we did before. And I would like to…” I suck in a steeling breath and reach down to touch his huge dick. It jumps under my fingers. “I want to see it and maybe taste it.”

Jax’s groan shudders beneath my skin. I’ve only touched a naked dick once before, and I wasn’t quite sure what I was doing then. But with Jax right now, I feel like that doesn’t matter. He just wants my hands on him.

I get bolder and cup my hand, run it along the length, over his tight jeans.

More than anything right now, I wish I had the courage to unzip those jeans and take him out, feel it for real, nothing between us.

“God,” he moans, “yes.” His fingers grip my waist under my shirt, but he doesn’t move them. He opens his eyes and looks at me. “I want to put my mouth on that pussy. Let me taste you, Brooklyn. All over.”

My nod is shaky, and that’s all the encouragement he needs. He whips off my shirt and tank top, tossing them to the floor, then slides my skirt down my hips, where it puddles at my feet. I’m standing in front of him in my prettiest bra and underwear, pale pink lace.

Because despite me telling myself nothing was going to happen, I still put on something sexy.

“Fuck.” His fingers brush the fabric with reverence as he devours me with his gaze. “This looks so gorgeous on you that I want to rip it off.”

I am shaking now, aching for him to touch me more. “Please,” I murmur. I reach over and fumble at his waistband.

He gets the idea and with one arm, yanks off his shirt, then slides out of his jeans. He’s wearing boxer briefs, and his dick is bobbing between us, hard and huge. I swallow. Can I fit all of that in my mouth?

I want to try.

I drop to my knees, lining my mouth up with his cock, and nudge the slit of his underwear aside.

“Darling, you don’t have to—” His words are swallowed with a groan when I touch the tip of my tongue to the head of his dick. “Oh fuck, dear Jesus, yes.”

The flesh is warm and silky and I run my mouth along it. Pop the tip between my lips and give a little suck.

His hips buck a fraction before he catches himself and stills, and he reaches down to bury his hands in my hair.

The gestures are encouraging enough to make me want to try more. I drop my jaw as wide as I can and push his cock deeper into my throat. It fills my mouth, with a little pre-come dripping onto my tongue. I lick, suck, swallow.

He begins to pump my mouth, just a touch, not enough to choke me. I feel my pussy growing soaked from giving him pleasure and I reach down to stroke myself as I lick him. I nudge the fabric down to my knees and touch my clit. I’m slippery wet, my fingers dancing along the hard nub.

That dark pulse pounds from my pussy to my lower belly, out to my fingers and toes. Could I come like this?

I get explorative with my blowjob and pull off him completely, then slide my wet mouth along the underside of his cock. His legs tighten, the muscles clenching visibly, and he gasps.

“Fuck, Brooklyn,” he says as he grips my shoulders and then tugs me to standing. His eyes are wild now, and it makes me feel wild and bold and wanton. He pushes me until I’m lying on the bed and strips my panties off the rest of the way, then my bra.

When he removes his boxer briefs then lies on top of me, I moan at the sensation of our bodies completely naked. It’s decadent and intoxicating. I wrap my arms around his shoulders and feel his cock resting heavy on my stomach.

Jax moves his head down until our mouths are just a breath apart. “I’m not coming until you do, Brooklyn. Now I want you to spread those legs wide for me, because I’m going to lick your cunt so hard you’ll forget your own name.”

I
’ve always said
that licking a woman’s pussy is the hottest thing ever.

I was wrong. Because licking
one
particular woman’s pussy—Brooklyn, to be specific—is the hottest thing ever, and it puts all other women I’ve ever been with to shame. Makes me forget what anyone else tasted like, felt like.

I glide my tongue along the plump curves of her labia, and she sighs and spreads her legs wide for me. No bashfulness, no reserve. She’s dripping wet, her juices coating my mouth. So fucking eager, so hungry to be pleased. My blood slams through my veins in an almost painful throb. God, I want to be inside her so badly it hurts. I can feel my dick pulsing against her leg. Precome is starting to leak onto her bare flesh.

She gives an innocent sigh and tunnels her fingers in my hair, tugging me closer to her cunt. “Oh God, wow, that feels…wow, I’ve never had this done before…”

She’s never been eaten out? Like, ever?

Fuck.

Me.

The fact that I’m the first man to ever taste her in this way makes something primal roar to the surface. I want to own her, be the only man to ever have her in this way. It’s an odd reaction for me, almost uncomfortable in its possessiveness, but I try not to focus on that.

I flick her clit with the tip of my tongue, smirking when she thrusts her hips toward my mouth. Obviously she’s enjoying it. She’s moaning and writhing from my unceasing ministrations.

I slide two fingers into her hot pussy and begin to stroke. Fuck, how did I forget how tight she is? Tight and wet, and it’s the hottest thing I’ve ever felt.

Her moans turn to desperate gasps, and she grips my hair and fucks my face, and suddenly it’s my life’s mission to give this girl the most fucking amazing orgasm she’s ever had in her life. Her juices are all over my mouth, her pussy is swollen and warm, and I’m so fucking horny I can’t stand it.

It’s difficult to shove my needs aside, but this is her moment. I’m going to make it the best memory she’ll ever have.

I pump my fingers harder, curling to stroke her G-spot, and her body starts to shudder. Her cream is so good and tangy that I want to eat her for hours. I can tell she’s getting close to coming because she’s even tighter around my fingers, her pussy pulsing. It’s hypnotic, and her taste could become dangerously addictive.

When Brooklyn’s gasps become incoherent words strung together, I keep at it, fucking her faster with my fingers, licking her clit and nibbling on her pussy lips. My sole purpose is to make her come. I need it more than I need oxygen.

She stiffens, her legs locking in place, then releases a wail so loud that my cock bounces in response. Her whole body shakes, down to her fingertips on my scalp, and I’m feeling a rush of pride, and something else that I’m not quite sure how to label.

It takes her several moments to relax her limbs. When she does, everything sinks heavy and she droops on the bed, the most self-satisfied smile on her face that I’ve ever seen. “Oh God,” she groans. “I’ve…” Her cheeks turn a delicious shade of pink, and she moves her hands to cover her face. “I’ve never done that before.”

“Did you enjoy it?” I ask her as I move to curl beside her. Her body is pliant when she wiggles to curl against my front. My cock is still raging, but oddly enough, I want to just hold her right now. Let her bask in her pleasure.

Something tells me this was a big deal for her. I just want her to feel good, secure. Safe.

Cared for.

My heart gives a hard thud against my chest at that last thought. Of course I’ve always wanted my sexual partners to have a good time. But this feels different. I don’t know why, but it does.

I’m not quite ready to examine that yet.

I stroke her hair. “How are you feeling, darling?”

She sighs and presses her back to me, and my ridiculous heart gives this strange flip that unnerves me. “So good. I had no idea it could feel like that.” She swallows and I feel her suck in a deep breath. “I’m…well, you probably guessed, but I’m a virgin. I haven’t had a lot of sexual experience.”

I chuckle gently. “I kinda figured as much.”

“What made you guess?”

“You have this ‘virgin’ vibe around you, almost like a halo.”

She laughs and turns around to face me, slugging me in the chest. “A virgin vibe? What the hell is that?”

I try hard to keep my face straight. “Men like me can pick up on it a mile away. We smell women who are innocent and pure—it’s like a pheromone beckoning us. Makes us want to deflower them.”

She rolls her eyes. “You’re crazy, you know that?”

I laugh. “Spent a whole lifetime honing that quality.” I pause and weigh my next words. “So…can I ask why?”

“Why I’m a virgin?” There’s a tinge of hesitance in her voice.

“I’m not gonna hold a gun to your head and make you explain,” I say with a smile. “I’m just curious. It’s unusual for people our age to be, that’s all.”

The tension in her body eases a touch. I can still see a little stiffness in her, like she’s used to defending her decision on this. “Sex is important, too important for me to be casual about the person I connect with.” She takes a breath and her gaze slides away from mine to stare over my shoulder at the wall behind me. “As I told you before, my sister is a single mom. She fell for a guy and got pregnant, and when she told him, he vanished. She has no idea how to find him—apparently, he was couch surfing and took off when he learned he got knocked her up.” Her eyes get sad, tinged with a flash of anger. “I promised her I’d never get myself in that kind of position.”

My stomach gets this weird sensation. I can read between the lines. Her sister fell for a guy like me, I imagine. Someone who wants to be free, not tied down. Who enjoys sex but not commitment.

“I…can see why that would make you hesitant,” I finally say. “But sex doesn’t have to be something crazy or serious. It can just be fun. Enjoyed for the sake of itself.”

She sighs. “For some people, I’m sure. I just don’t know if I can do that. How is it you can?”

It’s a fair question, asked without judgment, but something about it sets me on edge. Maybe because it reminds me that she and I are vastly different in how we feel, how we approach things. And like it or not, I’m growing attached to her. Far more than I should be.

I keep my voice even. “I can because I’ve lived with what happens when you let yourself be…too attached to someone. I was three when my mom left us. And while I don’t remember well how my dad was before that, I do know it impacted him after. He never dated anyone else or let another woman come into his life.”

Her eyes turn sad. “I’m sorry.” She strokes my upper arm and shifts until her knee is between my legs. I’m reminded that we’re both naked, lying curled on her small bed, and I’m sharing shit from my past that I never talk about with anyone. “I can’t imagine what that was like. I think it would make me scared, too.”

The way she’s looking at me, I feel like she can see deep inside me, and I fight the urge to squirm. I’m not used to pillow talk like this. I’m used to fucking a girl hard, giving her a smooth, easy kiss on the mouth, then sliding my way out of her bed, out of her life. No complications, no fuss.

Not curling up beside her, wanting to know more about her. Wanting to discover why she is the way she is. And even more, wanting to reveal things about myself that I never show anyone.

What is it about Brooklyn that draws this out of me? I don’t know, but it kinda scares me. This isn’t who I am.

“We made it work,” I finally say in a flippant tone. “My dad was better off anyway. We didn’t need someone like her around. He was good enough for two parents.” My heart gives a painful little squeeze when I really think about my dad. Memories I don’t like to think about come rushing to the surface. How there would be nights I’d wake up at two or three in the morning, and I’d walk into the living room and see him staring blindly at the TV, no expression on his face.

Or even worse, the nights I’d hear him softly crying in bed.

My dad missed her. Despite how she abandoned all of us, without a word, he still ached for her.

Fuck that. I’m never going to let a woman break me that way.

Then Brooklyn’s hand comes up and strokes my cheek, and I realize that every moment I spend with her, I become a little less myself. I’m losing the things that make me fun, make me the guy I’m used to being.

She’s changing me.

The thought makes my lungs squeeze tight. But I can’t just stop. I want her too badly. I’ve had a taste of her and I need more.

I want to make her come again.

I want to make her smile again.

She’s slipping into my veins, pumping through my bloodstream, giving me life like oxygen. Brooklyn is unlike anyone I’ve ever known.

“You okay? You’re awfully quiet. That’s not like you.” I hear the teasing tone in her voice, but underneath there’s a lot of shyness. She’s not feeling like herself, either. She’s let me go further than anyone else has.

She’s got just as much to risk as I do.

I try to let go of my thoughts and give her a broad smile. “I’m fine, darling. Just enjoying the moment. Being naked is one of my favorite things.”

Brooklyn laughs, and I see the tension ease up in her body language, on her face. “I could have guessed that. Something about you strikes me as that kind of person.”

My grin is effortless, and I stroke her bare hip, enjoying the feel of her silky flesh. Trying to not let myself get paranoid that I’m feeling far more for her than I should.

For now, I’m just going to relax and enjoy this.

So we lie in bed and just talk for a while, and I don’t try to force anything else sexual to happen. I’m rock hard for her the whole time, but I also know that she’s inexperienced and I don’t want it all to be too much for her.

And then, sensing the time is right, I get up and pull on my clothes and give her a quick kiss.

I can’t stay any longer, even though part of me really wants to. But that part of me is not something I can give in to. That would just confuse the issue, and it would make everything between us more complicated than it already is.

As I’m leaving her, there’s a tug in my chest and I feel like I want to turn back around, sweep her off her feet and bring her to bed. Lay there with her all day and night and explore every inch of her body and mind.

But I don’t listen. I ignore that tug and continue on my way.

* * *

F
or some reason
, I’m in a mood.

Not a very good one.

“What’s your poison?” I ask the customer at the bar in a flippant tone. He’s clearly new, not one of our usuals, wearing a pale blue polo shirt with expensive sunglasses perched on his head. But Smith has thrown me enough glares over ignoring all the new people that I’m making a minimal effort with them, despite my disdain.

“Um. Do you have a cocktail menu?” he asks.

Is this dude serious? I quirk a brow. “What do you want? I can make it.”

“Well, that’s pretty confident of you,” he says slowly. I can tell he doesn’t believe me.

“My business is liquor,” I tell him. “I’m fucking good at it. What do you want?”

He pauses, scratches his chin, takes a look at his generic blond girlfriend. She titters and gives a little shrug. “Um,” he finally tells me. “How about a Jack Daniels on the rocks?”

Thanks for giving me something difficult. I bite back my sarcasm and just pour the drink for him, then slide it across the bar. He tosses money on the surface and sips his drink while his girlfriend works on her frou-frou cocktail.

Ugh. This is so fucking stupid. Who the fuck asks for a drink menu in a place like this? You get beer or liquor. Why is that so hard?

I grab a couple of empty glasses and focus on cleaning them.

“This place has changed,” Sam, a regular in our bar, says with a sigh. “I’m barely recognizing it anymore.” He’s perched on his usual stool, chin resting on his hands, eyeing the crowd around us. “What’s happening here?”

I sigh. “I don’t know. Smith thinks it’s better for us to change things sometimes.” I try to give a casual shrug, like I’m not bothered by everything.

Why do things have to change? Why can’t they stay the way they are? What we had was working for us. Our clients had a safe space to be wild and free. And we were happy to provide it.

Now that Aubrey’s in the picture, suddenly Smith’s had a change of heart. He doesn’t want us to be what we were. We’re supposed to be different now. Cater to a bunch of rich and stupid assholes who can’t handle us.

Sam finishes his swig of beer and eyes his watch.

“It’s eleven-fifteen,” I tell him. He’s here a little late for a Thursday night…normally he rolls out right before eleven. Sam’s one of our regulars who comes to this bar to escape whatever the fuck is going on in his life. We used to be a place of solace for him.

Now, based on the way he looks around at the increasingly preppy crowd, we’re just another regular bar. I’m getting the feeling he might not be coming around as much after tonight.

My stomach sinks. Fuck this. I hate that we’re changing, and Smith needs to know. It’s going too far.