The Reclamation (The Club Trilogy Book 2) (2 page)

Holy shit. I’m hard. I’ve never seen her do a shot before. The way she just swallowed that tequila was so sexy—so
sexual—
I’d give anything to be that tequila right now. Or maybe the rim of her glass. Or, no, wait, the
salt
. Yes, definitely the salt.

She puts her empty glass on the coffee table, leans back on the couch, and puts her hands behind her head. It’s a total alpha-male move—the kind of pose a fucking CEO would strike during a hard-nosed negotiation—and it turns me on. She hasn’t taken her eyes off me.

I return her smolder.

One side of her mouth hitches up.

Oh yeah, it’s on.
It’s on like Donkey Kong,
as Sarah would say.

“When will Josh be here?” Kat asks, yet again annoying me with her presence.

“Probably in about three hours,” I say, looking at my watch. “His flight just left LAX.”

Sarah sighs deeply. Her eyes are like laser beams on me, even though she’s speaking to Kat. “Are you tired, Kat?”

My body is electrified. There’s no way I’m imagining that look on Sarah’s face right now.

Kat shakes her head and begins to speak, but Sarah cuts her off.

“Because I’m
really
tired.” She looks like she wants to eat me alive. “I think I’m going to take a nice, hot shower and crawl into bed for just a bit before Josh gets here.”

“Oh yeah,” Kat says. “I forgot you guys have been traveling all day. You must be exhausted.”

Sarah stands. Her gaze on me is relentless. “You’ve got a room for Kat?”

“Of course. You want me to show you now, Kat? Or do you need to eat something first?”

Sarah sighs audibly and scowls at me. She puts her hands on her hips.

Oh, shit. That last part about offering Kat food was stupid. I’m so bad at this.

“Actually, yeah, I’m—” Kat begins. But Sarah cuts her off.

“Why don’t you show Kat to her room
now
. We’ll eat in a bit. Is that okay with you, Kat?” Sarah turns her smoldering stare onto Kat and raises her eyebrows pointedly.

Kat raises her eyebrows, too, clearly surprised by the intensity of Sarah’s gaze. “Um, sure,” Kat says, slowly. When Sarah remains stone-faced, Kat’s face suddenly illuminates with understanding. She smiles broadly. “Oh.” Kat stands. “Yeah, of course. I’ll just help myself to some fruit or crackers or whatever I can find in the kitchen to tide me over. You two go right ahead and get some...
rest
.” She says the word “rest” like she’s telling the punch line to a joke.

“If you’re really starving I could—”

“Oh, for the love of Pete,” Sarah huffs. She’s pissed. “I’ve got mosquito repellant and airplane grime all over me.” There’s an undeniable edge in her voice. “I want to take a long, hot shower, Jonas Faraday. Do you understand me? A very long,
hot
shower—
right now
.”

Kat laughs. “Jonas, you aren’t normally this dense, are you?”

I feel myself blushing.

“He’s usually not, I swear. He’s actually pretty smart,” Sarah says, rolling her eyes.

“If you say so.”

My cheeks are hot. This is why I hate parties. This is why I hate threesomes. This is why I hate crowds. This is why I’m only good at one-on-one interactions. I flash Sarah an apologetic look, but she’s not having it. She’s glaring at me.

I clear my throat. “Come on, Kat.” I pick up her suitcase. “I’ve got a perfect room for you on the other side of the house—plenty of privacy over there.”

“Wonderful,” Sarah says, unmistakably chastising me. She flashes a look that makes Kat giggle, and then she beelines out of the living room toward my bedroom without so much as a backward glance.

“Come on, Jonas,” Kat says. “I fear for your physical safety if you keep that woman waiting any longer than necessary.”

Chapter 2

Jonas

I’m standing in the doorway to Kat’s room, trying my damnedest to unclench my jaw and avoid having a fucking stroke. All I want to do is go to Sarah. My body is on fire as I imagine what she might be doing right now in my bedroom—without me—but fuck me, I’m just not wired to be rude to a woman, no matter the situation. And, anyway, it’s not Kat’s fault she’s here—it’s mine. I’m the one to blame for this mess, not her.

I’ve made sure Kat has clean towels in her bathroom. I’ve told her my house is hers—whatever she wants, feel free to get it, no need to ask. In fact, please don’t ask. I’ve showed her how to use the TV remote because it’s kind of tricky. I’ve told her how to log in as a guest on the computer in my office to check her emails or whatever, seeing as how her laptop was stolen like Sarah’s—a thought which makes me ask Kat what kind of laptop she had and quickly tap out a covert text to my assistant, directing her to buy two new laptops and have them hand-delivered to my house first thing tomorrow morning.

“So, you’re good?” I ask, my heart thumping in my ears.

“I’m great. Go on. With each additional minute you keep Sarah waiting, you’re putting yourself in greater and greater peril.” She laughs.

I don’t reply. I simply turn on my heel and dart away.

“May God be with you,” she shouts to my back.

I tear through my living room toward my bedroom at the other end of the house, my hard-on raging and my heart racing. I’m going to make love to the only woman I’ve ever loved, nice and slow, and while I do it, I’m going to whisper, “I love you, Sarah” to her, over and over. I’m going to revel in her perfection, glory in her deliciousness—and when she comes (which is something she’s gotten quite good at doing lately, I must say), I’m going to say it then, too, maybe even while I’m coming right along with her. That’s definitely something I’ve never experienced before. Talk about a holy grail—a brand new holy grail.

Women have said those three little words to me—several women, in fact—but I’ve never said them back. In fact, my whole life, I’ve dreaded those words, avoided them like the plague—mostly because they’ve wound up torpedoing every goddamned relationship I’ve ever had, not to mention several extended flings, too. What woman is willing to say those words out loud to a man and never hear them back? It turns out, not a single one. Even if she’s determined to be patient at first, to act like Mother Theresa and wait me out, the end is inevitable, if not instant, once she lets the I-love-you cat out of the bag. No relationship can last very long, if at all, when it’s suddenly crystal clear only one person’s heart is on the line.

But, holy fuck, I want to say those words now. And I want Sarah to say them back to me. What will it feel like to exchange those most sacred and bare words with someone? Well, not just with
someone
—with Sarah?

I can’t wait.

But hang on. Wait a minute. I have a thought that stops me dead in my tracks in my hallway. What if Sarah
doesn’t
say those words back to me? My stomach somersaults at the thought. What if . . .?

No, I can’t think that way. We told each how we feel in Belize.
Love is a serious mental disease,
I said. And then I told her she drives me fucking crazy. You can’t get much clearer than that. And then she said it back to me.
You drive me fucking crazy, too,
she said.
Loca. Cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs.

And on top of all that I played her the Muse song, too. I’ve never played that Muse song for anyone before, let alone for the woman I love while making her come for the first time in her life. Oh man, that was epic.
Madness.

I’m rock hard right now.

Yeah, we’ve definitely said it.
Madness.

And now we’ll take the next step. Together. We’ll say the actual words . . .

But wait. What if she’s scared of the magic words? Or not ready? What if she’s not completely sure . . .?

No, no, no, I can’t think that way. That’s just my demons talking. That’s my “deep-seated fear of abandonment wrought by childhood trauma” talking, as my therapist always explained it to me when my darkness started fucking with me and whispering in my ear. That’s the crazy-ass part of me I’ve got to constantly guard against, push down, snuff out. I know she loves me. And I love her. I know that as surely as I know my own name. I can’t let my mind run away from me.

Or my body, for that matter. For the love of God, I’ve got to control myself—remember she’s exhausted and vulnerable and distressed right now. That she’s been through a trauma today. I have to be gentle and take things slow. I have to make sure she feels safe and loved—yes,
loved
, above all else. I want to make this memorable and beautiful for her. For both of us. I have to do this just right. I can’t turn into the Incredible Hulk on her right now. I have to treat her with kid gloves and make her feel safe and adored.
Worshipped.
To begin with, I’m going to pepper her face with soft kisses, the way she always does for me. And when I do, I’ll tell her,
“Love is the joy of the good, the wonder of the wise, the amazement of the gods.”

I open my bedroom door, trembling with excited anticipation.

She’s not in the room but I hear the shower running in my bathroom. Her clothes are strewn across the floor, leading quite explicitly into my bathroom. My heart pounds in my chest, crashes in my ears. Damn, this woman turns me on. I rip my clothes off and hurl them across the room. I head toward the bathroom.

I open my bathroom door.

She’s in the shower, facing away from me, scrubbing herself with a washcloth as hot water cascades down her naked body. Her backside is pink and slick from the scalding water, her dark hair soaking wet and hanging down her back. Suds float like graceful snowflakes down the small of her back and over her beautiful, round ass. I stand for a moment, just watching her, beholding her breathtaking beauty. She’s
woman-ness
personified, the perfect form of woman from the ideal realm, delivered unto the physical world as a gift for the broken and imperfect masses in order to inspire hope and aspiration—well, and to turn me the fuck on.

And she’s mine, all mine. Mine, mine, mine.

She turns around and sees me. She smiles. “Talk about not taking a hint. Jeez. I’ve been wanting you inside me all day long, big boy.”

I beam at her, but I don’t move. She’s so damned beautiful. I’m enjoying watching her.

She tilts her head to the side, letting the water wash over her. She sweeps the washcloth over her breasts.

I just keep smiling at her. She’s perfect. I want to remember this moment. I love her. And I’m going to tell her so.

She puts the washcloth on the ledge and runs her bare hands over her hips and belly. She licks her lips. “Well? Are you gonna get in here or what?”

I smile. “I’m just enjoying watching you for a minute, baby. I want to remember this moment.”

“Aw, how sweet,” she says, but she’s clearly being sarcastic. “Don’t you know not to make a horny woman wait?”

I bound into the shower. “Words to live by.” I take her slick body in my arms. “Say that again.’” I lean in to kiss her.

She laughs that gravelly laugh of hers. “Horny,” she says, pressing her lips into mine.

I run my hands over her smooth back, down her ass, over her hips.

“I’ve been trying to get into your pants for the last hour, Jonas Faraday. Sometimes you really are just a big dummy, you know that?”

I kiss her mouth softly, and then I kiss her entire face, the way she always does for me—but it’s not the same when water is pelting our faces. I want to whisper my devotion into her ear, but the shower stream is smacking me in the face.

I want to make her feel safe and protected . . .

She grabs my shaft and begins fondling me with enthusiasm. “Jonas, come on. I’ve been hot for you all day. Fuck me.”

Fuck me?
Wow, we’re really not on the same page here. I thought she was distraught and needed something gentle and tender and beautiful . . .

“Come on,” she says again. Her hands are working their magic on me. I moan.

She lifts her leg onto the shower ledge and guides me into her, then leaps up, into my arms, taking me into her. Immediately, she begins gyrating and sliding against my wet skin.

What the hell? What happened to my damsel in distress?

She throws her head back with abandon. “You feel so good,” she groans out, relieved. She’s on fire.

“I don’t come ‘til you do,” I mutter.

“Oh, not that again,” she moans. “Just don’t talk.”

She wraps her legs around my back, gyrating, writhing, slithering around in my arms. “Oh, God,” she says. “Jonas.” She thrusts and jerks in my arms like an animal, kissing me voraciously.

Fuck it. Fine.

I pin her against the shower wall and give her more than she bargained for.

She groans her approval.

She feels so good, oh God, she sure as hell does, so, so, so good, but this isn’t what I had in mind. I pivot away from the wall, reach out behind her and turn off the water, still holding her entire body weight in my arms. She’s attacking me, devouring me, fucking me, but I walk us into the bedroom as she continues slamming her body up and down on top of me. Holy shit, how I’m managing to even think right now, let alone walk, I have no idea.

I lay her down on the bed and pull out of her.

“No,” she screams. “No, no, no! Get back in here!”

Oh God, I love it when she’s bossy. When is she going to learn that I’m running this show? I head down between her legs to lick her sweet spot.

“No, no, no,” she yells. Her eyes are wild. Her hair is soaking wet. Her olive skin is slick and wet and sexy as hell. “I’m in charge this time, Jonas—” But then my tongue finds her bull’s-eye and she moans. “Oh, yeah,” she breathes. “Just like that.” She arches her back into me. “Oh, Jonas.”

I don’t know why she always fights me. When will she learn I know what’s best for her?

I make love to her with my tongue and mouth, and she writhes against me.

“Jonas . . .” She sighs loudly. But she’s still fighting me, battling to exert her will.

I keep working her, sliding my tongue around and around and over and across—employing every little trick that unlocks her. I’ve learned my baby oh so well by now.