Opening the door, I waved her in ahead of me, but her eyebrows shot up and her eyes went wide.
“Wow,” she blurted out before she’d even stepped into the room.
She inched in, and I followed behind, shaking my head at myself. Even still, the sensation of a bubble wrapping around us tighter and tighter, forcing us closer, was there.
I twisted the key out of the lock and threw it down on the table by the door, shutting it after we’d walked in.
I leaned back on the table, crossing my arms over my black T-shirt and watching her circle the room. “I don’t let many people in here,” I said.
I wasn’t worried about the computers. They weren’t important to me. The information I could use them to gain was. This room, and its contents, gave me the ability to protect myself and my family, make a living, and be aware of every stumble in the road before I even turned the corner.
When I was thirteen, and my father had been sentenced to prison time, I’d been sent to live with a family that had two computers. One of them was old, so they had let me tinker and explore with it. Once I discovered how to use it and the leverage that’s at a person’s fingertips if you’re clever and diligent enough, I was hooked. I wanted to know everything.
She strolled down the wall, studying the six flat-screen monitors I had mounted in two rows of three each. Two were shut off, two had updates and installations running, and the other two had accounts I was trying to crack. Not that she’d know what she was looking at.
There was a seventh flat-screen I had supported on a tripod that controlled the others. The room wasn’t decorative. Instead of portraits or wall decals, I had bulletin boards and whiteboards with my scribble all over them, and desks lining the walls with electronics and computers sitting around.
In this room I was a god. I watched, and I swirled the paint every so often with no one the wiser.
K.C. passed each monitor and table, stopping to study a few things and swaying ever so slightly to the music coming from downstairs. Her thumbnail was in her mouth, but she looked relaxed.
“This is how you make your money, isn’t it?” she said, turning away from my notes on the whiteboard to look at me. “Are you doing illegal things, Jax?”
I licked my lips, taunting her. “Would it get you hot if I said yes?”
“No,” she grumbled, looking away again. “It gets me hot when you touch me.”
My heart plummeted into my stomach, and I felt as if I were falling.
What the hell did she just say?
She spun back around, her mouth hanging open. “I can’t believe I just said that. Oh, my God.”
I didn’t blink, and her chest wasn’t moving any oxygen.
I swallowed, standing up and stalking toward her. “Say it again.”
“Damn wine coolers,” she bit out, looking to the floor and retreating. “I never usually feel anything. How did you know they were my favorite?”
I smirked. How cute she was. I tipped my chin down, inching toward her and loving every backward step she took. Why did I like her being afraid of me?
“I didn’t know they were your favorite,” I lied. “And it’s not the wine coolers you’re feeling. It’s me.”
Her back hit the wall, and I came in front of her, bearing down on her. Her hair tickled my cheek.
“Say it again,” I breathed into her ear.
Her hands went to my chest, trying to keep me away. “No.”
“Coward.”
She peered up at me, narrowing her eyes. “Now I’m a coward.” She nodded sarcastically, pressing her hands into my chest with more force. “Gutless, helpless, and coward all because I won’t sleep with you. Next, my girly pink wine coolers and peach nail polish will be under attack. Let me help you with some more names: princess, self-absorbed, weak, wimp, arrogant, snotty, sellout, conceited—”
Grabbing hold of the backs of her thighs, I heard her yelp as I hauled her off her feet and pressed her into the wall, forcing her legs around my waist. I cut her off, bringing us nose to nose. “I like your pink wine coolers, and I think your pretty toenails are sexy as hell.”
Her chest rose and fell in silence, up and down, up and down, and the heat of her mouth was right on my lips as she stared at me, shocked.
Her soft lips.
Her fucking soft lips were panting and moist, and I stared at them, wanting to bite. Her hot cunt warmed my stomach, setting me on fire, and I loved how easy her body was to handle. “You’re a pretty little thing, K. C. Carter,” I whispered into her mouth, “and I like looking at you.”
“Oh, G—,” she moaned, but I cut her off, slamming my lips down on hers.
Three fucking years.
Three fucking years of desire for this girl, and I wanted that shit I claimed I didn’t want days ago. I still wanted to pin her against the lockers at school. I still wanted her riding the shit out of me with her tits in my mouth.
And I still wanted to wipe the sneer off her face and see her smile.
K.C.’s full lips moved against mine, kissing me back, and while her mouth felt soft and moved fluidly like water, it also nipped and nibbled, bit and sucked.
She was good, and I gripped her ass in both hands, pressing her into my body so hard I could feel her heat through her clothes.
Her hands pressed into my chest again, and chills fanned against my skin as she pulled away. “Stop,” she gasped.
Fuck no.
I gritted my teeth and slammed my ass down in the desk chair with her straddling me. Grabbing her wrists, I held them behind her back and jerked her chest into mine, forcing her fierce green eyes down on me.
“Say it,” I ordered.
Her teeth were bared. “No.”
Tough little shit.
I smiled, my lips threatening hers. “Your breath is shaking. You’re scared to look at me.” I sucked in air through my teeth. “And I know you feel me between your legs, don’t you?”
Her eyebrows arched together, making her look even more vulnerable.
I jerked her into me again. “Don’t you?”
And then she looked down, nodding quickly.
I swallowed, licking my dry lips. Old K.C. would never have been that brave.
She raised her timid eyes, speaking low and husky. “I liked your mouth on me in the weight room. And in the car.”
My fucking head was floating, and I couldn’t remember when I had wanted something so badly. Releasing her arms, I brought her hands in between us and then cupped her cheek, trying to get her to look at me.
My dick wanted me to bend her over every desk in this room, but my head liked her in my lap. I wanted her to be comfortable, so I let her ease into me.
Her throat moved up and down, and I saw that she was rubbing her thumb over the scar on her wrist.
“You think I tried to kill myself, don’t you?” she asked, and I blinked. She’d changed the subject pretty damn fast.
“You noticed the scar at some point and assumed.” Her eyes met mine, and she lifted her chin. “Well, I didn’t, okay? I wouldn’t try to hurt myself.”
I narrowed my eyes on her. I had definitely referred to her wrist the other night when I said she’d been desperate to get out of her own skin, and even though I had no idea why she was bringing that up now, I sat back and let her talk.
“How did it happen?” I asked.
She shook her head. “It doesn’t matter. I just wanted you to know that it wasn’t that. I hate when people make assumptions about me.”
I held her thighs. “Okay. Tell me what K.C. stands for, then.”
She smiled, gesturing around the room. “I’m sure you have the capability to figure that out, don’t you, Jax?”
Moving my hands up to her hips, I gripped her tight and eased her into me. Nipping at her lips in short, soft kisses, I glided my tongue along her top lip. “Tell me,” I whispered, hearing her breath quicken again. “Or I’m going to lay you on my bed.” I dug my fingers into her skin. “And eat your * so hard the whole damn house will hear you screaming.”
I kissed through her excited little breaths.