Rock Chick Regret (Rock Chick, #7)

“You playin’ with me?” he growled.

I felt my heart beating in my throat, my stomach clenched with nausea but I put my lips to his ear and whispered, “You want to know what it was like being Seth Townsend’s daughter?” I dipped my face and used my nose again to flick his earlobe and went on, still whispering, “Under his thumb? Watched? Protected? Suffocated? His shit-hot gentleman army wandering around, I could look but I couldn’t touch? Shit-hot guys like you?” I felt his body jerk then grow tighter when I put my mouth closer to his ear and talked low in my throat. “Do you know what that was like? What it was like for a girl like me? Can you imagine how I feel…” I paused for effect, waited then continued, “How I feel, now that I’m free?” My mouth moved along his cheek to his mouth, he didn’t speak and our eyes locked. “Can I make a request?” I asked against his mouth. He still didn’t answer so I lifted my head, pressed closer and whispered, “Let’s start with hard and rough.”

He stared at me, hard, trying, I guessed, to see if I was messing with his head.

I blinked slowly, not opening my eyes fully then let the corners of my lips tip up.

He watched my eyes then my mouth then he groaned and kissed me.

I guessed I had a new Sadie in me, I didn’t know who she was but I hoped like hell she could get me out of this latest trauma in one piece.

I kissed him back and hated every second of it. It was nowhere near a hot, hard, urgent, fiery Hector kiss. Jerry might have been handsome but he wasn’t a good kisser. His kiss made my stomach turn unpleasantly but I ignored it and pressed my body into his, curled a leg around his hip and wrapped my arm around his back.

I pulled at the other arm, the handcuff made a loud clunk and his head came up, his eyes going to my cuffed hand.

“Leave it, it’s hot,” I breathed and put my mouth to his neck.

His eyes flashed and he kissed me again, one of his hands went into my hair, his other hand was everywhere. I acted like I loved it, I wanted more of it, I was gagging for it.

But I hated every blooming nanosecond of it.

I grasped his shirt, yanking it out of his trousers, my hand went up his back then I engaged my nails, digging in perhaps an eensy bit harder than I needed and I pulled at my cuffed hand again so it made another clunking noise.

His mouth went to my neck and down, he muttered, “Wildcat,” to my chest, my lip curled in disgust but my hand went to his side, drifting softly there then between our bodies and down his abs to the waistband of his trousers.

I pulled at my cuffed hand again and it made another clunk then I did it again and the clunk was louder.

His head came up and his hand went to his pocket.

“Fuck it,” he snapped.

I felt my lungs fill with anticipatory oxygen.

“Jerry, leave it. I’ve never done it cuffed to a bed,” I fake protested.

His eyes came to mine and his hand came out of his pocket. “I been waitin’ years for this, Sadie, and now that I got it, I want you to touch me,” he told me and I felt triumphant elation slide through me.

I hid it and muttered, “Whatever.”

He leaned up and uncuffed me, keeping the other cuff on my wrist, he slid the key back into his pocket and his eyes came back to mine. “You’re playin’ a game and you think to fuck me over, you’re back to bein’ cuffed, I’ll gag you and I don’t give a fuck if you enjoy it or not.”

I was a little surprised he wanted me to enjoy it at all but I shook this off, both my arms went around him, my mouth went to his, my eyes open and our gazes were locked again.

I smiled against his mouth and said, “You’re a pig, Jerry.”

Then I kissed him.

We went at it. There was a lot of rolling, hand action, more rolling, mouth action. I managed to evade him taking off any of my clothes (though I let him unbuckle my belt) but I got his shirt unbuttoned and used my mouth on his chest. Then, when I thought I had him, I rolled on top, straddled his hips, whipped off my sweater, exposing my lace-over-satin, blush-colored demi-bra, I pressed my hips into him and asked, “Do you have a condom?”

“Jesus,” was his whispered answer, his eyes were on my breasts, his hands sliding up the skin of my sides.

When he didn’t answer, I lied, “No worries, I do.”

I lifted a leg, rolled off him and jumped off the bed.

I was across the room and digging through my purse when his arms came around me from behind, his hands moving across my belly and ribcage, his mouth in my neck.

I tried to stay cool, not to tense and freak out. I kept digging through my purse, trying to find the stun gun, hoping I’d get it out without him seeing it.

I found it, closed my eyes tight, took in a deep breath, relaxed back into him as my fingers curled around the stun gun.

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