Except for only making me want you even more.
Her throat bobs with her swallow, but the ghost of a smile remains on her lips. I take my free hand and slide it beneath her waistband. The absence of panties is a welcome surprise, but it’s the strip of tight curls that tickle my fingers and the slickness just below it that has me emitting a tortured groan. She widens her legs without me having to ask and grants me access to the heaven between.
“I want you, Vince,” she murmurs, her lips inches from mine. “I never stop wanting you. Even when we’re fighting, even when we’re apart, even when you hate me, I never stop wanting you.”
Her words do things to my insides. Overwhelm me. Fuel me.
I crash my mouth back to hers as my finger tucks inside her warm, wet heat. My tongue slides in and out of her mouth much like my fingers do in her pussy. I take and take and take from her until we can’t breathe and her hips are bucking forward into my hand.
Enough fucking foreplay.
Enough fucking waiting.
I break off the damn kiss and hold her eyes. “We’re going to get undressed, Shug, and then you’re going to get on your hands and knees like the good girl you are so that I can admire your ass.”
I release her hair and with our eyes still on one another’s, we both undress. Shirts overhead. Pants shoved down. And then she lowers herself to her knees and looks over her shoulder at me, as she props herself up on her hands.
Jesus fucking Christ.
The sight of her here like this. Ass up. Thighs glistening from her arousal. Pussy just waiting for me to pound.
I don’t think I’ve ever been this hard in my life. Or this desperate.
“That’s my girl,” I murmur as I drop to my own knees, grab the globes of her ass with both hands, and then dip down to stick my tongue in her pussy. Her yelp fills the room and her taste owns my senses.
I bury my nose between her thighs and lap up everything she gives me. With the guidance of my hand, I press her hips back and forth so she’s fucking my face. Her scent. Her taste. The feel of her. It’s a goddamn high like no other.
Well, except for one.
And I’m about to take that right now.
“You like that?” I murmur as I bite her ass playfully. “You like knowing you can own me like that with your taste? That you can drive me fucking crazy?”
“I was so close to coming.” Her words are breathless, strained, and fuck if they don’t all but undo me.
“Mmm.” I run my hand from her neck down her spine and then pat her pussy hard enough that she quivers in response.
Talk about a beautiful sight. All that slick, pink flesh reacting like that.
“I want to be inside of you when you come, Shug. I want to feel you. I want to see you. I want to own you.”
She moans as I trace my fingers ever so gently around her opening. And with lips and chin and nose wet and smelling like her addictive scent, I rear back up, jacket myself with a condom, and push my way into her.
Fucking hell.
This woman.
She’s going to be my goddamn downfall and my only fucking salvation.
I hold her still by her hips as I revel in the feel of her. In her wetness coating my balls. In the sensations slowly beginning to build when I haven’t even started yet.
I look down. At her ass. At the inch or so of my cock unable to fit inside her. At the stretch of her skin around me, accepting me, and then fighting to keep me in as I slide out for the first time.
Bristol pushes back onto me, little pulses back and forth of her body so my head can hit whatever spot within she needs.
It feels like heaven.
She feels like heaven.
“God, you’re beautiful like this. I love the way you do that.” She moans as I grind into her slowly. “It’s never felt like this before. Never,” I say and then lean forward to press my lips to her shoulder. The motion pushes me even farther into her and earns a panted plea of my name. I chuckle against her shoulder as I close my hand around the front of her throat like a necklace. “You take my dick so goddamn well, you know that? So fucking well.” I nip then suck on the curve of her neck.
And when I raise back up, lightheaded and body burning with need, I know I can’t hold back anymore. I’ve stalled long enough that the pleasure has now turned into pain. That my need has now become greed.
“Hey, Shug?”
“Hmm?”
“Brace yourself because it’s my name I want on your lips when you scream.”
This time I pull out and then slam back into her with enough force that her ass jiggles from it. Between the sight of that and the feel of her and the sound of her soft, begging mewl, the restraint snaps.
I fuck her. Hard. Fast. Unrelenting. With a savage passion I can’t control.
Our bodies slap. Her pussy soaks me and flexes around me as my cock swells so much it hurts.
“C’mon. C’mon. C’mon,” I beg, because I’m doing everything I can to stop myself before she can go. My fingers bruise her hips. My thighs burn with restraint. My goddamn balls ache for release.
And the minute she calls out, “Vince,” I’m a goddamn goner.
My vision goes black and my breath falls short, as I pump everything I have into her until my thoughts are gone and my heart is full.
Until I know that no one will ever be able to make me feel the way she does. Never.
And that only confuses matters even more.
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
Vince
“How come every time we get together, I end up on my back?” Bristol asks through a panted breath.
I shift up on my elbow so I can look at her. Her hair is a mess, her cheeks are flushed, and her smiling lips are swollen from mine. I could never get tired of looking at her like this—gorgeous, sated, looking back at me with something in her eyes that makes my heart feel like it’s going to beat out of my chest. I lean forward and brush a kiss to her lips before leaning my forehead on hers and reaching out to rest a hand on her stomach. When she tries to shift away, I tighten my fingers on her side, forcing her to let me leave my hand there.
What was it like when she was pregnant? Did she have morning sickness? What weird foods did she crave? What did Jagger’s heartbeat sound like? What did it feel like when he kicked against her swollen belly? What did his first cries sound like?
And where the fuck did those thoughts even come from? For a guy who never wanted kids, Jennings, you sure as fuck are thinking too much.
And yet . . . the questions I’ll never have answers to still linger.
“I played him your music all the time,” Bristol murmurs almost as if she can hear my thoughts. “Interviews that you’d given. Songs that you’d sung. I rested the phone on my belly and played them over and over. I wanted him to know your voice.”
Processing all of this has been a mental and emotional overload. To go from zero to one hundred eighty in what feels like two seconds is overwhelming and discombobulating.
To think I’ve been content with not wanting one thing my whole life to now having it and trying to understand why I’m not fighting against it harder.
To look at Bristol and resent her for what she did. Sure, I could look at myself—at Mick putting her off, at having Hawke block her in my phone, at not returning her calls—but rehashing the past doesn’t justify her silence over the past weeks. It doesn’t give her a free pass.
To look at Jagger, I see myself in every fiber of him, and then in the few places I’m not, I see Bristol there.
I offer a slight nod in response and then lie back on the rug and stare at the ceiling. What am I supposed to say, thank you? Because while I am glad she tried to keep me present in his life—I wasn’t in his life in the most important way possible.