“Cheating,” I gasp, squirming under him. “You’re using your big stupid body.”
“Uh-huh,” he growls, mouth dragging along my jaw, “and you’re moaning like I’m already inside you.”
I am moaning. Loud. Whorish. The kind of sound that makes his eyes roll back and mine snap shut because the friction is so fucking good. His hips press into mine like he’s thinking about wrestling me right out of my pants. Or into a pregnancy. I don’t even care which.
“I’m stronger than I look,” I hiss, flipping my hips hard, trying to roll him.
He lets me. The bastard. Grinning the whole time while I straddle him. Except now I’ve got no plan. Just the thunder in my chest and the slippery heat between my legs and the sweat-slick way his neck smells when I lean down to bite him.
But Jett is chaos with muscle and a mean streak. He bucks, flips us again, and pins my wrists above my head like I’m nothing but something to be taken.
“You gonna tap out?” he says, breath hot on my throat.
“Fuck no,” I say, arching against him, “but I might come.”
He laughs, deep and fucked and real. And then he bites. Right on the spot where my neck meets shoulder, hard enough that I scream.
And that’s the exact moment Chad walks in.
There’s a horrified little cough from the doorway.
Jett freezes with his teeth still in me. I freeze with my legs still wrapped around his hips like a goddamn koala in heat.
Chad makes a noise like a dying ferret. “Am I interrupting something, again?”
I crane my head around, still panting, still grinning. “Yes.”
Jett lifts his head and says, voice wrecked and dangerous, “You’ve got ten seconds to leave or I finish what I started.”
Chapter Fifty-Four
Delilah
The gym door slams open like the wrath of god and in walks fucking Hank.
Everything in me locks up. Not because I still want him. Not because he still hurts me. But because the sight of his smug, confused, sanctimonious little face so close opens a thousand festering wounds all at once and pours vinegar into every single one.
He looks me dead in the eye and smirks. “Jesus, Lilah. You fucking criminals now?”
My mouth is open but my brain is chewing glass. “Hank,” I manage. Just the one word. It tastes like bile.
Jett’s entire body coils like a spring. “The Hank?” he growls. “Punk-ass Hank?”
Oh no.
Jett’s already moving, on his feet, halfway to feral.
I’m right behind him.
Chad stumbles into the space between them, flinging his arms out like he’s auditioning for worst human shield of the year. “Charges will stick this time,” Chad huffs, smug as a toddler with a plastic badge.
“This is his goddamn workplace,” I snap, fury surging up my spine like fire. I shove Jett back, my palm flat on his sweaty, furious chest, and march up to Chad, jabbing him hard in the sternum with my finger. “Do whatever you need to feel better about your sad little car, but you come here, again, stalking himat work, and I swear to every trash god in this city, I will end you with glitter, spite, and whatever blunt object I can find first.”
Jett’s behind me in an instant, his arm locking around my waist like a safety bar on a hell ride. “Don’t touch him, princess,” he says, voice tight and ragged. “He’s not worth it.”
He turns his glare to Chad and Hank, eyes full of murder. “This is harassment. I don’t give a fuck what bullshit restraining orders you’ve jacked off to. You don’t get to follow people around and hide behind paper. You don’t get to weaponize the courts just ‘cause your fragile-ass can’t take a hit.”
And then, the doors swing again and Margo waltzes in like a fucking supervillain on Xanax.
