Page 34 of Jace
“Jace, hush.” I chuckle, playfully nudging his arm. “So you’ll wait for me?”
His beaming smile falls.
He steps closer.
So close that I can feel his heat rising. It’s making his amber-and-bergamot cologne potent. His husky voice, thick and aroused, like the ravenous pause wrapping around us, with his close confession, “Clearly, I’ve been waiting for you, Vivian.”
Oh fuck.
My pussy just clenched. My poor cotton panties will be tissue against the firehose of lust that Jace is about to burst through me.
He’s actually doing this. Revealing this. Releasingthis…
Our desire.
Of course, he waited until he discovered I was divorced. That I’m trapped and miserable, and he wants to help me.
Good god, this man won’t stop being a gentleman.
But he’s not gentle. He’s in a crime family, and I don’t care. As I suspected, he’s a good man, righting the wrongs of bad people.
But it was his sweet, salacious confession—he’s had group sex—that won’t stop taunting my mind, picturing his massive, gorgeous body in a sweaty tangle of writhing hard flesh.
It’s an orgy for my imagination.
I can picture it.
And now he’s celibate, while being erotically intimate with Nash and Vale? What does that mean? How does that work? My fantasy is dying to know.
I’m not hurt; I’m curious.
I’m not jealous; I’m relieved.
All this time, shame has silenced me. I’ve been so alone in a disgraced bubble, waiting for it to burst and destroy my life.
But in one intimate reveal, Jace popped my bubble. He freed me. He held me and my secret, and I didn’t feel judged. I felt like I belonged in his powerful arms.
And oh my god, I felt so damn horny.
I’d be embarrassed if Mother Nature weren’t so shameless.
They say widows experience a “widow’s fire,” a sudden surge of desire in the flames of their pain after losing their husband. It’s rarely discussed, and sometimes shamed, though it’s a common, natural part of grief.
So what do I call this inferno for Jace? This bonfire of need in the ashes of my divorce?
I don’t grieve the loss of my miserable marriage. I don’t miss my ex-husband. He can fuck the hell off.
But I grieve that I haven’t been touched. Haven’t been loved. Haven’t felt safe to feel or dream or desire until now.
Jace said he’d help me—he and his criminal family—but he has no idea how much he already has.
How much I don’t want to lose his friendship. How much I fear I’m being selfish to want more with him. How this already feels so special. How?—
“What is your pretty, big brain overthinking?” He grins, looming over me.
“Nothing.”
Everything.
