Rectify (Return to Us Trilogy #2) (7 page)

Jacade stands in front of the compelling Lake Michigan view with his arms behind his head. He's dressed only in his dark denim since I stole his sweater in my mad dash. My gaze scours his impeccably toned back and arms. His carved muscles make the honed onyx outline of his panther tattoo leap right out of his torso. The angel and devil stretch across his brawny biceps. I want to flatten and point my tongue to trace the colored contours of his body, emulsifying my essence with his ink.

"Are you hungry?" His voice startles me. "I can see you in the window."

Damn, he catches me every time.

"Sure." My stomach perks up at the notion of food. The exhilaration of the day clouded any thoughts of eating. I wasn't thinking about feeding myself as I jumped out of an airplane with the bad boy plastic surgeon strapped to my back.

He turns and walks to the kitchen. "How about some chicken fettuccine?"

I sit on one of the barstools at the counter. "Sounds great." He puts a large ceramic dish into the microwave before pouring two glasses of Chardonnay and handing one to me.

"For you, my lady," he says in a medieval accent, bowing and swinging the towel out into the air.

I smile and accept the glass. "Thank you, kind sir." The microwave dings, and the scent of garlic and Parmesan fills the kitchen as he scoops out our portions. He sets my plate in front of me. "This smells delicious."

"Sheryl's an impressive cook." He sits on the barstool to my left with his food and wine glass.

I take my first bite of pasta. The flat strips of cooked dough are slippery with creamy buttery noodly goodness. My stomach gobbles the Italian mixture with a ravenous need.

"How did you find her?" Maybe he'll talk about Sheryl instead of my little run and hide in his bathroom stunt. Slut Ivy and Feminist Ivy have their hands on their foreheads in the shape of an
L
. Yeah, I know I'm a loser.

He takes a bite and chews. He raises his wine glass to his lips and takes a sip. "Ivy, you can change the subject all you want. We're still going to talk about what happened." I choke on my food. Crap.

He sets his glass down and picks up his fork. "Who's going to go first?" I grab my napkin and wipe my mouth. I've lost my appetite. Please, don't make me talk about this.

I concentrate on the rotating lights of the Ferris wheel.

"Okay, I'll start, then." He sighs. "I'm not sure what I did to upset you, but unless you tell me, I won't be able to avoid doing it in the future." Good point. However, he didn't do anything wrong. He was in the moment. I was too until he kissed my scar.

"Your turn. And Ivy, tell me the truth." He's pissed. "I don't want you thinking I'm angry with you for running off. I'm angry with you for not talking to me about what is bothering you."

Inhale. Exhale.

"Sorry I freaked out." The words have left my mouth before I know it. Why did I start with those words? I should've said
Please stay away from my scar. Now let's continue with our make out session
.

"You're missing the point, babe." He swivels on his barstool and glares at me. "I don't want an apology. I want the reason you're apologizing."

Oh man. Look at him and look at me. I'm littered with stretch marks. I have a scar from being slashed open on an operating table. He's an Adonis sculpted to meet every woman's ideal image.

"The scar on my side is an uncomfortable memory for me. I almost died three years ago. I didn't mean to flip out. I panicked."

***

Jacade

Well, at least she acknowledged her scar.

"Hey..." I place my hand on her knee and squeeze gently. My rough hands scrape against her silky skin. She fidgets and inhales as I flex my fingers and swivel her to the left. She peeks up at me through her disheveled bangs. Christ, I should've made her put on some real clothes. The thought of her exposed figure is making my dick salute the invisible general.

I peer into her sweet eyes. "Wasn't it abundantly clear how turned on I am by you? Because it's obvious to me." She dampens her enviable lips with her tongue. I stretch my arm and rub the pad of my thumb along the moisture.

"We all have scars, Ivy. Mine are so grisly you can't see them. But trust me, they're hidden and buried deep." I grin and wipe away a tear running down her cheek. "The goodness in you just makes yours float to the surface."

I graze my fingers along her chin, gently turning her head up. "Eyes on me." My tone falters.

I lean in and press a feathery kiss on her lips. "I've never ached for something so exquisitely and divinely flawed, as you."

***

Ivy

My mind scampers in a million directions after hearing his words. What scars does he possess? My scars are not beautiful.

Our kiss ends, and I'm left longing for his lips against mine. "We good?" My eyes open and his penetrating gaze caresses my soul. Are we? I'm beyond curious about his scars.

"Yes, but it's kinda unfair."

His face scrunches and his head tips to the side. "Unfair?"

"Well, you've seen one of my scars, but I've never seen one of yours." Whew. I'm surprised I said it. He chuckles, producing a lopsided grin.

"You've got me there, Ms. Summers." He slides off the barstool and unbuttons his jeans. I gawk at the mass of corkscrew pubic hair and the beginning of his pleasure-giving penis as he pulls them open. He slips one side down his thigh and his raging hard-on pops out. He covers it with his hand and smirks at me. "It just doesn't go away when you're around me."

Clearly. He points to a red stellate mark on his right upper thigh.

"This is where I was shot by my drug addict stepfather as I tried to wrestle a gun out of his hands. He was aiming for my mother." I want to keep eyeing it, but he jerks his jeans up. He only fastens the two lower buttons. Oh, I noticed.

"You didn't have it removed?" My question trickles out of my mouth before I can turn my filter on.

"I could've, but I wanted a reminder of how dismal life can become." He bends and presses a gentle kiss to my forehead.

Ivy

He moves his kiss from my forehead to a gentle nuzzle at my ear. "Let's get you back on my lap." His hand digs into my hip. "My cock can't wait any longer."

He licks my earlobe and saunters toward the living room. The jeans hug his ass cheeks as they bop up and down.

Up, down. Up, down.

A shiver falls down my stomach and into my core. The thought of having sex with him gives me the best kind of collywobbles.

I grab the plates and put them in the kitchen sink. On my way to join him, I get distracted by his impressive bar. Old-fashioned bottles glisten off the mirrored backsplash like sunlight off a hot spring. A shot might help lighten the mood.

I walk over to the bar and survey my options. I select an elegant, frosted bottle of vodka with a sexy, blue snow queen engraved on the front. I grab a thin shot glass and pour a finger of the clear, colorless nectar. Bottoms up! The pure, smooth liquid coats my dry throat. I pour another and savor the warmth spreading to my stomach. I spy on Jacade through the mirror.

Cottony clouds drift with leisure across the gigantic floor-to-ceiling windows. Light prisms reflect off ripples in the water as a blush sun sets over the blue-green streaked lake. An untamed man lounges in a padded leather swivel chair. His tan skin and smoky blue angel tattoo blend into the cyan hues of the Midwestern sky. His daunting panther leers at me from above the back of the chair.

Maybe the vodka is giving me liquid courage, but I form a daring plan for his dick. I grab Sheryl's periwinkle apron off a hook in the kitchen and pull a butcher knife from its magnetized strip on the wall. I cut the canvas straps from the apron and leave the front panel on the kitchen counter.

I grab a few other supplies and pad on the hardwood floors toward the living room.

His legs are spread wide, right elbow resting on the arm of the chair, like he was during my lame attempt at a striptease. His index finger presses to his cheek, his other fingers relax over his lips.

I step in front of him, and his eyes survey my shapely figure. My pink pedicured toes. My calves. My knees. His gaze stalls on the hem of his sweater at my thighs as if he's trying to see through it with his x-ray vision. He moves on from my thighs and lingers on my breasts, which dangle without a bra. He inhales sharply as he takes in my hard nipples poking at the thin fabric. His gaze travels outward, first to my right hand holding the apron straps, some cut lemons, and a shot glass of white sugar. His bucolic face is neutral until his stare drifts to the vodka bottle in my left hand. The corner of his mouth twitches.

His gaze lifts to meet mine. "Dr. Jordan, you and I are going to play a little game." I raise my hands and my bounty in the air.

He grins and laces his fingers over his eight-pack. "What kind of game, Ms. Summers?" And cue his dimple.

I sashay closer to the chair and nudge his feet wider apart with mine. My toes skim his nude feet, and my heart skips a beat. I step between his knees and bend at the waist, suspending my lips over his. "A game in which you don't speak unless I tell you to do so."

His smile expands and makes his sexy dimple more profound. Yeah, you remember this game, don't you, Dr. J? At least I'm not blindfolding you.

"Understood?" I raise my eyebrows, mimicking the expression he so often gives me. This would be my
now or never, mister hot ass doc
face.

He unclasps his hands and holds them out in front of him with his palms up. With a tilt of his head and a curl of his fingers, he answers my question.
Let's do this
.

I set the bottle, lemons, and glass of sugar on the side table. I slide the canvas straps through my fingers and tug.

Crack
.

They snap like wet towels on skin in a men's locker room. "Are you agreeable to being tied up?" He gestures yes with his head.

"Rest your wrists on the arms of the chair." He complies. I didn't expect him to be so acquiescent. I guess he knows how to obey as well as give orders.

I lay the canvas on top of his left wrist and wrap it under the wooden arm of the chair. I crisscross the straps and pull them up and over the top again. I tie a tight double knot and repeat the process on his right wrist.

I step back and pause to admire the disparity of the feminine lilac fabric against the coarse, ebony hair on his masculine forearms. My formidable sex god on a stick, who can soak my panties with a glimpse, is strapped to a chair in only his half-buttoned-up jeans. He's not going anywhere. He's mine. The shots must be sinking in because my inhibitions are out the window like dandelion wisps in the spring breeze.

"I'm on Fire" by Low pours from his speakers and ratchets up the palpable tension in the room. I lift my right leg and step through the space below the wooden armrest. I place my left leg in the same area on the opposite side. The buttons of his jeans scrape against the silk of my panties as I wiggle on his lap to get comfortable.

He throws his head back and lets out a deep, guttural groan. I pull his head back up with my hand behind his neck. "The rules to this game are simple. You do everything I say. No arguing. No attitude." I put on my best poker face. "You game, Doc?" He nods, pressing his lips together. He's enjoying this. Me too. "Pick a safe word."

"Tourniquet," he responds without hesitation. I should've known what word he'd choose.

"Tourniquet it is," I say, fighting a smile of my own.

I clear my throat and attempt to regain my composure. This is serious business. I slip my index finger in my mouth and suck. I drag it out and pop it up in front of his face to form the number one. His eyes widen as he follows my finger. "Remember this one important rule."

I bend and press my nose to his ear, resting my palm and wet finger on his pec. He takes a deep breath when my hand makes contact with his skin. God, he's as hot as a stove. I should jerk my hand away before I get burned.

"Lick, sip, suck," I say against his ear in a seductive, breathy voice.

I lean back and his eyes have darkened. I don't think he's following me. "Pay attention, Dr. Jordan. I don't like to repeat myself." The side of his mouth curves up. I bet you remember those words. "Order is sugar, shot, then lemon."

***

Jacade

She wants to play? Oh, sweetheart, I'm game.

She has no idea who she's dealing with. I play dirty. Real filthy dirty.

"Me first."She licks my collarbone from my neck to my shoulder. She sprinkles sugar on the wet spot. The surplus sugar trickles down my pecs
.
She follows the same path with wet kisses, licking up the sugar and dipping down to get some that spilled.

"Mmm," she moans.

She tilts the bottle and pours the watery fluid in her mouth while holding the lemon wedge in her opposite hand. I imagine the ethanol molecules bouncing off her tongue and cheeks. I'd love to be filling her mouth.

She bends and presses her closed lips to mine. That won't do. I force her lips open with my tongue, and a cool sensation dribbles from my jawline, down my throat, and over my pecs.

"Oops. Let me." She climbs off my lap and grabs the sugar shot glass and a wedge of lemon from the table. "Open." With the peel facing me, she inserts the sour fruit into my mouth. She winks and mumbles, "For safe keeping. I'm going to need it shortly."

Holy mother of... She shakes sugar along the path the liquid traveled down my body. She bends and places her hands on the chair cushion next to my thighs. She pauses an inch above my skin. She peeks up at me and grins. I think I may explode. Spontaneous combustion. Parts of me flying in all directions.

My entire being trembles with anticipation. Her tongue darts out between her lips and tickles my overheated body. I fixate on her mouth as she moves up my stomach. Jesus. Over my nipple with a suck and a tug with her teeth. Shit.

She sucks my neck, then flattens her tongue and licks her way up to my jawline. She sits up on my lap and takes another swig from the bottle. Her swollen breasts press to my chest.

"Thanks for holding on to this for me." Her mouth covers the lemon and she kisses me. Our lips meet with the juicy fruit between us. She sinks her teeth into the flesh and sucks the juice out of it. She takes the rind out of her mouth and sets it on the end table.

"Your turn." Hell yeah.

She crosses her arms and yanks my sweater over her head. Nothing but panties. Damn.

For years, I thought about what it would be like to have Ivy anytime I wanted her. Now I can, and I can't believe this isn't a dream. With the royal sky as a backdrop, she's like a heavenly being. A seraph I don't deserve, sent to extricate me from the life I chose because of her.

Universe, I promise to repent all my unspeakable sins if you let me worship at this woman's feet for eternity. You can drag me through the dirt or slice my flesh with shards of glass. I don't give a flying fuck. Let me ingest any agony meant for her. I will do this happily and still kiss the ground she walks on. And with dirt on my lips, I will beg to worship her again and again.

She rises on her knees and nudges her right breast in my face. "Suck." Yes, ma'am.

I engulf her nipple. Her head falls back, and I think she briefly forgets she's in charge. Hell, I'll suck on this all day if she lets me.

Sorrow floods my body when she plucks it from my lips. She shakes sugar over her damp nipple. Each grain sticking to her coral skin. She moves to her left nipple and drips vodka over her breast. She places a lemon wedge between her teeth.

Just when I think she's going to let me go to town on her breast buffet, she opens the last two buttons of my jeans. She frees my cock to the cool air and rubs the pre-come around the tip with her thumb.

She moves her panties to the side and parts her pussy with her fingers. She seizes my calcified dick in her hand and glides it between her wet heat. The head of my cock presses against her clit and the shaft nestles in her pussy. She bends forward, pressing my dick against my stomach as she moves her hips. Her jaw falls open and her eyes close.

She glides her pussy up and down my shaft and shoves her left, alcohol-soaked nipple in my mouth.

Supposed to be sugar first, darling. But who gives a fuck?

I suck her nipple to a rigid peak in my mouth. Her fingernails scrape my scalp and weave into my hair. She jerks my head back and puts her right, sugary nipple in my mouth.

Her hips move faster, and I bite down hard.

"Ungh!" I circle her areola to ease the sting.

"Give me both of them." She immediately pushes her breasts together in my face. I take one nipple between my teeth on my right side and grab the other nipple between the molars on my left side. Her lavender vanilla scent mixed with the alcohol and sugar intoxicates me. I growl and tug up on both her nipples at the same time. She groans and seems to be fine with the pain.

Fuck.

I bite down harder and thrash my head back and forth, my nose rubbing on the soft sides of her breasts.

My hot breath must feel like a bull snorting in her cleavage. She groans but still no sign of pain limit from her. She could take more.

God, this woman likes nipple torture.

I flick her nipples with my tongue, and she goes wild trying to break free. No way. I'm holding these babies hostage. I told you I play dirty.

On her upstroke, I shift my hips so my cock glissades back through her wet pussy, and the tip pushes into her entrance, pleading for admittance into the promised land.

She yanks my head back by my hair, and I give up my ruthless hold on her nipples. She kisses the lemon to my lips, and with my bite, the tart juice fills my mouth. As I'm swallowing the lemon juice, she tilts her hips and drives down on my dick. Inch by inch she cloaks me in the warm fleece of her soused pussy. Damn. Snug and cozy.

I wrench back from our kiss and spit the lemon out onto the floor. She grins and parts her lips with her tongue.

She rides my dick with ease. My cock is made for her pussy. She braces her forearms on my shoulders and holds my head in her hands. My eyes glimpse her shaved cunt milking my dick with every grind.

In short gasps she says, "You feel so... oh my." I totally agree. She plants her feet on the floor and sets her palms on my stomach. Her abused tits push together and jiggle with each thrust. I stare at the delicious red marks I left on her nipples.

She whispers, "Do I feel good?" Shit. I'm supposed to talk now? Why not earlier when my dick wasn't knee-deep inside you?

"Yes, fuck... warm, soft…" I grit out my words. "Tight."

"Tell me more." She's likes my filthy words.

"I'm gonna fuck you so hard even your begging won't make me stop. Hearing you beg will only egg me on, driving me harder into you. I won't ever stop. I'll keep fucking you and fucking you," I say, my voice gravelly. She needs to slow down, or I'm going to finish in rapid speed.

"Ungh... more."

She mumbles as she glides down my shaft again. "More." Damn, I can't even think. What are words again? Sentences?