“Try not to dwell on it. Let me worry about this for now. I’ll get in touch with Charles and Harriet. All you need to do is stay away from the press and calm yourself down. Get tonight out of your system. Your daughter is going to be fine. Do you understand me?”

“Yes. Fine. Sure.” He ends the call, cutting off whatever else Evelyn intended to say.

What I notice, though, is what she didn’t say. She didn’t say that Jackson would be fine.

I’m trying to ratchet back my fear when I realize that Siobhan is scooting toward the door. She opens it and steps out, and I look up curiously at Cass, who is crouched down to give me a hug. “Siobhan’s house,” she whispers. “She figured you two could use the time.”

And before I can reply or say thank you or anything at all, she’s following Siobhan’s path out of the limo.

She slams the door shut, the limo pulls back out onto the street, and I am left beside Jackson who sits perfectly, dangerously still.

I swallow, my skin prickling from the rising heat.

I’m breathing hard, my breasts rising and falling. My skin is warm, and beads of perspiration have gathered at the nape of my neck.

He turns his head slowly, his eyes meeting mine, wild and feral and hard. There’s a hungry glint to them, and for a moment I fear that he will tear me to pieces. That I will truly stand as proxy for the bastards who leaked the news about Ronnie. For the fear that I know must be consuming him, just as it is consuming me.

But haven’t I repeatedly told him that I can handle it, no matter how bad it gets? That I will be his release valve, his safety net?

That I’ll willingly take in his pain—and then we’ll turn it around into passion.

I am still holding his gaze, and I feel locked in place simply from the force of his will. He has not touched me, and though we haven’t spoken, I know that he will not until I acquiesce. Not tonight. Not when he needs to push. To go as far as he needs, and then some.

“Yes,” I say.

A muscle twitches in his cheek, but he doesn’t otherwise move, nor does he say a word to me. He simply watches me for one beat, then another. It is as if he is sizing me up, testing my resolve. I stay where I am, looking back at him. But slowly—very slowly—I part my thighs.

Jackson sucks in a breath through his nose. Then he twists at the waist so that he can reach the intercom button. He jams his finger down on it.

“Don’t go home, Edward.” His voice is hard. Tight with control. “Just drive. I don’t care where. Just drive until I tell you to stop.”

twenty

“More,” he says, in a voice so full of desire that it would melt my panties if I’d been wearing any. “I want to see you. I want to see how wet you are.”

I lick my lips, then raise my ass just enough so that I can get a grip on my skirt, then I shimmy it up over my hips before sitting down again, my legs spread even wider. The leather is warmer than I’d anticipated, and I know why—my entire body is hot, fired by my own desire.

“Oh, Christ, Syl.” There is heat in his voice, and his eyes swoop over me, his attention focused on my sex, now very, very exposed. And, yes, very, very wet.

“Do you want—”

“You.” Just one word, but it holds everything. Passion. Pain. Fear. Longing.

This is an escape. A release. A way to push past the terror of an impending arrest. A way for him to forget what he just did—that he may have actually made it worse for himself.

“You have me.” I meet his eyes, knowing he can see how completely I mean that. “Just tell me how you want me.”

He shakes his head, pressing a fingertip to his lips as he does. Then he is on his knees in front of me, his hands on my bare thighs. He grabs me, and in one motion lifts my legs so that they are on his shoulders even as he slams his mouth against my cunt, the ferocity of his assault forcing me back against the seat and making me cry out in both surprise and pleasure.

His tongue torments me, and when he sucks on my clit, I whimper, shifting my hips as I try to squirm away from this wild, relentless assault. He’s having none of it, though, and he holds me firm, refusing to let me escape even one iota of the pleasure that is battering me, raising me, taking me right to the brink.

And then—right as I am about to explode—he pulls away, leaving me gasping and frustrated and desperate for the heat of his mouth against my clit.

“Jackson,” I begin, but he cuts me off with a stern look and I remember his order of silence.

He eases backward, replacing my feet on the floor of the limo. I’m sprawled against the seat, my legs wide, my cunt bare and wet and throbbing with need, and though he doesn’t ask me to, I pull off my shirt and shimmy out of the skirt, leaving me clad only in a lacy black bra and the vibrator necklace that he told me to always wear. I start to reach behind me to unfasten my bra, but Jackson shakes his head, his mouth curved up in a hint of a smile, and I wonder what else he has in store for me.

He eases forward, then slowly pulls the necklace over my head. He presses the button to start the device vibrating, ramping it up to the maximum intensity. Then he hands it to me, his eyes dipping down to my spread legs.

I know what he wants, of course. He wants me to finish what he has started. He wants to watch as I use the vibe on myself. And even though I have no boundaries where Jackson is concerned, I cannot deny that this feels wild. Decadent.

And, yes, pretty damn compelling. Because when you get right down to it, there’s nothing that I won’t do with him, and there’s never a time when the knowledge that he is watching me doesn’t set me on fire.

I keep my eyes on him, then hold the thin cylinder as I drag my teeth over my lower lip. Then I very, very lightly trail it over my belly, along my pubis, and down to tease the sensitive area around my clit.

I’m so close already that the maximum vibe he set it on borders on painful, but doesn’t quite cross the line. Still, it’s almost too much, and I close my eyes, making little sounds of pleasure and pain without even thinking about it. I’m trying to find that right place, that right touch. I’m close—I can feel the storm growing inside me, sparking through my veins to converge at my center.

As I am breathing hard—not even sure if I’m trying to make the sensation last or push me over the edge—I open my eyes and am struck by the naked, blatant hunger on his face. He’s on his knees in front of me, his hand pressed over his cock through his jeans, and I know that he is fighting a primal need, forcing himself to sit still and watch instead of taking and claiming.

His desire is so palpable it fills the limo, sweeping over me like a current and electrifying the air between us. I want to match it—I want to go further. Make it hotter. I want to make him wild.

I want to break him. I want him to be unable to do anything but fuck me.

With sensual purpose, I keep the vibe at my center, teasing myself for his pleasure and my own. But with my other hand I reach up and yank down the cup of my bra to expose one breast. I stroke it, tracing little circles around my nipple, teasing it, tugging it.

Jackson says nothing. And other than a tightness in his features that I know means he is fighting for control, he doesn’t react. At least not at first. But then he unbuttons his jeans and takes out his cock, then strokes it in long, quick movements. And as he does, I feel such a rush of heated victory that it’s a wonder I don’t come right then.

He meets my eyes, the heat burning a hole through me. And I not only whimper, but my cunt, open and exposed to him, tightens at the sight. I see Jackson’s brow raise and I know that he has noticed.