Sterling: A Carolina Reapers Novel

by Samantha Whiskey

  Hendrix hissed through his teeth, and Savannah smacked his chest.

  “You didn’t do anything wrong,” she said, and Hendrix practically hid behind his bottle of water.

  “Maybe I did. You know I don’t have that much…experience.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” she argued. “From what you told me he was more than into it.”

  “I should probably go,” Hendrix said, but Savannah shook her head.

  “You can talk about sex without hiding, Hollywood. You basically have a master’s degree in the subject.” She flashed him a look that made me want to cover my face with the pillow again.

  This all should be incredibly mortifying, but Savannah was my family. And Hendrix was the love of her life, so that made him family too. Plus, he did have an insight to the male mind. Maybe he could tell me why Jansen was flaking on me out of nowhere.

  “Yes,” I said. “Please stay.” His brows raised at my request. I looked down at my nails. “Do you think it’s because I wasn’t…knowledgeable?”

  “God, no,” Hendrix blurted out, shaking his head. “Trust me. It doesn’t matter if you’ve never had sex before or you’ve had it with a thousand people. With the right person, experience isn’t necessary. It comes down to instinct.”

  I nodded, a little bit of relief pooling inside me. I had given over solely to the instincts and demands of my body. And we’d crashed together like the most brilliant, electrifying storm.

  “What’s up his ass then, I wonder?” Savannah asked, eyes darting between the two of us. Something clicked, and she tilted her head. “Did you do anything with Maxim?”

  “What?” I snapped. “No! Of course not—”

  “I didn’t mean sexually,” Savannah laughed.

  “Oh, for fuck’s sake, London,” Hendrix grumbled. “Tell me you’re not dating both brothers.” I gaped at him, and he quickly raised his hands in defense. “Not that you don’t have every right to do that. More like, they seem like they’d kill each other on a good day, let alone if they had to share.”

  A shiver ran the length of my spine at the thought. Trying to juggle both brothers would be about as easy as nuclear fusion. “No. There is nothing going on with Maxim and me. Why does everyone assume there is?”

  “He’s at your apartment a lot,” Savannah said, then hurried on when I flashed her a glare. “And I know it’s because Caz is always there too. But does Sterling know that?”

  I parted my lips, then shut them.

  Was that it?

  Could he possibly think I was trying to play them both? God, what kind of person did he think I was? If I were to openly date two men—two brothers, no less—I would be absolutely up front about it. Hell, I didn’t even know if what Jansen and I were doing could be considered dating or if he even wanted it to be labeled.

  My mind raced backward, thinking of all the times Maxim and I had been seen together in the last week. There was breakfast in Chicago—with Caz too—and the plane ride, I’d sat next to both of them. The following practice Maxim had teased me about not wearing the jersey he’d gifted me, and Jansen had definitely been in earshot.

  I pinched the bridge of my nose. Surely, Jansen was smart enough to know better, right?

  “I don’t even know what we are to each other. And it’s not like I can confess a working relationship to Asher-freaking-Silas without knowing if this is even a thing or not.” I sighed.

  Did I want it to be a thing?

  God, I did. I could feel that in how unsettled I’d felt since he’d been so distant.

  “How do I fix things?” I asked.

  “Sex always works for me,” Hendrix said, and Savannah laughed. “What?” he asked. “They clearly need to set up some rules. Stick to them, and everything will work out.”

  Savannah snorted. “Yeah, rules are meant to be broken.” She leaned over the armrest, grazing a finger over his forearm. “Or have you forgotten?”

  He grinned at her, and I suddenly wished for the ability to teleport the hell out of there.

  “I remember everything,” he said.

  “Okay, this has been fun,” I said, pushing to stand. “I have to go Caz’s barbecue. I’m already late as it is.”

  “You were stalling on purpose,” Savannah said, standing up to hug me.

  “Of course, I was,” I said, squeezing her back.

  She released me but held my gaze. “You like him.”

  Not a question, but I nodded anyway.

  “Then you have to talk to him.”

  “I’ve been trying—”

  “Make him listen,” she said. “Be more direct. Lay out exactly what you want, whatever that may be, and it’ll be his decision whether or not that’s okay with him. And at least you’ll know.”

  Right. Not knowing what he wanted or why he was upset with me was half as painful as not being able to joke or laugh with him like we’d been doing before that night. I’d grown used to his teasing texts and phone conversations that lasted far past bedtime.

  “Okay,” I said, sucking in all the confidence I could muster. “How do you propose I get him to talk to me?”

  “Sex. Always. Works!” Hendrix chimed in, and Savannah and I laughed.

  “Great,” I said, shaking my head. “Wish me luck.” I turned for her door, closing it softly behind me.

  I sure as hell was going to need it.

  Caspian’s home in Reaper Village was finally starting to look the part. Pictures of our family in various stages over the years decorated the halls, and he’d had someone come in and decorate for him because I knew he was clueless when it came to selecting furniture. But the home was full of carefully selected pieces, all looking so Caz that I wondered who he hired. The person obviously was an expert.

  I made my way through the house, waving to Langley and Persephone who lounged in the front room with their hulking husbands. The sliding glass door to the backyard was open, happy voices filtering inside from half the Reapers who dominated the space.

  It didn’t take more than thirty seconds to spot him.

  Looking ten degrees of amazing in a pair of jeans and a white thermal, he chatted with Briggs and Demon across the yard. I was surprised I managed to stop to chat with Caz—who stood before the grill—when everything in my body begged me to run across the yard and demand Jansen to talk to me.

  Luckily, I maintained some shred of dignity. “Smells good, brother,” I said, patting his back as he flipped a half dozen steaks on the grates.

  He wrapped me in a quick side hug. “I’m a master chef,” he said, then waved his tongs toward the tables on the other side of the patio. Each one was piled high with side dishes, drinks, and desserts. “Help yourself,” he said.

  “Thanks,” I said, but my mind was so not on food.

  Or my brother, for that matter.

  They were on the man who was now staring at me from across the yard.

  Those crushing blue eyes had the ability to shred me or save me.

  Now or never.

  I straightened my spine and headed his direction.

  It’s fine.

  Whatever he says will be fine.

  I tried to grill the notion into my head, but I couldn’t stop my heart from trembling as I stopped before him.

  “Hi,” I said, and the look he gave me…

  God, the man had some nerve to look at me like that. Like he didn’t have a clue why I was seeking him out.

  “How’s it going?” I tried again.

  Brigg’s brows raised when Sterling didn’t say anything, and I flashed him an apologetic look. Because you know what?

  Fuck. This.

  I boldly reached out and grabbed Jansen’s arm, tugging him in the opposite direction. I knew full well if he didn’t want to follow me, he wouldn’t. But he did.

  “I’m going to steal him for a minute,” I called over my shoulder to Briggs, who waved me off with the beer in his hand.

  I traveled around the side of the house, opening the gate and passing th
rough it. Jansen shut it behind us, and I nearly groaned when I spotted at least four more Reapers and their dates hanging out on the front porch. Worrying my bottom lip between my teeth, I spun to face him. “Where can we go to talk that won’t be overhead by the entire team?”

  Something cracked in his steely gaze—maybe it was the wild desperation in my voice. He cocked a brow and pointed at a house just down the street. “I live two houses down.”

  My jaw dropped. How had I not known that? “You live—” I cut myself off, shaking my head. I grabbed his arm again, hauling him to the home he’d pointed at. If any of the Reapers saw or cared, they didn’t let on.

  Jansen quickly opened his front door, laughing under his breath as I hauled him inside his own place.

  “You have to stop dragging me places,” he said, but there was the familiar tease I knew and loved in his tone.

  “Well, you always come so…” My eyes widened as the words left my mouth, and I cringed slightly as I stopped inside his entryway.

  “I think you mean I always deliver,” he fired back, tossing his keys onto a small wooden table tucked up against the main hallway wall.

  Heat flushed my cheeks. I couldn’t argue with him. Couldn’t fire back some well-thought retort. I had no doubt Jansen always delivered. I was still reeling from the aftermath of what he’d done to me.

  I glanced around his home, noting how the model was similar to Caz’s in build, but not in style. Where Caz had carefully selected pieces by someone who obviously knew what they were doing, Jansen’s home was filled with things that looked like him. Clean, comfy couches, rich wooden shelves, crisp paint. A complex collection of sharps and softs that was as exciting as it was inviting.

  And it smelled like him. All mandarin and sage and God, why had I asked to come here?

  “Your home is beautiful,” I said, folding my arms over my chest as we lingered in his entryway. A set of stairs rested just to my left, and I shivered at the idea of his bedroom being just up them.

  “Thanks,” he said, his tone back to what it’d been the whole week. Cold. Calm. Bored even.

  No beating around the bush, then. Got it.

  Well, here goes nothing.

  “You’ve been frosty toward me,” I blurted the words but refused to lose his gaze.

  He raised his brows. “Me? Cold?”

  “Yes,” I said, exasperated. “Why?” A knot formed in my throat. Fuck, what if he said it was because he’d had me and now wanted nothing to do with me? That I wasn’t worth the hassle that would eventually come when my brother found out, my bosses.

  He’s not like that, some hopeful bitch whispered in the back of my mind.

  “I’m not the one who ignores you in public,” he fired back.

  I gaped at him. “You have been!” I shook my head. “And I haven’t been ignoring you—”

  “You practically acted like you didn’t know me the morning after,” he cut me off. “Like I was no one. Like I hadn’t been inside you every way possible hours before. Like—”

  “Are you kidding me?” I stopped him, stepping into his space. Heat buzzed off of him in waves, and dammit, it made me ache. “I’m trying to be a professional! What did you want me to do? Straddle you in the banquet room? Cuddle up in the seat next to you and stare at you with moony eyes?” I smacked my hands on my thighs. “I don’t even know what you really want beyond you asking that no one else touch me! And you what? Wanted me to out you to your coach, our bosses? My brother and everyone who could potentially fire me or mess with your contract without us at least having a discussion about it?”

  His mouth snapped shut, his eyes flaring as he stared down at me. There was only an inch of space between us, and every inch of my body cried out for his.

  “Do you get how hard that is?” I asked, calming my rant.

  “What?” His tone was pure gravel.

  “Acting professional with you when my feelings are anything but.”

  He moved closer, and I retreated, the look in his eyes wholly glazed and primal. My spine kissed the wall next to the stairs, but I didn’t break our gaze. Every nerve ending came alive as he caged me in with a hand on either side of my head.

  “What do you want, London?” he asked, his words a whisper between us.

  “I told you that night.” I licked my lips, my eyes fluttering from his to his mouth and back again. “I want you,” I said, release unraveling from my chest at the admission. “I know we shouldn’t. I know the risks with our jobs, my brother, everything. I know I’m the hard choice—the hassle, the lack of experience. I know you could have any woman you want—”

  He crushed his mouth against mine with a kiss so dominant and primal I whimpered. My hands flew to his shirt, fisting it as I held on to him. He parted my lips with his tongue, taking my mouth in sweeping strokes and teasing flicks.

  God, kissing him felt like breathing after being underwater for too long. Felt like it was necessary for my survival to feel his mouth against mine.

  He jerked his head back, sucking a sharp breath as his eyes met mine. “Say it again,” he demanded, flicking his tongue over my bottom lip.

  My thighs clenched, an ache wrenching deep in my core. “I want you, Jansen,” I said, not needing him to clarify. “No one else.” His eyes guttered, and he slanted his mouth over mine, claiming it enough to steal the breath from my lungs.

  He took my mouth with starvation and relief and it…broke me.

  Because he’d needed to hear me say it. Needed to hear me say I wanted him for him. The reasoning behind that need hadn’t been shared with me yet, but it was enough to make my heart ache for him as much as my body.

  Who wouldn’t want this man? This strong, smart, funny man with so much depth and passion to him? Who wouldn’t rip apart their very lives to be with him? As I was clearly doing now—because there were risks, stakes to what we were doing, and most definitely consequences, but I just didn’t care.

  “I,” I said, breaking our kiss for just a moment. “Want.” I tugged at the hem of his shirt, and he pulled it over his head with one arm. “You,” I finished on a gasp as I ran my fingers over his chest.

  He deserved to hear it again and again.

  As many times as he needed for it to sink in.

  “I want your teasing words,” I said, breathless. “I want your challenges, your jokes. I want your eyes on me in the arena. And I have an impossible time watching anyone else on the ice. Jansen, I want every single piece of you.”

  “London,” he breathed my name, and I smiled up at him, my heart racing as every nerve in my body became a live wire.

  I dug my fingers into his biceps, shifting and tugging until he spun, our positions replaced. He smirked down at me as he let me push him against the wall. But that smirk vanished as I dropped to my knees before him.

  My fingers flew to his jeans, making quick work of the zipper and button. I yanked them and his boxer briefs down, practically moaning as his hard length sprang free.

  Butterflies flapped in my stomach as I gripped his considerable length in my hand, my lips inching nearing. I’d never done this before, but my body, my soul, was screaming to devour this man. To show him what he meant to me.

  So I dove in headfirst, wrapping my lips around the head of his cock and sliding it right on it.

  “Fuck!” he hissed, his fingers tangling in my hair as I moved my mouth on him.

  He flexed inside my mouth, his cock twitching as I flicked my tongue over the sensitive head. I moaned around him, rocking my head back and forth as I explored him. God, he tasted good—like heat and salt and Jansen. I pumped him with a hand while I sucked, working myself up just as much with every groan or growl that escaped his mouth.

  Here, in this, I felt experienced. Capable of wrenching those sounds from him. His grip tightening in my hair.

  I did that.

  Me.

  And it felt fucking amazing.

  Doubt and worry dissolved in the wake of flames that consumed my body
, my soul.

  There was only this—Jansen, me, and the fire between us.

  “Fuck, baby,” he growled, his length hardening another degree in my mouth. That grip on my hair intensified, and he tugged back. His cock sprang from my mouth with a little popping sound, and in the span of a blink, Jansen hauled me to my feet. “My turn.”

  He stripped me bare in a matter of breaths, and before I could reach for him, he hauled me over his shoulder, giving my ass a light smack as he hurried up the stairs.

  A delighted laugh ripped from my lips, and before I knew it, my back landed softly against a giant mattress.

  Jansen smirked as he hovered above me, kissing his way down my neck, lingering on my bare breasts. “Fuck, I love these,” he said, palming each breast, flicking one nipple before he soothed the sting with his tongue. The sensation had me writhing beneath him, desperate and greedy for what I could feel hard between us.

  “Jasen,” I moaned, rolling my hips upward.

  He flashed me another cocky grin, planting kisses down my belly, over my hips, and—

  “Omigod!” I screamed, my fingers flying to his hair as he licked me from slit to clit.

  “Delicious,” he growled against my sensitive, slick flesh. He plunged his tongue inside me, and I arched off the bed. He gripped my hips and held me down, working me up with teasing strokes and feather-light flicks over that swollen bud.

  I fisted the sheets above my head, my mind and body whirling with the sensation of his mouth on me. Everything inside me coiled and burned with each lap of his tongue, each grip of his strong hands on my hips, each satisfied growl against my flesh.

  My breaths came too quick, my head spinning, my heart racing. I thrashed beneath him, the sounds coming from my lips slightly animalistic as I felt myself being pushed closer and closer to that sweet, sharp edge.

  I lifted my head, and my breath caught as I saw him gazing up at me from between my thighs. The smirk on his lips was near devilish, and those eyes? God, they were wholly glazed and churning. He lowered his mouth again, fast and sharp, sucking on my clit with just the right pressure—