That’s when Jace take a few deliberate steps over to me and presses a palm against the door, standing behind me. He leans his full weight into it, which stops me from opening it. My right hand is on the doorknob, and his chest is just inches from my back, so close that the heat of his body radiates into mine.
“You have no idea what you’re asking from me,” he groans out, lips almost touching my ear.
“Yes, I do,” I whisper out with a sigh, already affected by him.
It’s the first intimate contact I’ve had with Jace since that kiss, yet my body responds to his breath against my skin as though he’s had all my life to train me into submission. As though working of its own accord, my head tips backward until it makes contact with his chest. Jace uses his free hand to move my hair to one side, then rests his heated palm on my shoulder blade.
“What do you want, little girl?”
I’ve wanted Jace for so long, now that he’s possibly interested, I’m barely capable of speech.
“You,” I moan.
His hand tightens on my shoulder, and his lips brush against the soft, sensitive skin at the nape of my neck. His skin is hot to the touch. Fucking hot. I silently hope he’ll get past all this resistance so I can find out what it’s like to have the rest of his body touching mine.
“I want you to kiss me,” I add. “Make love to me. Have me, Jace.”
His hand slides across my upper back and his fingers curl around my neck. Jace turns my head to look back at him, and my eyes flutter closed as he brushes his lips on mine. My knees are weak. Heat and sparks spread out from my core, and I turn my body a bit more, locking eyes with him.
“I want you,” I repeat.
“I’ll ruin you, kitten. Don’t you see that?”
“Yes,” I answer, because I know it’s true. I’ve been his forever. He just never knew it. Maybe he denies it even at this moment, but I don’t. Jace can swallow me whole and spit me out when he’s done with me, and still, it’ll be more than I’ve ever had.
I feel his hand drag roughly down my arm until it covers mine. He takes my bags away from me yet again. In one fluid movement, he quickly drops them to the floor and brings his hand to my throat.
“Don’t ever tell me I didn’t warn you.”
Before I can let out the sound trapped in my throat, Jace covers my mound with his other hand. So much for coherent thought. All thinking is gone, and my body is on high alert, with all manner of unfamiliar sensations raging through me. Especially between my legs and deep in my core. It takes all my will not to grind on his hand. I want to, but it’s all so new to me, and we’re standing at his front door with the lights on above us, shining down on us like a spotlight. Forcing in a deep breath, I remind myself that I shouldn’t fight any of these urges. I wanted this all along. Needed to feel Jace’s hands on me, his skin on mine.
I’m about to get what I wanted.
And now that it’s happening, I really am like a scared little girl.
4
Jace
I need a drink.
No. This little girl needed to get away from me, but now that she’s here, I don’t want her to leave. No way am I letting her stay the night at Dylan’s frat house.
Now she’s telling me that she wants me to be her first?
Fuck it. I’m in.
With my hand still gripping her at the shoulder and neck, I march her to the main floor guest room down the hall and motion toward the open door. She takes a step inside and takes in the surroundings, her eyes stopping at the four-poster birch-colored bed between the two large bay windows at the opposite end of the room.
“You can sleep in here tonight,” I tell her, breaking the heavy silence between us.
Cherry’s quiet and pensive. Reality is setting in for her, I guess, now that she’ll get her way.
“Okay,” she whispers, her words trembling just a bit.
She should be nervous, coming to me the way she did. In all likelihood, she’ll regret that decision. But I don’t care. Actions have consequences. Her cheeks go red, and her body gives a small shudder.
“You’re shaking. That’s good. A little fear is a good thing.”
“I’m not afraid of you,” she stammers out.
“You should be scared, little girl,” I say close to her ear, stroking my thumb at the spot where her jaw meets the top of her neck. “I want you naked on that bed. Now.”
“What?”
“You heard me.”
My phone rings in my pocket just then. A quick check of the locked screen shows me that it’s Foster, one of my brother Jackson’s best friends in the undergraduate business program here at Harvard.
Shit. I forgot that he invited my brother and their other friend, Caleb, down for this weekend. Thankfully they prefer hanging out with my best friend, Dylan, as he has the run of the most popular fraternity up at MIT. Which is why it’s strange that Foster’s phoning. My brother and his friends usually steer clear of me whenever they’re down here.
“But—” she starts, but a shake of my head and the stern look on my face stops her in her tracks.
Letting the phone ring, I quickly add. “You asked for this, so you’ll do exactly as I say. Naked, and in that bed when I get back.”
Pulling the door closed, I head back to the living room to take the call.
“Hey,” I answer.
“Sup?”
“You tell me.”
“Is uh, Jackson with you right now?”
“No. Isn’t he with you?”
“Well he was, but I haven’t seen him for a few hours, or maybe all day, so I figured I’d check with you before we go looking.”
I already know what this is about. Jackson’s done his disappearing act a few times this year. It’s annoying as fuck, but in the Cambridge-Boston area, it’s way easier to track him down than when he pulls this runaway stunt in Manhattan.
“Is he driving?”
“No. We drove out here in my car. It’s still outside Dylan’s place.”
“I think I know where he is. Give me ten minutes to get to you.”
“No need. We’re outside your apartment. Dylan’s driving.”
I shake my head and grab my house keys. This shit doesn’t surprise me. “Okay fine. Be right there.”
Locking the door as I leave, I catch sight of Dylan’s Ford Mustang Shelby GT500 up the street, and walk over to them.
“Are you, uh, bringing Cherry?” is the first question I hear from the car. Which must be Foster, because Dylan wouldn’t dare ask me something so fucked up because his kid sister is Cherry’s best friend.
Right. So they either saw her show up, or got here while she was still at my front door.
“What the fuck do you think?” I ask rhetorically, and pull open the front passenger door. “And while you’re thinking up an answer, get in the back seat. I’m riding shotgun.”
Foster gets out willingly. “All right. All right,” he shouts. “Chill the fuck out. I’m just asking.”
“What’s the word, Dylan?” I ask as I take a seat up front.
“Your brother’s on the lurch again. I know he’s old enough to handle himself, but these kids have been smoking so much fucking weed since they got here last night. He could be face down in a ditch, and he probably wouldn’t know any different.”
“Turn here,” I tell Dylan as he drives away from my neighborhood. “Head north.”
As my buddy drives, I get the rundown about what’s happened. According to Foster, one of my kid brother Jackson’s two best friends, it’s been close to a day since anyone saw my brother. Jackson and Caleb drove out to Boston from Columbia U to meet up with Foster, who also attends Harvard. Of course, they chose to hang out over at Dylan’s frat house, the place to be for unruly rich kids looking to score girls, drugs, booze for anyone underage, you name it.
Which is why I didn’t want Cherry within a country mile of that place. And it’s also why it’s good that she’s staying home while we look for Jackson
right now.
“Man, this street is sketchy as fuck,” Foster shouts over the music from the back seat.
Dylan turns down the volume and nods as we pass a few pedestrians. “No shit. This is Medford. We’ll be lucky to get out of here without anyone jacking us for my goddamned rims.”
“Just drive.” What can I say? He’s right. This is a shitty part of the city.
Dylan glances over at me. “I know that your brother’s going through a bit of a rough patch, but he’d better turn up before his delinquent, trouble-making ass gets us all shot out here.”
“Rough patch or not, he’ll have more than gunshot wounds to deal with when I see him.”
“That, and we have places to be.”
“The frat party will still be there after we’re done,” Foster says from the back seat. “It’s Jace’s brother we’re talking about, Dylan. Don’t you know family comes first? Wait, forget that I even asked. Even with a sister like Vanessa, you act like an only kid. She’s years younger than you, but she looks out for you like you’re the kid brother. You know why that is? It’s because you can’t relate to looking out for anyone else.”
Dylan glares into the rearview mirror. “I’m always looking out for your sorry ass. And cut the crap, because I don’t see Caleb in the back seat there with you. You know why? Because he’s sampling from the buffet of fine young campus girls we left at the party. At my frat house. Where I’d be right now if it weren’t for Jackson being Jackson.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I get a flash of familiar orange and gray that disappears down the alley. I’m almost sure it’s the backpack Jackson always travels with.
“Stop the car,” I tell Dylan. “I think that’s him back there.”
I climb out of the passenger side before Dylan’s Mustang gets a chance to come to a complete stop.
“Dude, I’m gonna have to stay with my ride,” Dylan shouts as I walk off.
“Good idea.”
I run back to the alleyway, and notice Foster is matching my pace a few yards behind me, looking out of place in his all-black suit, with a black shirt and tie.
In August.
Here in inner city Cambridge, Massachusetts.
“What the hell are you doing?”
“Coming with you,” Foster says.
“I can handle my brother.”
“I’m not worried about how you deal with your brother. It’s these crack dealers, nut jobs and gang bangers I’m a bit concerned about…and that guy we just passed with his pants pulled down to his ankle for no good reason. He’s not even taking a piss or anything. Maybe I should call my guys.”
Foster is also the only person I know who has more bodyguards watching him than some of the top celebrities. I’ve seen him brawl. He’s fierce. He doesn’t need protection, which is why I believe him when he tells people that his protective detail is around to make sure he doesn’t hurt anyone, not the other way around.
The alleyway ends abruptly at an old brick building. There’s no sign of Jackson, but a door covered in graffiti is part-open. I step inside, giving my eyes a beat to adjust to the darkness.
“Dude, you should know better than to walk into places like this without protection,” Foster says.
I’m ready to tell him to go wait in the car when the reflective strip of Jackson’s backpack crosses our path about fifteen feet ahead of us.
“Jackson?” I call out, but he keeps walking. “Ça suffit, Jackson. Arrête!” I shout in French. I’m not surprised that he turns around to face me. He hates it when I speak to him in public in that language. It reminds him too much of Mom.
“What are you doing here, Jace?” he asks me, already rolling his eyes, which are red as fuck, like he’s been smoking pot or drinking. Or both.
I grab him by the back of his shirt collar. “Fool, you came all this way to get yourself killed? Just for a fucking dope score? You’re lucky we’re not in Manhattan, or I’d have Dad breathing down your throat with another lecture. Let’s go.”
He struggles to get out of my grip, but that ain’t happening. I’m six feet three and built like a brick wall. Jackson is pretty tall too, but these last few months haven’t been good to him. He’s been spiraling out of control, and now he’s skinny as hell.
“I’m not fucking going anywhere with you,” he shouts. “Let me go, Jace, or I swear to God I’ll—”
“You’ll do what?” I demand, shaking him around a little to remind him who he’s talking to. “Cut me? Hit me? Try to fight me off?” He doesn’t answer. “Don’t get all quiet now. What you gonna do, Jackson?”
Still no answer.
“I thought so. Let’s get you to my place. You smell like cat piss and weed,” I tell him as we head back the way we came. It’s dark, but the kid feels lighter as I guide him outside. My knuckles at his shirt are touching all bone at his shoulder blades, and I can’t help but feel sorry for him. “When was the last time you ate?”
“Don’t ask me nothing,” he mutters.
“Hey Jackson,” Foster says to him.
“Sup?” he answers, and wipes the scowl off his face. “Nice suit.”
“Thanks. You look hungry, kid. Want to stop at the Sunset Grill before we take you home?”
Jackson considers it for a moment as we head out from the alley to Dylan’s car. He nods. “Yeah, man. I’ll eat. They make a good cheeseburger.”
“We gotta make it a to-go order,” I say to both of them. “They won’t let us inside, on account of you smelling like wet fucking dog right now. Why the hell did you do this?”
“Because fuck you, Jace!” Jackson puts all his weight on his left leg and elbows me hard with his right arm. I barely feel it. “Let me go!”
“We’ll take the back seat, Foster,” I say.
“No problem. I’ll ride shotgun.”
Foster opens the rear passenger door, and I stuff Jackson in the back seat, following him inside.
“Sup, Dylan,” he says.
“Hey, Jackson.” Dylan reaches back with his right hand and gives my brother a fist bump. “Where we headed?”
“That place on Goodwood Avenue,” Foster answers, climbing into the front passenger seat.
I don’t like that our friends are making light of the situation, but I know they mean well. They’re probably the only reason Jackson didn’t bolt the way he usually would if it were just me. I let go of my grip on him—after Dylan drives off, because I can’t be too careful. He’s had a tough time since Mom passed, but since I started this program at Harvard, he’s gone off the deep end.
“Stop looking at me like that,” he grumbles. “And don’t ask me shit about school.”
“Trust me, I already know you failed half of your third-year winter term courses. Do you even realize how fucked up that is?”
“I don’t care.”
“Yeah, we heard that before, but you’ll care when you get your sorry ass out of this funk, and realize there are fucking consequences.”
He rests his head on the backrest and closes his eyes. In the front seat, Foster does his thing to reset the mood. He finds out what the kid wants to eat, and phones in a pick-up order. Jackson won’t talk to me. Honestly, there’s nothing he can say to explain why he keeps this up. We all know the grief he’s going through. He won’t say a peep, even while we’re outside the restaurant he likes so much, waiting for Foster and Dylan to get our takeout orders.
“Where are we off to now?” Dylan asks as they jump into the front seat with food.
“I’m taking this kid home,” I say. “He can eat when we get there. And sober up.”
“Like hell,” Jackson barks. “I’m going back to Dylan’s place.”
Dylan nods back at me. “It’s okay. He can stay with me, no problem,” he says to me to diffuse the storm that’s brewing here in the back seat.
“Fine,” I say to him, remembering that Cherry is back at my place. “Just drop me off.”
He turns to look at Jackson. “You’ve got to try not
to get me in shit like this, bruh. I’m supposed to be looking out for you when you come to MIT.”
Jackson looks out the window, probably to scramble for a reasonable comeback. “You don’t fucking own Cambridge,” he grumbles. “Or MIT. Or your fucked-up frat house. But all right, whatever.”
I roll my eyes but leave it alone. Jackson and Dylan do this friends-to-rivals thing all the time. The last thing I’m gonna do is get between my best friend and my brother for something this minor. Jackson’s a grown man now. He’ll be twenty-one soon, even though he acts like he’s not done with high school yet. What matters is he’s safe, and Dylan won’t let him out of his sight for the rest of the weekend.
Foster shakes his head. “Dude, you have to know we can’t get anywhere near that frat house without Dylan. Did you forget what kind of paradise awaits you up in there? Think about it. Alcohol. Pretty girls. Pills, weed and all the illicit drugs we can think of. Plus, all the pussy you could ever want. Trust me, there’s nothing like this in New York.”
Not a word from the kid.
I study Jackson’s face in the rearview mirror as Dylan drives toward my place to drop me off. It’s a real shame that he’s making his life more difficult by running away all the time. We all have it hard. I miss Mom too. But Jackson won’t let Dad or me be there for him. He just runs away. This can’t go on forever. Something’s got to give.
5
Cherry
A heavy door slams shut down the hall, pulling me from a light sleep.
Jace is back.
Any second now, he’ll walk into this bedroom and find me naked. Then we’ll do all the ungodly things to each other’s body that I’ve been fantasizing about for years. I can hardly wait, and the idea that he’ll be in here soon makes my pussy ache and throb with need. Moving my hand down under the bed sheets, I slide two fingers between my folds to get the edge off, picturing Jace as he’ll soon touch me, or taste me, or skip to the part I’m dying to experience—his cock deep inside of me, making me whole.
But honestly, I’m also a bit nervous. Who am I kidding? It’s not just my nerves. It’s slight terror. The fantasy of my first time with Jace is so vivid, so entrenched in my mind that I’m not sure how reality will measure up.
Billionaire Daddy's Virgin Page 3
