Page 85 of Bourbon Sins
“Keep looking,” Jett encouraged, while placing light kisses around my neck.
“If you think watching Mr. Tubby over there make it rain with his dance moves is going to turn me on, then you’ve really got the wrong idea.”
Laughing, Jett said, “Just keep watching.”
I rolled my eyes and returned to my post. I kept seeing the glimmer of something reflect off of the lights in his place, but for the life of me I couldn’t figure it out until I saw who I assumed was Mrs. Masterson walk into the room. She was also a well-fed lady, with a sizeable bush that, frankly, it looked like she was proud of. I guess I would be proud of that forest too if I let it spread to the sides of my thighs.
“That’s some impressive lap broccoli Mrs. Masterson has going on,” I commented as I continued to stare.
“Shit,” Jett chuckled, “You owe me for that visual.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll make it up to you.” I paused for a second and then continued, “What the hell are they doing? And why does Mrs. Masterson have a fishing pole?”
The minute “fishing pole” came out of my mouth, she whipped it back and then cast the rod right at Mr. Masterson’s manhood. I saw her hook snatch and grab ahold of something, signaling to her that it was time to reel in her catch. She was now sitting on the couch as Mr. Masterson started walking toward her.
“What the fuck . . . is that a . . . aww fucking Christ.” I pulled away as Jett started laughing from the pit of his belly. I looked back through the telescope and confirmed that Mr. Masterson had, in fact, pierced his dick and had a hoop going through his flesh that Mrs. Masterson hooked her fishing line on and reeled in her catch, which only led her to start sucking her husband off.
“I think I might puke.” I turned around and playfully whacked Jett in the chest. “Why would you make me watch that?”
He was still laughing as I downed my glass of wine. “I get another glass for that shit. What is wrong with you?”
He was wiping tears from his eyes. “Quite the fisherman, Mrs. Masterson is, don’t you think?”
“I hate you.”
I started to get up, but Jett grabbed me and pulled me down on his chest as he lay down. My belly pressed against his and our faces were mere inches apart.
“You don’t hate me,” he said with a smile.
“Don’t be so sure of yourself.”
His hands ran up to my face as he looked me in the eyes. The laughing was completely gone as he stroked my cheeks with his thumbs, making me revel in the way he so gently touched me, making me think it was possible that there might be more to us than just a Jett Girl contract.
He glanced down at my lips, and my stomach churned at the thought of him actually kissing me. I instantly started to get nervous as he lowered my head down to his and carefully placed a whisper of a kiss across my lips. The contact was so light that I thought for a second we didn’t even touch, but when he went back for a second helping, I knew that we had.
His lips were soft and eager as they matched mine perfectly. There was nothing carnal about our kiss, it was sweet, caring and protective, a side of Jett that I was falling hard and fast for. He didn’t show that side of himself very often, especially in the Bourbon Room, but it was moments like this, or when I received his letters, that I saw the man I saw now . . . a protector.
Reluctantly, he pulled away just before I went all animalistic on him and devoured his mouth with mine. He smiled up at me and then gently placed a kiss on my forehead. He shifted my body so I was now resting my head on his shoulder and we were both looking up at the sky. He reached to the side and, in seconds, I was blanketed by warmth.
“You seemed cold,” he murmured into my ear. “Watch the stars with me.” He said it more as a statement rather than a question, but instead of fighting, I conceded because, at the moment, there was nothing more I wanted than to lie next to Jett Colby, cocooned in his warmth and watching the clear night sky twinkle with possibilities.
Chapter Thirty-Four
“Wild One”
JETT
“Are you cold?” I asked Goldie as she stood in the middle of the Bourbon Room rubbing her shoulders. We spent more time outside than I expected, and I thought I’d done a good job covering her up with blankets, but as she stood before me, in her little yellow sundress, she shivered.
“No, not at all.”
I walked up to her and rubbed the side of her face with my thumb. She turned her face into my touch and I reveled in the way her soft skin felt against my hardened thumb.
“Then why are you shivering, little one?”
“I don’t know. I guess you make me nervous sometimes.”
“Nervous?” I felt like I was smacked in the face by her confession. I never wanted to make my girls nervous, ever.
