Page 54 of Jace
Well, that was ominous.
I know there’s more to discover about Jace’s life and his brothers. Like Matryoshka dolls, one dangerous secret is revealed after another. But I said “slow,” and he’s doing his best.
Vienna Sausage
When will you finish
When I’m done
Like this conversation
Jace chuckles. “You’re not afraid to piss him off?”
I huff. “It’s what I live for. He may be bribing me, but he can’t bury me.”
He gives me another gooey look, this one melting me even more. As if a very hot image has captured his mind, he declares, “I’ll sleep outside your studio door tonight to guard you, and?—”
“Is that where youwantto sleep?”
Say no. Say no.
I may want slow, but that doesn’t mean celibate.
There’s an agonizing need between us. Its pull magnetic. It finds us one longing breath away from no return.
I’m ready.
Is he?
Jace narrows his lapis eyes, his breath deepening as if he’s a man on the edge of seizing everything he wants.
“Besides.” I help him. “Someone said something about a first kiss today. And if I’m going to die in a hail of Bratva bullets sometime soon, at least give mesomethingI want tonight.”
There’s that saying about poking a bear; yeah, well, I just roused a ravenous lion.
Slowly, he starts unbuttoning his shirt. “Give you something youwant, Vivian?”
I can’t move. Can’t speak. Can’t think anything, but…
Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god.
My muscles suddenly flood with desire, watching button after open button reveal Jace’s sculpted pecs, then his shredded abs. The ropey veins on his corded forearms flex as he frees the last button tucked into his pants. More veins. More muscles. More everything pulsing and pointing down to where his greatest size resides, no doubt.
Holy hell, statues in Rome are jealous.
My mouth waters.
Everything between my legs awakens, definitely aroused, and a little afraid.
I stammer. “Jace, what… What are you…”
What are you doing to me? What are you planning?
Not that I’ll say no. I just want to write a million thank you cards before I die and go to heaven with your body.
“I’m going to take a shower upstairs, and you’re going to wait for me in your studio,” he demands darkly. “You’re going to set up your lights, get your camera ready, and put on some Lenny Kravitz.”
With a loud screech of his chair over wooden floors, he pushes back. Rising. Warning. Winking. “I’ll supply the oil and our first kiss.”
