his face.
Pleasure for me.
Pleasure for making me have an orgasm with only his hands.
If he’s like this with fingering, how the hell is he in bed, with sex?
I take a few moments and drag air into my constricted lungs. Jax keeps his hands possessively on me, stroking my hair, my hips, murmuring words I can’t quite hear against my hair. I can’t fight my body’s pull to him—I don’t want to leave this small corner, this little bubble we’ve created in this one perfect moment.
I’ve never experienced anything like this in my entire life. And I just did with the guy who’s quite possibly the worst for me. Della would be so disappointed.
The thought of my sister dampens my spirits a bit.
Jax leans back and looks at my face. His grin grows crooked as he eyes me. “You’re looking a little flushed there, Brooklyn. Maybe you need something to drink?”
“Very funny,” I say, straightening my spine. My body is aching for more of whatever he can give me, but I can’t let it happen. I’m going to be proud of myself for stopping now instead of doing what I want.
And that’s letting Jax guide me up to his bed and show me what sex is like.
He takes my hand in his—a gesture that’s becoming alarmingly familiar—and leads me toward the bar. When the bartender isn’t looking, he grabs one of the opened bottles of wine and takes it, thrusts it in my hands, then grabs a glass and guides me away from the bar.
“This is stealing!” I say in a mock gasp.
“Smith’s paid for all this shit anyway,” he replies. “We might as well enjoy it. Let’s drink out by the gazebo where it’s quiet. We can look at the stars.”
“That’s a brilliant idea.” I’m actually quite touched he thought of it.
As I follow Jax out the hotel door and into the garden, I keep chanting to myself that it’s just one night, nothing more. I can enjoy his company without my heart being in danger. We’ll sit out there and talk and drink, and it’ll be fine.
No one will even need to know. It can be my secret.
Jax
“ J ax , get me two shots of vodka,” Smith hollers from the other side of the bar, where he’s taking a drink order at a table. “Plus four Irish car bombs.”
The crowd in Outlaws is boisterous tonight. I’m riding high from the atmosphere. For the first time in weeks, it feels back to normal again, with a crazy crowd ready for anything. Since Aubrey and Smith started slowly making the bar over, introducing limited food to the menu and changing the advertising, things have been…different.
And not in a good way.
The wedding was a week ago, but Smith is still wearing that smug shit-eating grin that I kinda wanna punch. Okay, I get it, buddy. You’re happy and in love. Good for you. Now fucking get your shit back together.
I admit, it doesn’t help that I’m still irritated over him inviting our cousins to his wedding. Those guys are fucking dicks—and Asher said that at one point, a few of them were surrounding him and he thought he was going to have to fight his way out.
Smith told me he invited them because they’re family.
We don’t need fucking family like that around us.
Shaking off my sullen thoughts, I fetch shots and pour beer and fetch and pour and flirt with the ladies to rack up the tips.
I still haven’t found those damn wedding rings. So all of my extra money will go toward paying the vault back. Thankfully it wasn’t a thousand bucks, like I’d feared, but several hundred for the set of two rings is still a lot.
Luckily, Smith and Aubrey didn’t notice the old switcheroo.
“Jax! Jax!” a black-haired woman in a tight shirt shouts at me from the middle of a cluster of women. I think her name is Veronica. She’s not one of my regular hookups, but we did make out in the backseat of my car once. She’s waving dollars in my direction. “Hey, what’s a girl gotta do to get some attention around here?”
Something about her pushiness grates at me. I don’t know why, but