Page 83 of The Eleventh Hour

She throws back her head and starts to laugh. A wild, free laugh as captivating as it is concerning.

“Oh, this is just too much,” she says and wipes tears from the corners of her eyes. “Too much,” she whispers and backs up. “I need to be alone right now.”

The coldness of the tone is a stark contrast to the agony in her eyes. She doesn’t sound broken or hurt; she sounds determined.

“There’s a bedroom at the end of the hall. It’s yours,” Rafael says quietly.

She walks away, her shoulders stiff. I follow, ignoring Rafael’s low hiss. She turns halfway down the corridor and glares at me.

“What?”

I can’t help it, the way she bristles is so adorable, and it just makes my blood fire. The smirk is almost instinct.

“Just wanted to make sure you had lights.”

Her stormy eyes turn to mercurial glass. “I know how to turn on a damn light switch, Dane.”

“Well,” I stretch out the word just to watch the silver fire ignite in her eyes, “it’s just good manners to make sure, isn’t it?”

She steps backwards through the open doorway, flicks on the light with exaggerated slowness, and then slams the door in my face.

I stand there for a minute, my pulse throbbing at my temples. I try to turn away, I really do. But the next thing, I’m turning the door handle and pushing the door open. I slam it behind me. Jax jumps, turning around, her eyes wary.

“What are you doing in here, Dane?”

“Don’t slam the door in my face, Jax.”

She scowls harder and goes to turn away from me. It ignites my temper even more. I grab her shoulder and spin her, and then my mouth is on hers. She fights, pushing and punching at my shoulders, but just when I’m about to pull back, her fingers grab my hair and pull it tight, holding me to her.

She bites my lower lip hard enough I taste blood. I let out a growl and walk her backwards until her legs hit the edge of the bed. I stop and yank at her top, ripping it over her head and throwing it away. She’s soft curves and has these adorably soft rolls. She’s the sexiest woman I’ve ever seen. I groan and paw at her breasts. She arches into my hands, her fingers flicking the buttons on her jeans and pushing them down.

I open her bra and send it flying, but now she’s tugging at my clothes. I tear them off, the buttons of my shirt skitter across the floor.

“God, you’re such an asshole, but you’re fucking hot,” she spits.

I unzip my zipper on my pants and kick them off me.

I grip her hand, pull it to my cock, and curl her fingers around me.

“You’re a bitch, but you’re the sexiest woman I’ve ever seen.”

She chokes on a chuckle and strokes me up and down. I let her do it, and then pull her hand free and push her onto the bed. She bounces and sits up, huffing, but I kneel over her, rubbing the tip of my cock against her lips.

She opens her mouth, and I groan at the feel of her tongue running over me.

I stay there, watching her through slitted eyes as she devours my cock. There are no protests. She sucks me with all the frustration and need that I feel for her. I reluctantly pull free and sit back, grabbing her breasts and squeezing them. She moans deeply and arches again.

“Roll over!”

I stand up on the bed, watching as she rolls over. Man, her ass is something else. I kneel behind her and lean down to bite her ass cheek.

She looks over her shoulder, glaring. “Do that again, and you’re going to need implants.”

I chuckle and sit up; I line myself up and thrust in. Fuck foreplay.

She lets out a gasping moan.

“You dick!”