Page 11 of Lucky
I set her down on the ground and close the space between us until we’re face to face and breath to breath.
She’s intoxicating, a mixture of sharp edges and smooth grace, and I can’t tell if she’s mocking me or surrendering when she smiles at me, but it doesn’t matter. All I know is that the room feels alive for the first time since she walked into it.
“Ready to go again?” she teases, twirling away before snapping back to face me. Her face is flushed, her breath slightly quicker.
I smirk, stepping closer until our bodies are sliding up against each other. “Oh, I’m just getting started, sweetheart.”
Her gaze locks on mine, and for once, there’s no mask, no pretense. Just Jacklyn. And in that moment, I wonder if I’ve ever been as captivated by anything—or anyone—in my life.
6
JACKLYN
The room is quiet except for the soft hum of the bass, its pulse faint through the walls of the club. Lucky stands a few steps away, his dark eyes locked on me, the kind of gaze that strips away at the layers I’ve carefully constructed around myself. The air between us is charged, thick with something we’ve been circling around all night.
Every time I’ve tried to leave, he’s pulled me back, refusing to let me go without taking me again. My phone rings in the background, but I ignore it. His phone rings and he throws it across the room.
Lucky Gatti was made for me. I was made for him. This is never more evident than the electricity that buzzes through the room at our proximity. We complement each other so neatly that it’s hard to find anything we dislike about each other.
I don’t delude myself into thinking that this will be anything more than one blissful night of pleasure. For me, Lucky is everything I’ve ever wanted in a man, everything I would be seeking if I were looking for something long term. But I’m nowhere near interested in a long-term relationship or evenseeing him again past tonight, no matter how talented he is with his hands and his mouth and his dick.
A lock of his hair falls dangerously over one beautiful brown eye as he stalks towards me. He is such a beautifully ruthless monster, and he’s shattering every last nerve ending in me.
He stops, leaving the ball in my court. Push, pull. One gives, the other takes. Then the roles are reversed. He was in control, and now he’s handed control over to me.
I step toward him, slowly, deliberately, feeling the shift in power as his shoulders tense. He doesn’t move, doesn’t speak. He’s waiting—always so damn composed, always in control. Not tonight. Tonight, I’ve seen just how far Lucky can fall when he loses control. When he can no longer restrain his desires.
He waits for me to make the next move.
Right now, here in this moment, I’m the one holding the reins. I’m the one in control.
When I reach him, I slide my fingers up his chest, trailing over the taut muscles, his rock-hard abdomen, feeling every inch of him beneath my fingers. He doesn’t stop me when I grip his neck and pull him to me until I’m whispering against his lips.
“You were saying something about control,” I murmur, tilting my head as I look up at him. My voice is low, teasing. “What happens when Lucky’s not the one in control?”
His lips curve into a faint smile, but there’s heat in his eyes, a flicker of desire that surges in the air between us. “I’d be interested to find out,” he says, his voice rough, eyes hooded.
“Good,” I reply, stepping closer until there’s nothing between us but the rapid rise and fall of his chest. “Because we have work to do.”
His breath catches, and I feel the faintest tremor in his hands as they skim my waist, testing my resolve. I catch his wrists and push them down to his sides. Tonight, I plan to push him to his limits.
“No,” I whisper, leaning in until my lips brush his ear. “Not until I say so.”
The sharp intake of his breath is a victory in itself, but I’m not done. I press a kiss to his jaw, soft at first, then harder, letting my teeth graze his skin. His head tilts back slightly, giving me access, surrendering just enough to stoke the fire in my veins.
“You’re dangerous,” he says, his voice strained, barely audible. “Very, very dangerous.”
“You like it,” I counter, slipping my hand lower until I’m cupping his balls. My other hand glides over the hard lines of his chest, savoring the warmth of his skin, the way his muscles tense under my touch.
I don’t give him a chance to respond, capturing his lips with mine. It’s not soft, not gentle. It’s hungry, demanding, and when his arms wrap around me, pulling me flush against him, it feels like the world tilts on its axis.
This is what we’ve been circling around since we met—this pull, this fire that refuses to burn out no matter how hard we fight it. I’m the shadow to his light, the Bonnie to his Clyde. I’m the chaos to his control.
His hands find my hips, gripping hard enough to leave marks, but I don’t care. I press against him, forcing him back until the edge of the couch catches the back of his legs and he falls into it.
“Jacklyn,” he breathes, but it’s not a plea—it’s a challenge, one I’m more than willing to meet.
I sink to my knees, sitting between his spread legs, my hands moving slowly up his legs, caressing his thighs. Strong, footballer’s thighs, tight enough to squeeze the life out of me. I move further up, licking my lips as his dick slaps angrily against his stomach, a red ball of hot, angry fury begging to be waited on. My hand clamps around him, squeezing up until his pre-cumbeads at the head. I move my fingers gently up and down, before I lift on my knees and lower my head over the tip.