Powerless (Chestnut Springs Book 3)

I listen to Sloane, all fierce and determined, laying into me and being so damn right.

She’s telling me to take what I want, taking what she wants, and there’s nothing holding me back. They’ve found Beau. I’ll be able to get back to the team. The only thing left unfinished is Sloane and me.

The restraint inside of me snaps as I stare back at her. Chest heaving. Cheeks flushed. It’s like a shoelace tugged too fucking tight. I’ve been pulling back so hard that my steady hand flies back with the weight of my resistance.

Fair, unfair. Appropriate, inappropriate. It all fades away under the simmering rage and arousal of so many missed years with this woman. We came close to missing so much more.

I don’t want to miss another second. And she told me to stop holding back.

My voice comes out harsh and gravelly when I say, “Take your clothes off, Sloane.”

She startles ever so slightly, but her top teeth sink into her bottom lip, and I know she wants this just as badly as I do.

I push myself back into the countertop behind me so that I have a better view across the open living space, feeling the bite of the edge against my palms. If this is what she wants, I plan to take my time.

I plan to savor her.

If Sloane says she can handle me, then she’s right . . . Who am I to tell her she can’t?

She flicks open the top of her baggy jeans and drops them around her slender ankles before stepping out of them. Those crystal blue eyes don’t leave mine for a single second. Holding my gaze, she unbuttons the soft flannel shirt she’s wearing, light pink and cream plaid falling open to expose the unpadded pink lace bralette hugging her breasts.

I rake my eyes over her long, lean limbs. Pink scraps of nothing cover the places where I plan to spend the entire night.

When the shirt clears her wrists and falls to the floor behind her, a smirk touches her lips. She stands there not looking the least bit self-conscious.

In fact, the way her tongue slides over her lips tells me she’s nothing short of eager.

There’s an alluring blush to her pale cheeks, and her skin, lit only by the floor lamp in the corner, has a golden glow.

“All of them.” I gesture a hand down her body, watching the flush creep over her collarbones and toward her nipples that are pushing against the delicate fabric.

When she removes the bralette, I don’t bother pretending I’m not staring at her body. Her breasts are perfect, small and perky, with pale, dusky nipples pointing straight at me. Begging for my attention.

I groan at the sight and watch her thighs clamp together. Her stomach clenches.

“I bet you’re fucking soaked,” I murmur, watching her thumbs hook into the waistband of the matching panties.

She tilts her head and gives me a coy shrug. My dick twitches.

When her panties are down around her ankles where they belong, I peruse my way back up her legs, pausing on her pussy and the glimmer of wetness between her soft lips. “You’re perfect.”

“Thank you,” she whispers back, breathless.

I lick my lips and adjust myself in my pants. This is pure torture, but I think we both like it. We’re both about the anticipation. The ten feet that still separate us practically hum with it.

“Use one finger—only one—and show me how wet you are, Sloane.”

Her chest rises and falls while her eyes remain latched onto my face. Arousal is written all over her, and the little voice in my head that told me she might hate me if I revealed this domineering side of myself stays blissfully quiet.

I see a sparkle in her eye. No hesitation. Instead, a challenge.

Her hand slides down her stomach, and with a quiet moan, she pushes one slender finger into her pussy.

It slips right in, confirming what I already knew. Seconds later she holds one trembling hand up, index finger soaked with her arousal.

“Are you nervous?”

“No. God no,” is her response.

“Good. Now put that finger in your mouth and clean it off.”

A light, disbelieving chuckle escapes her, and I can’t help but crack a smile. Only she would laugh right now. As she turns her palm toward her face, showing me the back of her hand, the smile melts from my face. Because my eyes catch on a flash of light attached to her finger as she slides it between her lips.

My fingers grip the counter behind me, to the point of pain, while I try to hold back the green-eyed monster.

But I fail.

“Sloane.”

“Mm-hmm,” she hums, still sucking on her finger, giving me blue doe eyes.

I want to ask her how it tastes.

Instead, I snap.

I point at the floor beneath my feet and say, “Lose that fucking ring and crawl.”

Her mouth pops open, hand falling down, and her lashes flutter a few times as she processes what I just said.

But she doesn’t hesitate. She smirks.

She yanks the ring off her finger and tosses it across the room before dropping to her knees. I thought she’d falter. I think there’s a part of me that thought I could prove to myself I was right and she’d hate me for this. That I could push her too far and she’d tell me to fuck off.

But her hands come to the floor, and she crawls for me. The small house is dead silent as her body moves with such inherent grace, like there’s music playing in her head.

“Like this?” Her heart-shaped lips curve up seductively as toned arms stretch out before her, and I have to blink a few times to believe what I’m seeing. She’s feline in her movements, not shy at all. But she’s spent years performing on stage.

Soft and quiet doesn’t have to mean shy.

And my girl doesn’t look shy at fucking all right now.

“Yes,” I growl, my body coiling tighter at the sight. When she gets close enough to kneel at my feet, my entire body shakes with restraint.

And for what?

She’s still looking up at me like I hung the moon.

Like she always has.

“Fuck, Sloane.” The sight of her stripped bare below me feels so good it’s almost unbearable. I let go of the counter and drop to a crouch, gripping her chin and searching her eyes for any glimpses of discomfort, but all I see is need.

My opposite hand slips between her thighs, fingers pushing through her wet folds gently. She’s soaked.

She whimpers but doesn’t drop my gaze, so I continue playing with her cunt. I don’t push in, just tease. I watch her squirm, her hips trying to buck against my hand.

But she plays the game so perfectly. She just stays there and lets me explore.

“Did you like crawling for me?” I ask.

She smiles, but there’s a flash of sadness in her eyes. An instant shot to my chest. “Jasper, it feels like I’ve been crawling after you for years. This is nothing new for me.”

Her words strike a blow I didn’t see coming.

My fingers stop moving and I cup her head, whispering the words, “I’m sorry,” in a cracked voice. I press my lips to hers, falling to my knees for her. “God. I’m so fucking sorry.”

I take her mouth, clutching her naked body to me, wishing I could go back in time and tell her everything when I first started feeling it. But I’ll settle for right now since it’s the best I’ve got.

The kiss starts off with us clamping our mouths together, needing to be joined, but quickly turns frantic. It takes on an edge of frustration as her teeth nip at my bottom lip and her hands grapple with the hem of my shirt.

It’s pulled off and discarded within seconds. And then I’m standing, lifting her small body with me and taking a couple of steps across the kitchen.

With one swipe of my arm, everything on the island flies onto the floor with a loud clatter. Fruit. A bowl. A magazine. My glass of water lands on the opposite side of the room and shatters into a thousand tiny pieces against the hardwood floor. The perfectly clean cottage turned upside down in mere seconds.

None of that shit matters because legs wrap around my waist. Lips pepper kisses all over my face, down my neck. Fingers tug at my hair. She’s attacking me with a fervor I’ve never experienced.

One I’ve never felt inclined to match until her.

Sex has always been a game. Another event for me to control. But there’s nothing in control about us right now.

And I don’t even care.

I lie her back on the island, wanting to explore her. She hisses and her back arches away from the cold marble, pushing her perfect tits up in the process.

I don’t know where to look first, but like always, it’s her eyes that catch my attention. All those blues. My gaze travels down the slender line of her neck and detours to the stray strands of soft blonde hair that are plastered to her wet, puffy lips.

My hands slide over her waist, shaping it, and I revel in how big my hands look wrapped around her. I cup her breasts, the perfect size to grip.

I squeeze and flick a thumb over her pointed nipples, noting the way her back arches again when I do. “You like that?”

“Yesss,” she hisses, eyes closed now, tongue darting out over her lips in the most distracting way. I can’t wait to see how they look wrapped around my cock.

But first, I keep sliding my hands up her body, noting the way gooseflesh crops up in my wake. When I get to her shoulders, I trace fingers over the line of her collarbone while the other had continues moving up and wraps around that pretty, slender throat. The way she carries herself is always so regal.

I’ve dreamed about wrapping a hand here.

So I do.

I squeeze, but not too hard, leaning down over her, giving the lobe of her ear a quick nip before asking, “What about that, Sloane? Do you like that?”

“Yes.”

Her sure response is a shot of electricity straight to my cock. My fingers press a bit harder, and I watch her cheeks turn a soft red. Her legs clamp tighter around my waist. I ease off and drop my lips to hers, stroking her neck softly before I kiss my way back down to her breasts. Her nails slide up my back, over my shoulders, and down my arms reverently.

I start soft with one nipple, licking and kissing, getting off on the way she moans and squirms. The way her nails dig into my skin—just a little bit feral.

And then I give it one hard pull, grazing my teeth as I go. It’s the way she gasps and bucks that really gets me.

“So sensitive,” I murmur, moving to the other side and giving her the same treatment. I get her comfortable and then lay in with a little pressure. A little bite.

Her nails tangle in my hair and scratch at my scalp.

Then I’m licking my way down her stomach. She squirms as I slide my tongue just beneath the line of her hip bone, so I spend extra time exploring. When I drag my teeth there, she makes a whining noise.

I plant a palm in the middle of her chest and press her down. “Lie still, Sloane. Let me enjoy myself.”

“Fuck you, Jasper,” she huffs and wiggles harder.

I chuckle and move my hand back around her neck. “You will be, Sunny. Just not until I say so.”