Jase (17 page)

She had grown to realize over the last forty hours that it was nearly impossible to argue with Jase Spencer. The man was accustomed to getting his own way, but he wasn’t a bully about it,
merely
convinced that his way was the right way. His arguments about the apartment had been conducted with a heaping measure of utmost respect, as well as a chaser of humor. It made for a potent cocktail and one that she found hard to resist.

Finishing folding the shirt in her hands, she placed it in his small duffle and patted it fondly. That shirt had been all she was wearing last night when he bent her over the edge of the bed. She had been trying to talk to him about the apartment again, and he derailed the conversation with his naked body. Pushing the shirt up gradually, he layered kiss after kiss on the skin of her back as he exposed it, nibbling on her ribs and shoulder blades as she laughed and wiggled to get away. The position had pressed his hardened cock against her ass and he rubbed it ruthlessly up and down, teasing against her anus with the head, giving her a thrill of tense anticipation.

Reaching around her body, he had groaned when his fingers found the slick wetness between her legs and arched his body, holding his cock in place as he slowly pushed into her. Wrapping his other
hand
around her hip, he pulled her back against him in
an unbroken
rhythm, his cock gliding deep inside her with every smooth thrust. He held the pace steady until she climaxed, coming with a clenching of every muscle, his words of praise and desire helping to ratchet up her reactions, pulling
a little
groan from her. He
then
followed her over the edge, losing his words and control within a few hard, erratic strokes. She sighed, thinking,
I’ll figure out a way to repay him the money
. Now, she simply had to find the right counter-argument when he wasn’t distracting her in what had quickly become a myriad of her favorite ways.

Sex between them had been explosively passionate every time. Around Jase, she was
nearly
out of control, constantly wanting him to touch her, cover her skin with his hands and body.

They discarded condoms on the first night after a conversation
about
sexual partners. She had only been intimate with one man before Winger, and none since his death. Jase told her his last sexual encounter had been months before at a drunken party on the road during the previous season. The team’s regular physicals included testing, and he offered to provide her a copy of the paperwork.
She believed him, not because she didn’t think he got hit on, but because he didn’t shy from her questioning. He also wasn’t taking the opportunity to crow about what she assumed were the many conquests and encounters he could have had as an attractive, professional athlete who was a favorite with fans and press.

She shared with him that
pregnancy
wasn’t an issue for her due to a hysterectomy right after Lockee was born.
After having multiple miscarriages and two stillbirths as she and Winger tried for a child, when she finally had been able to carry a baby to term, her doctor had recommended the procedure. He explained to her that her body couldn’t continue to take the abuse she was piling upon it. Told her some things weren’t meant to be.

When she spoke of the surgery, glossing quickly over the agony of the pregnancies that wouldn’t stick, wouldn’t go to term, Jase had gently used the tip of one strong finger to stroke the tiny scars she carried.
She had always been troubled that it had only taken three small, inch-long incisions to remove any possibility of ever becoming a mother again.
While silently pressing kisses to those indelible reminders on her skin, he slipped between her legs and then trailed his mouth down her belly, not stopping until he brought her to climax with his fingers and tongue.

They talked. God, how they had talked through these hours together. She explained about Melanie, telling him how Lockee and the girl had bonded early and
hard
. How she had been there after the accident, helping DeeDee keep putting one foot in front of the other, day
after
day. Mel had stayed as close to her as a daughter, which was how she had come to think of her.

Jase had wanted to know about the accident, and about what happened to her the day Winger and Lockee died. She shared her emotions with him, feeling his arms tense around her as she talked about being alone when the call came in. He kissed the top of her head when she spoke about seeing Bingo in the hospital and knowing instinctively that it was bad…that her family was gone.
But, even beyond those conversations about difficult topics, he was full of surprising questions about everything. He wanted to know how she took her coffee—black—what kind of socks she liked—ankle-high—her favorite color—yellow, and her favorite animal—bunny.

Even when deep inside her, he didn’t stop asking questions,
constantly
murmuring into her ear. But those inquiries were about speed and depth, comfort and arousal, feeling good and coming hard. She had never met anyone who wanted to know her in that kind of intimate detail. It was flattering; hell, this whole thing was flattering, because he was both young and hot, and
still
seemed to want her with a fierceness that was startling.

He was so different from anyone she had met before. She thought back to something he said in an unguarded moment, how nothing in his life had prepared him for her. She felt
much the same way,
because all her expectations and reactions were programmed to match the man she spent decades married to, and Jase was…
well
, Jase. He was lighthearted and fun, gentle and sensual. He made her laugh a lot, and around him, she was confident in a way she hadn’t been for a long time.

Not that Winger hadn’t
been fun
; they had a lot of laughs over the years and had shared a deep and profound love. But he was sixty-six when he died. There was a big difference between how one acts at thirty and how one acts at sixty-six. She smiled, thinking that even at that age, she suspected Jase would keep anyone on their toes.

After Winger’s death, she had done her best to come to terms with the idea of living the rest of her life alone—without companionship.
She knew, by nature of being in the life, there were few opportunities to meet new people within the club. And while she loved every one of them, she couldn’t see herself leaning on any of his friends for a real relationship of any kind, much less a physical one.
She remained close friends with Bingo, and of course, loved Mason beyond belief.

She actually loved all the Rebels, because they were her boys…but she kept her guard up around most of the men. Many of them, like recent addition Birdy, made her somewhat wary, afraid of making a misstep and earning his judgment. There certainly wasn’t anything romantic between her and any of them, nothing conducive to being more than friends. And now, after being with Jase for only a few days, having this little bit of a relationship, she couldn’t imagine going back to her lonely life.

There was no warning.
One minute, she was standing at the end of the bed, distractedly looking down into the bag she was packing, and the next, she was lying on her back in the middle of the bed with one very wet, very muscular, very aroused man on top of her.
He shook his wet hair, flinging water droplets in every direction, leaning in to lick the water from her face as she giggled. He pressed full length against her, his wet body molding her shirt to her chest.

“You’re wet,” she protested, and he nodded, giving his hair a shake again.

“Yeah, but I’ve got
great
shower hair. See?” He shook his hair again, the ends of the
slightly long
, dark blond locks coming to rest against his cheeks. “Great shower hair.
All I have to do
is towel it and then shake and I am
good to go
.”

“But now I’m wet,” she complained, and he laughed.

“You are wet,” he murmured, sliding his knee between her thighs and pressing against her core. “Your clothes are all wet. So wet.” He trailed his tongue down her neck to the collar of her shirt, tugging it gently with his teeth before raising a hand to unbutton the garment. “Drenched. We need to get the wet clothes off you,” he spoke with his lips against her breast. “Can’t have you getting sick on us, eh?”

That was something she found endearing, the way his accent slipped out of him at unguarded moments.
Most often it was an ‘eh’, but she caught him in several ‘doncha knows’, and even one ‘there okay’, which until now, she thought was strictly Minnesotan.
Laughing, she slipped her palms down his sides to his hips, fingers tracing the curves of his thoughtfully bare ass to pull him in closer.

***

Walking into the clubhouse, DeeDee looked around cautiously. The atmosphere was different; something in the club had shifted in her absence. Seeing Hoss standing near the bar, she walked over, smiling up at him.
He had always been a brother and good friend of Winger’s and had helped her navigate through many events since the accident, including the recent shift of leadership within the chapter when Bingo stepped down to focus on his sister’s kids.

He smiled at her, motioning to the prospect for another mug of coffee. “DeeDee,” he said in his deep voice by
way
of greeting.

“Hey, Hoss,” she responded, thanking the man behind the counter for the coffee. “Anything I need to know before I head out to Slinky’s?”

“Ruby call you?” he asked, and she was surprised he referred to Melanie by Slate’s nickname for her.

“No, should she have?” This kind of questioning made her nervous, because she wasn’t at all sure where he was going with it, so, as always, she answered carefully.

“Looking like she’s Slate’s old lady,” he said bluntly, and she drew in a shaky breath.

“That so?” Casually, she wiped her sweating palms on her jeans. Propping her elbows on the bar, she opted to lace her fingers together, cradling her chin
in
her hands, leaving the mug sitting on the bar. She knew if she tried to pick up the coffee right now, her hands were trembling so badly she would spill most of it.

“Yeap,” he said, picking up his mug and blowing across the hot liquid. “Couple days ago, they came back off a run and she was wrapped around him. They’ve been joined at the hip since. Looks like a good thing for our girl.” He smiled and sipped his coffee.

She pulled in a breath, not allowing herself to feel relief yet, even if it sounded like it was Melanie’s choice to be with Slate, the man who had quietly pursued her for months. He had given her a choice when he took over as chapter president, granting her wish for stability and status by flagging her as club princess, same as Mica was in Chicago. He had also given her a job around the clubhouse, and together the two things helped to raise her self-confidence immeasurably.

Not long after the accident, Melanie had been hard-used by a man, and she still bore the psychological scars from her time with Demon, the president of a Michigan club.
For a long time, DeeDee had been hoping she would be able to put it behind her entirely, but until now, every time it looked like Mel was beginning to recover, something would happen to set her back.

But f
rom the moment Slate showed up at the clubhouse, she knew…she believed he was the one who could help Mel. He was handsome and kind, and she knew her girl was attracted to him. DeeDee’s expectations weren’t just because he was a good man, but more because he had been in love with the girl almost since he laid eyes on her.

“So, where you been, hon?” Hoss sipped his coffee, gaze fixed on her in the mirror behind the bar.

“I was with Jase,” she said, lifting her chin in an unconsciously defiant move.

She was so focused on Hoss the
voice that came from her other side
startled her. “About damn time, woman,” Tug said with a smile. She jerked, elbow hitting the mug, slopping coffee over the rim onto the bar top.

“He
say anything
to you about what he’s thinking?” Hoss asked the question casually, making her wonder exactly what the two men had been talking about at the strip club before she walked out of the office.

“What do you mean?” She asked this casually as she took a bar rag from the prospect’s hand, cleaning up her own mess. She always treaded cautiously when questioning club members, not wanting to seem demanding.

“I mean, did he tell you what he’s got planned where you are concerned?” Hoss was being overly patient with her, and she saw Tug’s mustache twitch as he tried to conceal a smile.

“It was just a nice weekend,” she said, and then stopped when both men laughed aloud at her statement. “It was,” she protested. “Nothing more.”

“Yeah, keep telling yourself that, hon.” Hoss pushed his mug back over to the prospect. “
Fill 'em
up, kid.”

Hearing the dismissal in his voice, she excused herself and went upstairs to the suite, finding Melanie in the middle of packing some of her clothes into a cardboard box. “Hey, sweetie,” she said, turning the girl around for a quick hug. Finding a bright smile on her face, she looked into her clear green eyes and let go of a little more of the worry she had been carrying around.

“You’re happy?” She asked the question casually as she picked up a shirt, her mind going back to her morning with Jase as she folded Melanie’s clothes.

“Yeah, I am,” Melanie said shyly. “He makes me feel safe. He doesn’t rush
me
or push me.” For someone as broken as Mel, that feeling of safety would be critical for her trust to grow.

A comfortable silence fell between the two women, and it was several minutes before Melanie spoke again. “He says things to me and I believe him. Said he loves me.” She took a breath, looking up at her. “He said it’s forever.
‘For-fucking-ever’.
” She smiled and gave a one-shoulder shrug. “I believe him.”