Chapter 8

8

J ayda knew all about playing hard to get.

Her mother had drilled it into her since she hit her teens: how guys would do and say anything to get close to her—translated, to get into her panties—how she had to be smarter, how she should play games to keep them at arm’s length.

The problem with her mother’s advice, it boiled down to one thing: her mum didn’t think Jayda could be pretty enough or smart enough to attract men on her own, they would only ever be interested in her for her money.

Not once had the elegant, stunning Peony York ever told her she looked beautiful. Not once. Even at her debutante ball, where Jayda had thought she looked the best she’d ever looked, her mother had swept an imperious glance over her from head to foot and said, ‘Pretty dress.’ Not ‘you look beautiful’ or ‘you’re so pretty tonight’. Nope. Pretty dress was the best her mother could do. No prizes for guessing why Jayda freaked out on grad night when Deon had basically reiterated how unattractive she was and told her he’d only touched her on a bet.

Tears of anger burned her eyes; the same way years of pent-up resentment burned her gut. She’d loved her sister, had adored her as much as her parents had, but whenever her mother or father failed to pay her a compliment she so desperately craved, she remembered them lavishing praise on Sasha.

‘Our gorgeous girl,’ had been a favourite, closely followed by, ‘You’re perfect just the way you are.’ Jayda would’ve given every cent in her trust fund to hear those words directed at her.

Sasha’s death had hit her hard but once the mind-numbing grief had passed, a small part of her had wondered if her parents would bestow half the love they’d given Sasha on her. They hadn’t. Instead, she’d catch them staring at her in confusion, as if they couldn’t fathom how Sasha had been taken from them and she remained.

Jayda had excused them, knowing that if her sorrow was all encompassing, she had no chance of comprehending the grief of a parent losing a much-loved child. But she’d excused a lot of their lousy treatment over the years. Not anymore.

She’d stopped lying to herself about them and that was exactly why she wouldn’t lie to herself about Brock.

She wanted him.

She would have him.

For two decadent weeks, she could revel in his physical attention and have real fun for the first time since… well, that night six years earlier.

When he came out of the bedroom she’d show him exactly how this would play out over the next few days. Though something about that call had shocked him and she hoped it wasn’t bad news.

The bedroom door flung open and she jumped as Brock strode out, his frown formidable and his shoulders rigid. However, when their gazes locked she glimpsed exactly what she needed to see.

Hunger.

Heat.

Desire.

This man wanted her. He made her feel good. He told her exactly how attractive he found her and what he wanted from her.

For the next two weeks, she’d give it to him.

Stalking towards him, she laid a hand on his chest and pushed him up against the nearest wall. His back hit the wall with a thud but he didn’t say a word, realising she needed to assert control. Smart guy. He always had been, which was why she needed to show him what they had could only ever be physical.

The last thing she needed was this genius to figure out exactly what made her fragile heart tick.

She knelt in front of him, heard his gasp. Starting at his ankles, she slid her palms up his legs, ending when she reached his groin, framing the bulge with her hands as if taking the perfect shot.

‘Jayda…’

She toyed with the tab on his zip, skimming around his hard dick straining against the denim, delighting in teasing him when she heard his breathing accelerate.

‘Jayda, please…’

‘Only because you asked so politely,’ she murmured, locking gazes with him as she slowly lowered the zip, the rasp of individual metal teeth mingling with his harsh breathing in the silence.

When the zip could go no further, she carefully slid his jeans down. His dick sprang free, jutting towards her, and she instinctively leaned forward and lapped at the head with her tongue.

He groaned, low and guttural, the sexiest sound she’d ever heard. Her fingers curled around the base of his dick as she wrapped her mouth around him. Squeezing as she withdrew her lips. Repeating the process again, taking him into her mouth a little deeper. Again and again. Until she had all of him. Then she sucked.

‘Fuck…’

This time his hips thrust forward as he groaned and her tongue swirled around him, over and over, in sync with her hand and her mouth.

His hand rested on her head, his fingers threading through her hair and tightening. She didn’t mind the momentary sting of pain; it only heightened the pleasure.

He tasted musky, salty, delicious, and as she increased the tempo the throbbing between her legs intensified.

‘Oh, yeah, Jayda, baby, that’s so fucking good—’

He didn’t finish what he was saying when her free hand cupped his balls and squeezed gently as she simultaneously sucked him in so deep he hit the back of her throat.

He came on a loud groan that made the hair on the back of her neck snap to attention. She’d never heard anything so raw, so real, and it thrilled her like nothing else.

She became aware of him stroking her head, smoothing her hair, soft and comforting, before he drew her to her feet. Oddly bashful after what she’d just done, she waited for him to speak first. Though his stunned expression pretty much said it all.

When he didn’t say anything, she aimed for levity. ‘In case you were wondering, that’s me proving how much I want this two-week fling.’

‘I got the message loud and clear.’ His lopsided smile made her heart twang. ‘Babe, you give great head.’

‘Why, thank you.’ She dabbed at the corners of her mouth as if she’d devoured the tastiest morsel. ‘I could say the same about you so the least I could do was return the favour.’

Something inexplicable flickered in his eyes. ‘But there’s something I have to tell you.’

Unease settled in her gut. She remembered her dad saying the same thing to her, before he imparted the tragic news of Sasha’s death. Nothing good ever came after hearing those words.

‘What is it?’

He hesitated a moment, before clasping her face in his hands, his dark gaze steady and reassuring.

‘I’m not leaving in two weeks. I’ll be around for six.’