The Marked Men Series Books 1–6: Rule, Jet, Rome, Nash, Rowdy, Asa. Jay Crownover
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put my finger on it. At first I thought it was Rome; I was pissed he wouldn’t just tell Mom to grow the fuck up and get over her shit. I wanted him to spend time with me, to have some good times before shipping back out to the desert, but he wasn’t ready to give up hope that he could fix our fractured family, and I didn’t want to fight with my brother, the freaking war hero. I thought maybe I just needed to get laid, but the hot blonde I went home with on Saturday had started to annoy me in the car on the way to her place. By the time we got to her room the last thing I wanted was to see her naked, so I bolted. Sunday came and went and my mood got darker. The guys suggested going to the Goal Line, thinking maybe I needed a dose of verbal ass-kicking from an ice-cold blonde to get me out of my moodiness, but I refused and instead spent the day brooding and playing Call of Duty. I had no idea what my problem was, but now, with Shaw all but plastered to the front of me, I was starting to get an idea.
I hadn’t been able to get the sight of Shaw and her ruffle-covered ass out of my head for days. Call me shallow, call me a chauvinistic pig, but there was just something about seeing her all sexed up and barely dressed that had made me look at her in an entirely new light. It was like being introduced to her all over again; the prim and proper little lady that Remy had worshipped overtaken by a sexy coed that had me up at night thinking X-rated thoughts.
Now with her looking at me all big-eyed and swaying unsteadily, I knew the right thing to do was fix her up and send her on her way. But then she kissed me and I was pretty sure I forgot my own name. I was too stunned to react at first—I mean, I had kissed hundreds of girls and there was always something nice about it, but Shaw kicked nice to the curb and went right into insanity inducing.
After I got enough blood back from below my belt, I realized that she was pulling away or, rather, falling away. And yes, I was a certified asshole because I knew she was sauced and I knew she was, for all intents and purposes, still my twin brother’s girl. None of that stopped me because she tasted sweet and tangy and felt better than anything I could remember in my entire life. She had on some kind of slinky top that was rubbing erotically across my chest, plus her hands were wrapped around my neck and playing with the last pointy spike of my new haircut—it was all going right to my dick, which was screaming at me to do something. So like a bastard I did.
I picked her up because she was short and I was tired of bending over. Her skirt was tight so I had no problem moving it up her shapely calves so that she could get her legs wrapped around me. She made a gasping noise and I maybe, possibly, would have stopped what I was doing to her mouth if she hadn’t used her new position to grind against my hard-on and get her hands up under my T-shirt. Of all the things I had ever thought about Shaw, the fact that she would go off like a bottle rocket when touched just right was not one of them. She always looked so cool and so collected, but now she was tugging my shirt off over my head and doing something with her tongue on my lip ring that was making my eyes cross. I knew—logically at least—that Nash was probably only a few minutes from walking in the door with her roommate and this had to stop. There was no way I would be able to live with myself if I let this get out of hand while she was drunk. I set her down on unsteady feet when I felt her push away from me, hoping that maybe, just maybe, even wasted she would be the voice of reason.
She just looked at me through hooded eyes the color of jade and licked her lips, which looked very thoroughly worked over—courtesy of yours truly. Nothing on this planet had ever been hotter.
She started pulling at the ties on her silky top and moved past me toward my bedroom. I forgot that she knew where my bedroom was, that she knew her way around my place—she had a damn key. It was on the tip of my tongue to tell her to stop, to tell her I would just put her to bed and she could just sleep whatever this was off, but as I followed behind her the blue top hit the floor followed by the black camisole and then the skirt that did amazing things to her ass. I picked up the discarded clothing and tried to talk myself off the ledge. I couldn’t do this, wouldn’t do this. It was bad enough I had kissed her like a sex-crazed lunatic. I needed to get control back, like yesterday. This was Shaw, not some bar bimbo. Not someone I could mercilessly kick out in the morning and never speak to again.
“Shaw.” She turned to look at me over her shoulder and I think I blacked out for a second. I dropped the pile of clothes in my hands on the floor and tried to unstick my tongue from the roof of my mouth. I had seen a lot of girls naked, but none of them were this girl; none of them came anywhere close. Somehow she managed to get out of those tall motorcycle boots without falling on her face and she was staring at me with her big green eyes, clad in nothing more than a few scraps of black lace that were designed for aesthetics rather than function. Every good intention, every idea that I should be the good guy and do the right thing, went out the window.
She was all ice-cool hair, perfect pale skin, tiny little waist and high “touch me, please God, touch me” breasts. She had a body made to make men stupid and I wasn’t immune. I took a fumbling step toward her after kicking the door closed behind me.
Somewhere my conscience was whispering I should just put her to bed and go find a giant bottle of Crown to crawl into and a cold shower to get my libido back in check, but none of that was going to happen because she met me halfway and her little hands went right to my belt buckle.
“Shaw,” I tried again. I put my hands on her shoulders and where I thought I was going to push her away, my body betrayed me, and I ended up pushing the straps of that fancy bra off her shoulders. She pressed close to me, her hands making short work of the belt and the zipper on my pants. Her lips fluttered over the pulse pounding rapidly at my throat. Her hands trailed lightly over my chest and across my abs, which were tense with desire. One of her legs slid between mine and rubbed against the evidence that I wasn’t going to stop her regardless of knowing it was the right thing to do.
“Stop thinking so hard.” Her voice was all husky and cloudy with desire. She was the last person on earth I should be contemplating doing this with, but even as objections broke through my haze of lust I used one hand to unhook her bra and the other to tangle in her hair as I sealed my mouth over hers.
Kissing Shaw was a different experience from kissing any other girl. For one, she was really good at it. Most girls got lost or a little confused because of the lip ring and the metal barbell in the center of my tongue, but Shaw seemed oblivious to both of them and kissed me like she had been born to do it. She was also a lot shorter than most of the girls I normally hooked up with so there was an entire learning curve involved and I had to figure out a way to get all the best parts of us lined up. She didn’t seem to care at all that I was a little rough, that I was suddenly impatient. I felt like if I gave myself too much time to get my head around what I was doing I would falter and stop. And man, I really, really didn’t want to stop, because her hands had found their way into my pants and my dick would kill me if I pulled the plug now.
She tugged the denim down over my ass and I pulled her up so that we were pressed together chest to chest. I shrugged the pants the rest of the way off and gave her a little push so that she fell back onto my rumpled bed. It took some maneuvering and a few curse words to get my boots off and when I went to crawl up onto the bed my brain short-circuited because all she had on were the barely-there lace panties and a dreamy look on her face. A lot of girls had been in this bed; in fact, last weekend had been the first time in a long time I had spent the night alone. Even though I was in a haze of testicle-squeezing desire I knew that, beyond a shadow of a doubt, none of them had ever looked like Shaw looked against the dark sheets and comforter. She slid an appreciative eye over my naked form, not like she hadn’t seen it before, but somehow now that I was sprawled out on top of her, the look was more “do me” and less “Rule, you’re gross.”
Her hand brushed over the tattoo of the sacred heart on the center of my chest and up along the two giant rib pieces that covered most of my torso. I had a lot of color and a lot of artwork decorating my skin and when I was naked it tended to be a lot to take in and had been overwhelming to some of my less adventurous bed partners. I mean, I’m not vain or conceited but I know I’m all right to look at. I’m tall and tend toward lean and fit and I go to the gym a few times a week, but none of that really mattered because she was looking at me like I was everything she’d ever wanted and it was doing weird things to my head. I also had a barbell pierced through