Page 50 of Total Jane Wreck

I back off him, just a millimeter. “No I won’t.”

“Are you sure? Because the last thing I want is to take advantage of—”

“Yes.” The room is spinning. “I’m absolutely sure, Chet.”

He studies my face, looking for signs of doubt. Chet laughs, the most broken sound, and says, “You’re going to ruin me, Jane Adkins.”

I whisper, “Same.”

This time when we kiss, he holds nothing back. Chet moves with a slowness that makes me wild—palms up my ribs, the lightest drag of his calloused fingers along my sides, a carefulness that only amps up my craving because now his mouth is on my jaw, then my neck, then my collarbone. My knees go pudding-soft.

He lifts me by the hips and sits us both down on the couch so I’m straddling him. We’re kissing, wrapped around each other. His fingers plunge into my hair, his mouth pressing against the base of my throat. Then, Chet places baby kisses along my shoulder, underneath one of my tank top’s straps. His lips are so cautious and light that it makes me yearn for more. I claw at Chet’s shirt.

“Hold on.” He leans back, chuckling. “Don’t rip my favorite T-shirt.”

“Sorry,” I murmur. Instead, my hands reach up underneath the thin cotton, caressing his velvety, warm skin until he trembles.

“Wait.” Chet pulls his shirt off, dropping it somewhere behind us. He’s like this perfectly sculpted specimen of flesh and muscle, plus an undercurrent of danger. I laugh.

“What’s so funny?” he asks.

“Just—who knew that a tech geek could be so sexy?”

“On behalf of tech geeks everywhere, I’m offended.” He smothers my laughter with more kisses.

“Mmm . . .” My mouth softens against his. “How can I make it better?”

Impatient for an answer, I reach my hand down his sweatpants, inside his briefs. Wrapping my fingers around his erection, a tidal wave of heat and desire rushes through me; it’s so powerful that I almost pass out.

“Chet!” I gasp, my mouth pressed into his neck.

“Jane . . .” He groans, pushing himself back and forth inside my grip. Then, Chet stops, prompting me to lift both my arms so he can remove my tank top. When he pulls it over my head, he sucks in a breath. Because I’m not wearing a bra. Chet takes a moment, just a half second, sweeping his eyes over me.

“Damn, Kentucky Jane,” he says. “You’re even more beautiful than I pictured. And how I pictured you was—” his lips part like he wants to devour me “—already mind-blowing.”

I place my palm on his chest, over his rapidly beating heart. “Is this really happening, or am I dreaming?”

Chet reaches for my hand, entwining my fingers with his. Our gazes lock. “Last time I checked, I’m not a figment of your imagination.”

We shift, and the couch is barely big enough for us both. Skin hot, bare chests pressed together. His hands grip my thighs; his breath is close enough to steal right out of my lungs. Soon, we’ve both removed the rest of our clothes, and I’m ready for him like I’ve never been ready for anything in my entire life.

When he’s finally inside me, I gasp—so loud he pulls back and whispers, “Too much?” but I can’t even form words. I just shake my head.

Our bodies find a rhythm of their own, a slow push and pull, growing frantic and then slowing down again, so that I’m never able to predict what will happen next.

It’s not just sex, though, my God, it is sex. It’s weeks and months and years of loneliness being answered. It’s two stubborn people giving in all the way, finally, and letting something else—something fragile and nearly lost—take up space inside our lives.

We move to the floor at some point; the rug is scratchy, but I hardly care. My stomach presses against his, and his hands are under my shoulders, cradling me like I’ll break apart if he lets go.

I dig my nails into his back, pushing him deeper inside me. No way am I breaking apart. Not tonight. Because now that Chet and I have found each other, letting go is not an option.

Chapter Twenty-One

I would always rather be happy than dignified.

Sheriff Theo informs us that he doesn’t have enough evidence to arrest anyone for Mason’s assault. And since many of the possible suspects were guests from out of town, there’s no good way to pursue the case. Which means that we can put the ordeal behind us and forget it ever happened.

Meanwhile, Chet and I agree to keep our new relationship status under wraps. But that doesn’t keep me out of his bed. We’ve been a thing for two weeks now. I’m trying to keep my feet on the ground and not turn into some head-over-heels nincompoop.