Page 10 of The Enforcer’s Obssession

“See?” Jett turns her head, her face only inches from mine. “I told you. People don’t want a villain, Rowdy. They want a comeback story. They want the bad boy who puts in the work.” I look down at her—the soft curve of her lips, her dark eyes, and the fierce pride radiating off her small frame. She’s done this in less than forty-eight hours. She’s taken a nearly suspended enforcer and turned him into an athlete the Internet is going crazy about.

“Shit, Jett. You know what you’re doing, and you’re doing it really freaking well,” I rasp, my voice dropping into a deep, heavy cadence.

“I don’t fail my clients.”

“That I can see, sunshine.” For a long minute, neither of us moves. The hotel room is silent minus the faint hum of the air conditioner and our heavy breathing. My body thrums with the same restless want that’s been tearing me apart since the moment she walked into my life.

Jett looks at my mouth, her tongue darting out to wet her lower lip, and my cock throbs against the front of my jeans. Shit, it would be so easy: my hand reaching out, one pull, and I could have my fingers tangled in her hair, and my mouth would be on hers.

“Right.” She catches her breath, blinking rapidly before snapping herself out of a trance. She pulls her phone back as she slides off her side of the bed and stands up. “I’m taking a shower first. Then I’m going to sleep for ten hours.”

“Go right ahead. I’ll order dinner and stretch my shoulder out.” I stand up and shove my damn hands in my pockets to keep them to myself. “Anything particular you want to eat?”

“I’m easy. There’s nothing in this city I haven’t tried with how much I’ve been here. Oh, there’s an Italian restaurant near Sterling Capital. If you order there, I eat practically anything. My wallet is in my backpack, or I can send you money, whichever is easiest.” She grabs her rolling suitcase, giving me one last lingering look over her shoulder before stepping into the bathroom and closing the door.

“Fuck, this is going to be a long trip,” I murmur when I hear the sound of rushing water. Which only makes my mind spin, wanting nothing more than to barge through the door, strip out of my clothes, and join her when she least expects it. Too bad that can’t happen, not yet at least. Jett has to make the first move, then all bets are off.

EIGHT

JETT

The first thing I register before my eyes open is the heat. It’s not the ambient warmth of a hotel duvet with the air conditioner pumping to keep you cocooned in bed. Nope, this is more along the lines of a furnace pressing against every single inch of the front of my body. My face is buried in something solid and warm that smells like cedar and bergamot. I have my left leg hooked lazily over a thick muscular thigh and my hand lying firmly against a broad, bare chest that’s rising and falling in a slow rhythm.

The pillow I strategically placed as a structural buffer zone down the middle of the bed is long gone, and in its place is Rowdy Bouchard.

My mind scrambles, attempting to piece together that late-night timeline as my eyes flutter open against the dim morning light filtering through the crack of the closed curtains. After my shower, Rowdy ordered Italian from our group favorite, and I had full intentions of paying for my half, but the second the food arrived, Rowdy told me absolutely not. In fact, he grunted, “I’m paying, Jett. End of discussion.” I rolled my eyes, because I was too tired to argue and conceded. We sat on the couch, hunched over our meal of choice, eating, talking, and laughing well past midnight.

Rowdy, though, flirted relentlessly. His dark eyes never left mine, and his lingering touches had my pulse racing. The conversation was easy, fluid, and I almost forgot that this could derail my entire career if I toed over the line.

Oh, fuck. I’m cuddling my client.

The realization hits me like a bucket of ice water. I hold my breath as I slowly try to inch my leg away from his thigh without waking the giant sleeping next to me. I carefully try to disentangle my arm from his chest, easing my palm along the way, and that’s when Rowdy stirs.

Before I can complete my retreat, his thick, heavy arm shoots out, wrapping tightly around my waist like an iron band. With one effortless tug, he pulls me backward, rolling me over to my side, then my back is flush against his chest. I gasp softly as he tucks himself against me. I can feel him, all of him, through the thin cotton pajama shorts. The unmistakable, rock-hard length of his dick is nestled right between the cheeks of my ass. He’s thick, long, and throbbing.

“Where do you think you’re going, sunshine?” He scrapes his chin along my neck. The slight abrasion of his roughened beard causes goose bumps to rise along my skin. Add in his voice still thick with sleep and, well, all I can do is attempt to suppress the shiver being sent down my spine.

“Rowdy, we need to…” The words die in my throat when his large, calloused hand slips beneath the hem of my black tank. The heat of his palm against my bare skin is electric, making my stomach contract instantly. Rowdy doesn’t pause, one hand travels upward, gliding over my ribs, his fingers spreading wide, nearly cupping the heavy curve of my breast. At the same time, his other hand dips below the elastic waistband of my shorts, and his fingers slide along my skin with an agonizing slowness.

I stay completely still, even when my mind screams at me to pull away, to enforce the boundary I set, to not mix business with pleasure. Except my body refuses to obey. No, the traitorous hussy is begging for a release I wasn’t able to achieve in the shower last night.

God, how I tried.

After Rowdy fell asleep, I slipped back into the bathroom, trying to quiet the ache pulsing between my thighs that he’d planted in me before, during, and after dinner. But my own touch felt hollow, inadequate compared to the overwhelming presence of the man who’s currently holding me captive in his arms. There’s also the fact that staying quiet was nearly impossible. I’m sure I was a sight to behold, forearm on the counter, bent at the waist, mouth full of my towel while my fingers worked at a furious pace inside my shorts.

Rowdy lets out a low, satisfied grunt against my neck. His finger circles my hardened nipple, sending a jolt of electricity straight to my core. Below my waist, his other hand presses deeper, the tips of his finger brushing over the smooth skin before tugging on my landing strip. Jesus, if he goes any further, he’ll realize just how hot I am for him.

My thighs part on instinct, my head falls back against him, and my eyes close as I surrender to his touch. I’m ready to let him go as far as he wants.

I want his hands.

I want his mouth.

I want his cock.

I want every single inch of Rowdy Bouchard to wreck me right here beneath the sheets covering us. His fingers move lower, reaching my slick folds, one thick digit dipping⁠—

Beep! Beep! Beep! Beep!