Jenny took him into her mouth slowly and deliberately.
She was so close to his skin and smelled his sweat. It was pleasant. The heat from his body penetrated her skin through the contact of skin.
Her back felt numb for no reason. The strong smell of male hormones surrounded her nose, making her dizzy.
He was so hot.
And why his sweat smelled so good.
A low sound came from James's throat. His brow moved just a little. He stayed asleep, but his body shifted. He moved without thinking, reacting to the warmth building under her touch.
His hand moved slightly against the sheets. His fingers curled. His lips parted. A soft breath came out. Then her name slipped out in a whisper. It was quiet—almost nothing. But it was hers.
Jenny froze.
He wasn't fully awake. Not yet. But she was in his dream. Every small shift, every slow roll of his hips, felt like an invitation without words.
He arched slightly beneath her. His hips responded to the rhythm she was building. His muscles tensed beneath her lips. His breath grew heavier and uneven. Desire rose from deep sleep like a tide he couldn't fight.
In that moment, dream and reality mixed for him. He didn't open his eyes. He didn't have to. Between sleep and waking, her presence felt like a vivid fantasy. He gave in to it without a second thought.
When he finally let go, his breath caught. This time, it was sharper and more aware.
A faint frown appeared on his brow.
His lashes fluttered. They were heavy-lidded and unfocused, dark with sleep and something else.
Confusion passed over his face. His gaze found her. For a moment, he just stared, as if she was still part of the dream stuck to his skin. But the heat, the wetness, and the slow ache in his body told him otherwise. This wasn't a dream.
"Jenny?" he murmured. His voice was hoarse and low, like gravel wrapped in silk. Her name hung between them, half a question, half a prayer.
She froze, lips parted, breath warm against his skin. Shame and longing hit her at once, rooting her in place. His hand moved—hesitant and trembling. It brushed gently through her hair. Not to stop her. Not to push her away.
He let out a shaky breath and closed his eyes again. He gave in to the moment, to her, to the storm they both couldn't name. His fingers tangled in her hair now. Not with command, but with desperation and reverence, like a man holding on to something he didn't fully understand but couldn't lose.
The air between them was thick with want, silent apologies, and hunger that went beyond reason.
She stayed quiet. No words could hold the ache in her chest or the need flowing through her veins.
So she kept going. Not just with her own longing, but with his raw, vulnerable, finally exposed in the dark they both tried to ignore.
The silence stretched, heavy with everything left unsaid. Jenny sat back. The sheets tangled around her thighs. Her skin was flushed. Her heart was racing, but a new kind of heat burned beneath it all.
She watched James closely. The way he sat there, open and undone, sparked something sharp and dangerous inside her. A flicker of guilt passed through her. It was faint and almost forgotten. But something darker swallowed it quickly.
This wasn't just desire. It never was.
This was about taking something back.
Control. Power. Herself.
Her husband had cheated. Lied. Betrayed. Shattered their fragile life without a single apology.
Now, she was tangled in the arms of a man she wasn't supposed to want. Not just any man—his brother. The irony wasn't lost on her. If anything, it excited her.
But what surprised her most was that it wasn't only revenge driving her tonight. It was James. The way he looked at her—like she was something rare. Something he wanted but knew he shouldn't touch.
He had always looked at her that way. Even back then. Even when he tried to hide it.
Jenny raised her eyes. She met his gaze, steady and calm.
She didn't flinch.
"You still think this was a mistake?" she asked.
Her voice was soft. But there was a challenge in it.
James froze.
"I didn't say that," he replied.
"No," she said quietly. She moved a little closer. Just enough.
The sheet slipped down her shoulder. Not far. Just enough to tease.
"But you're thinking it," she said.
He didn't answer.
She watched him. Watched the way his throat moved. Watched the way his jaw tensed.
There was a storm in his eyes. She saw it clearly.
Desire. Guilt. Pulling in opposite directions.
He still didn't look away.
Jenny leaned in. Slowly. Her breath brushed his lips.
She didn't touch him. Not yet.
"Let me make it easy for you," she whispered. "I'm not asking for forever. Not even for tomorrow."
She paused.
"I just want you to stop pretending."
Her voice was low. Barely a breath.
"Stop pretending you don't want this."
James inhaled, sharp and shaky. Like it hurt to breathe.
"You don't know what you're doing," he said.
Jenny gave him a soft smile.
It didn't reach her eyes.
"Oh, I do," she said. "More than you think."
But inside, something shifted. Something small and real.
She felt it.
She knew it.
Even as she said those words…
She was lying.
She wanted control. She wanted to use this as a weapon—against her pain, her husband, and her broken heart.
But James wasn't just a tool. He was dangerous in a different way—because he made her feel.
Too much.
And that scared her more than anything.
She wanted control.She wanted revenge.She told herself it was all a game—a way to take back what was lost.
But when James's fingers tangled in her hair, when his breath hitched, something broke inside her.
Because this wasn't just about power anymore.It was about something far more dangerous.
Something real.
And she wasn't sure she could stop it.