The Handler (The Manhandled Series Book 1) by August Jones

Author:August Jones [Jones, August]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2023-06-05T18:30:00+00:00

29

gideon

Nothing has changed except that everything has. I still want Jax with a white hot need that feels like the reason my heart continues to beat, but I haven’t really had him yet. However, Jax barely leaves my side during the party, and when I do break off to dance or take a shot of tequila with someone, his eyes track my every move.

I fucking love his attention, and I’m absolutely appalled with myself. When I was younger, Luz used to watch me like a hawk, and it drove me bananas, but I’d wear a collar for this man around the clock if he wanted, so I don’t mind it. Not a bit. It proves he’s got eyes for no one else. It’s been a long time since gaining attention was anything less than a job requirement for me, but Jax’s feels like an embrace of sorts, even though I can tell he’s cataloguing every drop of alcohol I’m drinking. He doesn’t need to worry though because I can handle more than it probably seems. I have a champion’s liver, one of the unexpected side effects of teenage stardom.

What starts as good, clean, penthouse fun inevitably results in karaoke, and it’s the one thing I can never resist. I hog the microphone. I sing like shit because my throat still hurts from being so abused by Jax’s cock, but I leave my heart on the living room floor while everyone applauds. I want Jax to sing, but he won’t, and I even try to crawl onto his lap to convince him, but he tosses me to the other side of the sofa, and I give up because someone else has already taken over the mic.

I glance at him to make sure he’s not pissed, but he’s just rolling his eyes at me, which I adore. I want everyone to leave so I can try climbing on his lap again. I’m ninety-nine percent certain that if people hadn’t started showing up at the penthouse while he and I were in the kitchen earlier that in another hundred thirty breaths or so, Jax would have grazed his lips against mine.

I venture a question, the alcohol making me even bolder than usual. “Which do you think you’d have an easier time with in terms of being with a man? Tongue kissing or butt sex?”

He takes a long drink of his beer and gives me a side-eye, probably more because I’m on all fours beside him with my hands on his thigh when I ask. “Butt sex,” he says.

“We should do that,” I tell him.

“I’m sure we’ll get around to it.”

The thrill those words send through me practically have me purring. “So nonchalant, you bastard. You think in Vienna, maybe?”

“Is that the next stop?”

“A few stops from now. I’m considering your glacial rate of progression.”

“I think I might end up surprising you, then.”

Fucking hell… What is this man trying to do to me?

The song changes, and it’s one I can’t resist. Elvis. I leap off the couch and join in as a duet.

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