The Naughty Boxset

by Jasinda Wilder

  I take his hand. “Jesse, no, it’s fine. I mean, it’s not fine, but I understand. This is your story, and I want to hear it.”

  He sighs. “By the time I realized I’d fucked up, she was long gone. Left Chicago, met another guy, moved on. I talked to her a long while later, and she said she was still messed up over the way I broke it off, but that she’d made peace and forgiven me. And I just…after that, I couldn’t bring myself to even go near that kind of thing again. I’d hurt one girl already, and myself, and—it’s taken James so long to heal, and he’s still not totally okay, if he ever will be, and so…yeah, I keep things…shallow, I guess.”

  I hang my head. “And I don’t know what I want, to be honest,” I say. “I mean, I just got out of a marriage that really messed me up, so I’m not really looking to jump back into that, but…” I exhale sharply, tasting him on my breath. “It wasn’t good, my relationship with Nicholas. It was never good. And this thing with you and me…it’s already—I want to say better, but that implies Nicholas was something even decent, and he really wasn’t. I put everything I could into him, into us, trying to make it work, trying to convince myself it was working, but I was never anything but lonely.” I look at him, locking eyes with him. “And with you…I’m not lonely. I’m feeling things I didn’t know were possible. And then you go and show me how sex can really be, and that just scares the shit out of me, because…god, I was missing out on that this whole time? Where were you, twelve years ago? But am I looking to jump into something huge, with rings and declarations of love and all that? I don’t—I don’t think so. But Jesse, I do want more than just no-strings sex.”

  He pulls me onto his lap. “Imogen—it was never no-strings with us.” He sighs. “That’s what I was trying to figure out how to say, but I couldn’t because I was dealing with leftovers from automatically avoiding anything real. But it can’t be anything except real with you. It already is more. So much more.”

  “Really?” I hate how the sniffle escapes me, as I say that.

  He taps my nose. “Really really.” He does this in a Shrek voice that’s so bad it’s good.

  I laugh. “Don’t make fun of me. I can’t help being a little emotional.”

  He just smiles at me. “I’m not making fun.” He quirks an eyebrow at me. “Remember what I said about you being adorably erotic? You’re also erotically adorable.”

  I feel something growing under me, and I boggle at him. “Already?”

  He grins, a hot, eager smirk. “Baby, you have no idea.” He stands up, lifting me to my feet. “How about you sit on that counter and talk to me while I work? I’ve only got a few more things left to do in here, and then what say you and me head to your place? You haven’t been by yet, have you?”

  “No,” I admit. “I was avoiding you, so I went to Audra’s.”

  He juts his chin at the counter. “Sit. Talk to me about ways I can get you to apologize like that again.”

  I laugh as I hop up on the counter. “Hey, if you’re that…generous…every time we have sex, I’ll feel like I need to apologize just to make the number of orgasms between us equal. So you’d end up getting apologized to a lot.”

  He smolders at me as he finishes caulking around the tub. “I was in a hurry that night. I was fucking desperate to have you, so I kind of rushed it a little. Usually I’d make sure you had at least four or five orgasms before we started having sex.”

  “Oh,” I squeak, breathless, and then find my own heat bubbling up into my gaze. “If that’s the case, you’ll be getting a whole lot of me stopping by with lunch.”

  He grins. “I could live with that arrangement.”

  Two hours and a lot of innuendos later, we’re at my house. Audra and Franco disappeared, apparently, and she was my ride, but we’re in Jesse’s truck. Which is, honestly, becoming one of my favorite places.

  We’re at my door, and he’s hesitating. “I, um. Got bored waiting for you,” he says, by way of explanation. “So…yeah.”

  I unlock the door and push in; there’s nothing different in the foyer or living room, which means it’s in the kitchen.

  I stop in the doorway, gaping. He replaced all my counters with butcher blocks stained a deep, rich, dark brown, and painted my cabinets white, took off the doors and replaced them with glass, and ripped up the shitty old laminate and replaced it with sleek gray slate.

  I feel my eyes sting. “Jesse.”

  He scuffs a toe against the floor. “The guys helped.”

  “Why, when I was so rude to you?”

  “Both of us messed that up, and I wanted to do this. I wanted to—I had to…” He sighs. “I like doing things for you. I like making you happy. It’s obvious no one has ever really taken care of you before, and I feel good doing things for you.”

  “Thank you,” I whisper. “It’s perfect. It’s amazing, it’s…”

  I look at it all again, over his shoulder. My kitchen is unrecognizable from what it looked like before I met him.

  “You love it?” he asks, searching me with his eyes.

  “So much.” I grin at him, jumping up and wrapping my legs around his waist. “Take me upstairs so I can say thank you.”

  He growls eagerly. “You could thank me right here, up against this counter.”

  I slide down off of him, grinning harder. “Okay,” I whisper.

  I peel off my shirt, kick off my jeans, make quick work of bra and underwear, and before he can even blink three times, I’m naked. I turn away from him, sliding my hands across the smooth, cool surface of the counter. Lean over it, wiggling my butt at him.

  He’s just staring at me.

  I writhe, undulating my ass at him. “Jesse?”

  He shakes his head, as if to clear it of hypnotism. “Sorry, I just—you’re so fucking sexy, sometimes I just…” he trails off. “I don’t know how to say it.”

  “Don’t tell me, then,” I murmur, reaching between my legs. “Show me.”

  He growls again, reaching for me. “God, I love the way you think.” He frowns. “I don’t have any protection with me. I don’t carry it in my wallet like I used to.”

  I smirk at him. “Purse.” I point at my purse on the counter. “I bought some, just in case.”

  “Did I mention that I love the way you think?” he says, digging them out of my purse.

  In seconds, he’s behind me, reaching for me. I bend over the counter, and he fills me, his hands carving over me, showing me how beautiful he finds me with his touch, with his lips stuttering over me as he moves, as we move together. And with his words; he gasps, as we find completion together: “So perfect, Imogen—you’re—god, you’re so perfect.”

  “You’re perfect too, Jess,” I say, clinging to him, afterward.

  “Nah, we’re just perfect together.” He doesn’t try to move away, this time, as we lay on the new slate floor of my kitchen, bathing in the afterglow. He glances at me. “Is your shower big enough for two?”

  I laugh. “Ha! You’re funny. No, it’s not even big enough for one.”

  He rumbles in displeasure. “Have to fix that.” He stands up, picking me up with him, and carries me upstairs. “We’ll make it work.”

  We make it work.

  Later, my phone beeps, a notification from Audra. It’s a picture of her, from the cleavage up, hair a mess…with Franco beside her, eyes closed.

  Jesse is beside me, and he sees the photo. “Audra better be careful. Franco is…a lot like me. Except worse, in some ways. He’s not real great with emotions or commitment.”

  I laugh. “I’d say the same about Franco—he oughta be careful. The term man-eater was invented for Audra.”

  Jesse rumbles a laugh. “This could get messy.”

  Indeed it could. I pull Jesse close to me, so his head covers my breasts, and we take a selfie together—it’s obvious what we were just doing, but nothing is visible. I send it, with a caption—

  Me: Jesse says you better know what you’re doing with Franco.

 
Audra: Dude, I’m scared.

  Me: !! What? Tell me!

  Audra: He makes me FEEL THINGS. It’s icky and I don’t like it.

  Me: You’ve known him what, a few hours?

  Audra: I’m telling you, he scares the shit out of me. But he’s so good I can’t stop myself.

  Me: Audra, seriously. Chill. It’s been a couple hours. It’s just insta-lust.

  She sends another selfie, this one of her face—she’s biting her lower lip, eyes wide, glancing to the side at Franco laying next to her—and yeah, his body is truly stunning, if you’re into that sort of thing. Her expression in the photo is funny, but it also communicates, somehow that she’s not entirely kidding about being scared. Her caption comes a second later—

  Audra: YOU DONT UNDERSTAND!!! HE’S GOT A MAGICAL DICK AND I’M FEELING THINGS!!!

  Audra: Uh-oh. He’s waking up. Time for round…3? 4? I’ve lost count. Tell me I’m a cold-hearted man-eating bitch with no soul. Tell ME!

  Me: You’re a cold-hearted man-eating bitch with no soul? Only, you’re not. So…you’re on own with this one. Except if you need me of course. I’ve got All Thai’d Up on speed dial, and three bottles of Josh in the rack.

  Audra: if this goes south—or anywhere except nowhere, you’d better make it four bottles. Or maybe even six. Because we’re either going to be incredible together, or we’ll destroy each other. There will be no in between.

  I sigh, putting the phone aside.

  Oh, Audra, I hope you know what you’re doing.

  I laugh at that, because does anyone know what they’re doing? I sure as hell don’t.

  A while later, after a pizza delivery, Jesse glances at me. “So…we’re together?” he asks, oh so casually.

  I nod. “No expectations, but…”

  He shakes his head, finishing his bite. “I wouldn’t mind some expectations.”

  I stare hard at him. “What kind of expectations?”

  He shrugs. “I guess we figure that out as we go. This is new for both of us.”

  Figure it out as we go. That’s not how I usually do things. I like to know where things lie, where we’re going. Nicholas and I set things out from the start. We knew what it was and where it was going from the outset.

  But…Jesse isn’t Nicholas. And I don’t need to know. I can be okay taking things one step at a time.

  Figure things out as we go.

  I just grin at him. “Will you still help me update my house?”

  He smolders at me. “I’ll have to charge you.”

  “I don’t have a lot of money,” I breathe, holding back a smile.

  “Then we’ll have to figure out an…alternative…payment program.” He reaches for me. “It’d involve a lot you, naked, underneath me, screaming my name.”

  “Where do I sign?”

  He just laughs, but then neither of us are laughing…

  Because underneath the banter and the sexual tension, I can tell…

  This is…something.

  As in…Something. With a capital S.

  What, I don’t know yet.

  But I’m willing to find out.

  Hell…I’m eager to find out.

  SNEAK PEEK

  A preview of Drilled

  I open my eyes, groggy and disoriented. Where am I?

  Oh, right. It’s all coming back to me. I’m at the Marriot, just off the freeway, some three or four miles from the Waverley jobsite Franco is working on.

  As I come fully awake, the next thing I realize is that I’m sore, if you know what I mean. It’s not as if I’ve never woken up with a sore hoo-ha before—I do have some experience with this. Actually, it’s happened quite a few times, and all of them were memorable to say the least. But this time? Holy Moses, I’m so sore. I feel like I’ve been fucked into next week.

  Ah, yes…Franco…

  I roll over, tugging the sheet up past my shoulder, and slide up against him from behind. He’s facing away, breathing evenly and slowly. I don’t think he’s totally asleep, though—I don’t know him well enough to be able to say, one way or the other, considering we only met the previous evening, and have spent the intervening ten hours having sex, calling room service, and sleeping. But I’m fairly certain I can tell—he snores ever so slightly, a subtle rasp of his breath in his throat on the inhale, and a gentle huff on the exhale.

  Pretending, perhaps.

  I’m all too familiar with pretending to be asleep, so I recognize the signs. I normally fake being asleep to let the guy I just hooked up with leave first. I have a feeling that’s the same game Franco is playing right now.

  Joke’s on him, though, because I have another plan: one more round of epic sex for the road.

  I snuggle up behind him, rest my cheek between his shoulder blades, nudging my core up against his taut, firm butt. God, that ass is a work of art. I feel the hard globes against my thighs and pubis, his warm skin, and his faint dusting of body hair.

  Casually, as if by accident, I toss my arm over his waist, letting it rest for a moment. And then, less accidentally, I place my hand on his body and find his abs, grooved and ridged and rock hard. Gently, I slide my palm against his skin, carving a path downward. His breathing doesn’t catch, but his core tenses. I smile against his back, knowing for certain he’s awake. He doesn’t move, doesn’t give anything else away. I run my hand down his thigh and back up, and then over his abs repeating the pattern, daring to go lower and lower on each pass over his stomach. The lower my hand travels, the harder his abs tense.

  Finally, I clasp his erection in my fist and stroke it gently. Even though I’ve had this incredible organ inside me four—no, five—times already, I’m still marveling at its size and perfection. It’s just glorious and breathtaking. Eight inches long if it’s an inch, thick as a goddamn kielbasa sausage, and curved just enough toward the tip to hit my G-spot when he drives in at a certain angle…and believe me, he found that angle last night. And used it to scream-inducing effect. In fact, we got a call from the front desk at two-nineteen in the morning asking us to please quiet down, as there had been several noise complaints from other guests. Meaning, me. I’m loud—I’m a screamer and, when I’m coming hard enough I can’t stop myself from shrieking like a banshee, and last night, Franco made damn sure I couldn’t help myself.

  Even my throat is sore from screaming.

  And despite my sore throat and aching lady bits, I still want more. Five rounds of epic sex in less than twelve hours, at age forty, and I’m still ready for more from this guy.

  I texted my girlfriend Imogen earlier last evening to tell her that Franco has a magical dick and, not only that, I’m scared because he makes me feel things. And I hate feeling things—at least, things other than orgasms.

  Franco is still pretending to be sleeping, even as I slowly caress his shaft with one hand. The soft flesh stutters against my palm and fingers, all those inches sliding and gliding through my fist. I rub my thumb against the tip, stroke down to the base and back up, rub the tip—repeating until I feel pre-cum smearing against my thumb. Yet still, he remains motionless, breathing evenly.

  Damn, he’s good.

  I move my hand lower, cupping his balls, using my middle finger to massage his taint, and then return my touch to his iron-hard, yet velvet-soft erection. This time, I increase the speed of my strokes incrementally, sliding my fist up and down faster and faster in gradual degrees, until I’m pumping him rapidly.

  He holds out admirably, remaining still until the last possible moment. And then, at last, he snarls wordlessly and knocks my hand away, rolling up onto his knees. Levered upright over me, he stares down at me with pale, icy-blue eyes flickering like twin flames. His chest rises and falls rapidly, his abs tense, muscles bunched, fists clenched.

  “Dammit, woman,” he breathes. “I was trying to sleep.”

  I quirk an eyebrow up at him. “Bullshit. You were awake.”

  He just stares balefully down at me. “Yeah—when you started messing with
me.”

  I reach for him, grasp him in my fist, and lazily stroke him. “Like you’re complaining.”

  He glances at the alarm clock on the nightstand beside the hotel bed. “Coulda waited until at least six in the damn morning.”

  I shrug. “Eh, I wake up at five thirty or so every morning without an alarm clock, just out of long habit. I couldn’t sleep in past six even if I wanted to.”

  His eyes watch the movement of my hand as I slowly caress his length. “You want me to come everywhere, Audra? Because that’s what’s about to happen if you don’t quit for a damn second.”

  I shrug again, the movement causing my admittedly overly generous breasts to sway. “I wouldn’t mind seeing that. Could be kinda hot.”

  “Maybe, but it wouldn’t get you an orgasm.”

  “You have ten fingers and a tongue, don’t you?” I reply, not stopping. “You could use those.”

  He narrows his eyes as he looks at me. “I could.” He pulls out of my reach, pinions my wrists in one of his hands, and then leans over me, stretching across me to snag a condom from off the table beside the bed. “But I have other ideas.”

  I fake a confused expression. “You’ve already fucked me missionary, bent over the bed, doggy style, and with my feet on your shoulders. What’s next, some weird Kama Sutra position?”

  He doesn’t respond, just keeps hold of my hands with one of his, rips the condom wrapper open with his teeth, spits the strip of wrapper aside, holds the wrapper in his teeth and withdraws the ring, then rolls it onto himself in a single, smooth motion.

  “You’re good at that,” I remark, grinning up at him.

  “Lots of practice.” He doesn’t grin back.

  “Ooh, so serious,” I say, in a mocking tone of voice. “You know, I can put that on you with just my mouth.”

  He pauses, staring down at me in surprise and skepticism. “Really?”

  I nod, struggling to break his hold on my wrists. “Oh yeah. I’m really good with my mouth.”