The applause makes us break apart. The ringmaster presents us to the audience with a flourish and then we make a pretense of scribbling our names on the back of what looks like a Walmart receipt—our wedding “certificate.”
When Jax sweeps me into his arms, I grin up at him, as dizzyingly happy as any new bride.
“Where are we going?”
“Wedding night,” he says gruffly.
I thread my arms around his neck, dipping my head back to look at the night—no, dawn—sky as he carries me out of the big top. “So we’re skipping our wedding reception, the cake, the first dance, the endless parade of relatives whose names we can’t remember but who give lovely, large presents, and we’re going straight for the sex?”
His thumb caresses my cheek. “I can’t wait to have you all to myself.”
“That sounds like a plan.”
I rest my head against his shoulder and listen to the sound of his boots on the walkway. Our billionaire host’s garden is a decadent expanse of plants and terra-cotta statuary, a sweep of broad steps leading up to the ginormous mansion. I guess there’s something to be said for being rich, after all.
Jax carries me inside as if he owns the place, his boots hitting the stairs hard and loud. I’m tucked into his arms, my head against his shoulder. He has one hand curved against my head, his fingers stroking my hair, petting me gently. It’s the perfect touch. His arms are solid, heavy muscle. He doesn’t seem like the kind of guy who would spend hours inside a gym, exercising just to tick a box on the health list. I don’t think he’s vain, either. Maybe he just admires strength or pushing himself. Maybe he has a really physical job or plays football.
He pushes open a door and steps through it. The click of a lock follows, but then he hesitates, setting me down. His fingers guide mine to the door, showing me the lock and how to undo it. Reminding me that I can leave anytime I want to.
“Got it?” He straightens and strides across what looks like a guest room.
“Yes.” I press a kiss against his shoulder as he knocks a pair of decorative pillows off the bed and yanks the covers back.
The sweet, dark look in his eyes almost makes me forget I’m the blushing virgin bride who can’t wait to have her way with her groom. What would that girl do now that she could do anything? It’s the Christmas morning of sex, when nothing’s been unwrapped yet and everything is still possible.
“Come here.” Jax sits on the side of the bed, spreading his legs. When I hesitate, he says, “Baby girl, we’re married now.”
“We are. You make a good point.” I step in between his spread legs—or try to. His hands settle on my waist, lifting me to straddle his thighs.
I settle my hands on his broad shoulders, my fingers stroking back and forth and then slipping underneath the fabric. There’s something about the heat of his skin, the scent of him, all cedar and starch and man. It does feel as if we’ve been waiting for each other for years...like I know him and will get to know him even better in the next few hours, and it will be magical and sexy and special.
Giving in to temptation, I lean forward and press my mouth against his throat, and then lower, where my fingers have made inroads beneath his shirt. His big hands gently work my veil free, setting it on the bedside table.
He fists my hair carefully, tugging my head back so he can see my face. His eyes drop to my mouth. “Kiss me, baby girl.”
“Where?” I whisper back. Because if he were my high school sweetheart, if I’d been waiting for this night, I think I might have cheated, just a little.
“I’m the kind of girl who sticks her fingers in the frosting when no one’s looking,” I say apologetically. “I think I may have kissed you before. Somewhere dirty.”
“On my mouth,” he agrees. “And you always loved kissing my nipples because then you could show me what you liked best.”
“And then I’d kiss you lower.”
“Yeah.” His eyes darken. “I loved when you did that.”
“But no sex.”
“No sex,” he says, and he wraps a hand around the back of my neck, pulling me in. “No sex until tonight because we agreed we’d wait until we were married.”
“You listened to me.” I press my fingertips against his beautiful mouth. “That’s how I knew I wanted to keep you.”
“As if I’d have let you get away from me,” he replies. He leans in, pulling me to him, and it’s the perfect second kiss. The kiss under the big top was for everyone else and this one is just for us. His mouth moves over mine; soft and knowing, tasting and nibbling. I part my lips for him, already anticipating how he’ll take our kiss deeper, his tongue pushing inside my mouth the same way he’ll push himself into me later.
He doesn’t disappoint. His tongue licks the corner of my mouth playfully, and then he sweeps inside. I’ve never been a huge fan of tongue kisses, but everything is different with Jax. His tongue traces mine, his teeth nip at my lower lip, the bright sting making me tighten lower.
His hands cup my head, strong and sure, cradling me. It feels so good. Heat races through my body and I press against him. His thighs tighten underneath me. I’m safe. It’s so very safe to let go.
“We don’t need this.” He nudges the straps of my dress down. His mouth follows his fingers, planting small kisses against the skin he uncovers. “You never have to hide from me, baby girl.”
“I don’t know what to do.” I hold on to his shoulders.
Dark lashes sweep up. “You don’t have to do anything. I’ll do it all. Just let me love you.”
He strips off my dress and lays me back on the bed. I never did find my thong in the pool house, so now I’m completely bare before him. I’m not sure I’ve done this before. I wrap an arm around myself, covering my breasts, my palm cupping my pussy.
Jax sucks in a breath as he stares down at me. “You’re the sexiest woman I’ve ever seen.”
“I’m the only one you’ve seen,” I remind him.
He flashes me a wicked grin. “Doesn’t make it any less true. I’m a lucky bastard to have you.”
He strips off his clothes with ruthless efficiency. Boots, shirt, pants. I could look at him all night. Dark ink covers both his arms and his chest is all corded muscle. Lower...he’s big and strong and present. He belongs to me and only me tonight, and I feel powerful and sexy.
If I were the girl I’m pretending to be, I could love him. I would. I want to curl up in this bed and not leave. Let him love me back, press me deep into the mattress and take me in the simplest, most primitive of ways. Him on me, in me. No fancy games or tricks. No comparisons. Just yes and Do you like this?
He drops down on top of me, holding himself up on his arms so that I’m not flattened beneath his weight. Instead, I’m surrounded by hot, aroused man. He gently lifts my arm away from my ribs and presses a kiss against my palm.
“Did you mind waiting?” I stroke the hand he freed over his shoulder and down his back. The muscles flex.
“You’re always worth waiting for, baby girl. I’d wait forever.”
He kisses his way down my body until he reaches my hand.
“We haven’t done this before, but I want to.” He traces the seam between my ring finger and middle finger with his tongue before pushing gently inward. I let him do it and I don’t move my fingers from where he’s put them.
“May I kiss you here?” He blows gently, his breath teasing my clit.
“I don’t know. You shouldn’t.”
His tongue presses between my fingers again, licking a slightly deeper path.
“If you’d enjoy it, I should. Let’s try it, baby girl.”
His tongue teases me, grazing my slick folds, tasting and retreating. He’s sweet but, oh my God, he’s in charge. When he shifts my hand up, I don’t protest. Not even when he puts my fingers on my clit.
“Show me what you
like best,” he orders. “So I can give it to you every day.”
I remind myself that this is just a game we’re playing but I want to tell him yes and please and Can every day start now?
Instead, I do what’s he ordered me to do. I trace the soft, wet skin around my clit. Slowly, gently. Because that’s what I’ve asked for tonight, the fantasy that we have feelings for each other and that this isn’t just about getting off.
He’s watching—
I’m—
He ducks his head and then I feel his mouth on me, echoing the little movements I make with my fingers but lower. His fingers tangle with mine and I flush. He knows exactly how he’s making me feel. I don’t even know what to do next, where I want to move my fingers. It never takes me long to come alone but tonight I spin it out in drowsy, slow strokes, in no hurry to finish. I watch his dark head move as he kisses me down there, his hair spilling across his shoulders and my thighs.
I don’t want this to be over.
But I can’t hold back the orgasm that’s building in me. It tears out of me, a hard, greedy heartbeat between my legs, and he groans something. Baby girl. It’s not my name, it’s not really me, but it’s who I’m pretending to be. It’s part of our game, I remind myself.
I push my fingers into his hair, holding on, pulling on thick, glossy strands as he undoes me. Part of me wants to hurt him, to make him feel this moment in his skin the way I do. I don’t know what we’re doing or who we are. I—
His hands are busy, smoothing on a condom, moving me. He slides up my body until we’re face to face and his penis is right there where he was a moment before. I wrap my arms around his body. It feels as if my fingers shouldn’t meet, but they do.
“May I?” His voice is tight, his eyes warm as he captures my gaze with his.
“Yes,” I tell him. Yes, yes, yes and yes some more. Always yes.
His hands move over me, touching, stroking, stoking the fire in me again. “You’re so beautiful.”
He’s the sweetest liar, but he makes me feel like it’s the truth.
“So are you,” I blurt out.
He grins and pushes inside me.
I wrap my arms around his waist and hold on.
He cups my head with his big hands, his forehead resting against mine, as he gives it to me long and slow and sweet. And then he opens me up, making room for himself deep inside my body, pushing deeper and deeper. It’s good.
“Still yes?” he asks. He pauses, too, searching my face for something. Permission. Ecstasy. Not a road map, that’s for certain. He knows exactly where and how to touch me.
I pull him back to me, forgetting I’m his virgin bride. “Don’t stop. Don’t, don’t.”
He laughs, a dark, rough sound, and then he’s pushing the hard length of his dick back inside me. Out and then in. He sets a fast rhythm that has me tensing and moaning. I don’t want to come too fast. This needs to last. I need—
I grab his butt, squeezing and moving against him, then we’re both groaning, grabbing at each other, our arms wrapped around one another. It’s over too fast. He groans, hips jerking hard one last time. I come, squeezing him tight.
“A picture-perfect finish.” I bite his shoulder lightly. I want to leave my mark on him.
His laugh is satisfied. “Now what would you like to do?”
Later, I’ll be embarrassed that I asked for this. I’ll tell myself it’s not as kinky as his dirty cop and that he enjoyed telling me what to do. I’ll tell myself it’s just a memory, a good one. But right now, I’m not ready to be done.
“Hold me?”
I think there might be other words and sounds that fall from my mouth. I might mumble about strong and more later and fucking ruined. His laughter tickles my ear as he rolls onto his side, pulling me against him.
You’re the best playdate ever, Peony.
I know we’re drunk, that this is a hookup—a sexy game with a perfect stranger who can never be my husband, but I almost forget that this isn’t real. I relax into his side and pretend a little longer.
CHAPTER FIVE
Jax
I LIKE MY life just fine as it is: billion dollars in the bank, owner and CEO of my own company, casual playdates. One party and one Peony later, and I’m off-kilter. I kind of don’t mind—at least not as much as I should—but maybe that’s because playing with Peony is so much fun.
I’m definitely not ready to be done with her, so I wrap my arms around her, pulling her closer after we finish her scene. It’s just aftercare, me looking after her, making sure she feels safe. That’s all. I run my thumb down the soft line of her shoulder. Maybe I put too much of myself into our game. I’m not sure. Whoever Peony’s played with before is simply competition, and I always win when I play. I’m not going to tell her this, though. The few friends and family in my life remind me on a regular basis that my competitive side scares nice people away.
I glance down at her, looking for my cue. Her eyes have drifted shut, the lashes tickling my skin. Her breathing comes soft and easy, a steady in and out like the ocean. She’s asleep, half sprawled on top of me, her leg thrown over mine. I’ve never needed much sleep myself and with the post-sex adrenaline humming through my veins, there’s not a chance I crash.
The party sounds outside are winding down and the light’s got a hazy, predawn quality to it even here in the darkened room. The night is over. I know what comes next. I slip away, or she does, or we kiss goodbye and tell each other that it was fun or amazing. Maybe we exchange phone numbers, even though I rarely use them. I prefer my stranger fantasy. Plus, it’s easier. My money changes things. Peony will become a memory, one I come to in the middle of the night or in the shower, her flushed, bare skin, the silky curve of her thigh, the freckles on her ass, her chest and behind her ear.
She mumbles something into my chest, a word sigh, a grumble as she stretches. Man, she’s cute, which would be reason enough to wake her up for more sex, except it’s late or super early and, either way, we can’t stay here forever.
When she shifts restlessly, I seize the chance to ease off the bed. I need clothes. My shirt’s a lost cause because Peony’s wearing it, half the buttons mismatched, the other half undone. First she was hot and then she was cold and this way, stealing my things, was just right. She also said perfection was boring—Peony talks a lot once she gets started—and then she fell asleep before I could sort out her button situation.
I reacquaint myself with the rest of my clothes and rejoin the pants-wearing world. Peony sleeps like the dead now that she’s got the whole bed to herself, her body star-fished in the center. It’s too freaking cute.
A quick check of my messages on my phone reveals nothing that can’t wait until later. It’s Saturday and no one needs me.
It’s six in the morning. The sun’s not quite all the way up—and there’s zero reason I can’t do what I want.
I add Bad for my impulse control to the list of reasons why Peony is dangerous, consider that argument for a full second, and give up. I’m not sure there’s any point in resisting. She’s like the Borg of sexual fantasies: resistance is futile.
I crouch beside her. Still time to run! my brain points out oh so helpfully. We can achieve warp speed, find a convenient wormhole, and vanish. Nothing has to change.
My brain makes a good point. If there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that you cut and run. And if you’re not going to do that, you play with people in your own income bracket. Somehow, I don’t think Peony’s a billionaire. Not if she worked for that asshole I had escorted off the property last night, not if she’s worried about making her rent.
“Sleeping beauty.” I lean in and brush a kiss over her mouth. “You gotta wake up for me, Firefly.”
It takes a half dozen kisses before Peony’s eyes blink slowly open.
I back off just in case she’s feeling the aftereffects
of last night’s alcohol. Also because I’m a big bastard and probably scary-looking. What was fine with her last night needs confirmation this morning.
I have a reputation in the business world for dismantling shit. I buy a company, I swoop in, and I ruthlessly prune away the crap that’s keeping it from earning its shareholders a fortune. It’s community service, if you look at it from my point of view, or at least one of those makeover TV shows where a ruggedly good-looking contractor knocks down walls and what was a dated flophouse turns into modern chic. It’s just that if you’re the wall, you’re not happy about the process.
Fortunately, Peony isn’t unhappy at all. She focuses on me, mumbling a sleepy, “Hey.”
“Come on.” I drop another kiss on her pretty mouth, tempted to stay where we are. The problem is that I can already here Liam’s cleaning crew moving around outside. Before too long, someone will discover our hiding place, and while I can kick them out, I’ll have to be honest about who I am. It feels good to be just Jax, someone’s hot hookup and partner in crime. Peony’s here because she wants me, not the billionaire, the bachelor topping San Francisco’s Hottest Men list, or the financial Prince Charming who can rain BMWs and diamonds on his temporary princess. She just wants me, and I don’t want that to change.
She sits up, pulling my shirt around her like a blanket. Pink stains her cheeks.
“Are they kicking us out?” She yawns with jaw-cracking force as she scrubs at her eyes with her hands.
“Better. I hear pancakes calling my name, the siren lure of syrup.” I playfully mime cupping my ear, as if it’s totally reasonable to listen for a stack of anthropomorphic pancakes.
“Sir Jax and his noble quest.” She laughs, a belly giggle that has her slapping her hand over her mouth. “I will ride with thee.”
“You’re a nut.” I tug her to her feet and toss her acrobat dress at her. It’s somewhat the worse for wear, but only thing Liam stocks for his guests are string bikinis, condoms and towels.
She wriggles back into the dress without a complaint and then we both raid the bathroom for a little oral hygiene, teasing one another as if we really have known each other for years.
Harlequin Dare May 2021 Box Set Page 19
