by Jess Bentley
She smiles at me, but there’s a sad edge to it. There’s nervousness in her eyes. “Sounds like you’re going to be a busy bee,” she says.
“Mama… I’ll still come see you,” I tell her. “Come on, have I ever been too busy for you?”
A sigh, and then she pats my hand where it’s resting on hers. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that. Just… it’s good that things are going so well for you, Janie. I’m proud of you.”
“I know you are, Mama,” I tell her. “Thank you. Have you… seen George or the boys lately?”
Mama shrugs her shoulders and waves a hand dismissively, but she won’t look at me as she does. “They’ve all got a lot going on, you know. I’m okay here. The nurses are very nice. And I think they’re sending me home soon.” She doesn’t sound excited about it. I wish she were.
“Well listen, I’ve got to go for now, but I’ll come by later, okay?”
“Okay, love,” she says, resigned. I wish I could just stay with her, keep her company, but there’s nothing to be done about it. I’ve got a business to run.
So I kiss her on the forehead and make my way out of the hospital. I break several speed limits on the way back to the lounge, and pray that I don’t get stopped. If I hadn’t spent part of the morning indulging in fantasies about Jake, I would have gotten to the market on time with Lacey and subsequently been able to spend real quality time with Mama without feeling rushed. But I make it to the lounge with a few minutes to spare and close off the office to change for the evening.
It’s a big night. No one knows that we’re launching the new line of hot sauces yet, or that we have any events planned, but Chester and I both pulled every local string we have between us to get as many people in tonight as we could manage. Lacey has a number of dishes ready to go, just some amuse-bouches the wait staff will be carrying around the lounge with a painstakingly scripted delivery to reveal the upcoming Season of Heat.
From the moment I leave Mama, I’m distracted. All I can think about is Jake and that kiss. All night I’m certain that it shows on my face and I keep having to check myself, make sure that I’m not smiling too much, that I look appropriately professional and not like I’m on some kind of drug.
Because the truth is, I am. I’m high, and I want to come down, but the only way to do that is to convince myself that Jake Ferry is a worthless excuse for a human being who will drop me like a hot rock as soon as he’s gotten his dick wet.
So why can’t I do that? It’s frustrating me. I’m a logical person. I shouldn’t allow my head to be turned by some playboy. But there’s something about him, and it’s more than the perfect looks. He understands what I’m talking about, what I mean when I talk about George, about the company. We’re both up against things that we don’t know if we can overcome. Although I will, I promise, I will fight.
But anyway, back to work.
The amuse-bouches are a hit, and once they’ve made it around the lounge I’m finally able to be distracted enough by the praise and congratulatory cheers about the announcement. Lacey and I mingle among the guests and after an hour of being excited about the hot sauce line I manage to forget about Jake entirely.
Now all I have to do is keep forgetting about him. Easy.
Once the place closes down, Chester pours shots. Technically against the rules and that whiskey isn’t cheap, but we do have reason to celebrate. Hell, even Gloria gets a shot.
“To Janie Hall,” Chester cheers, raising a glass to me. “Our fearless leader.”
“And to Lacey Ming,” I add, cheering my chef, “the brilliant talent behind this place, without whom I’d be forced to cook and we’d all be out of a job.”
We laugh together, and take our shots, and then it’s back to work. Closing duties are assigned, but the benefit of being the boss is no longer having to mop floors or wash tables. There has to be a perk to balance out the stress, right?
I stop cold—or, more honestly, hot—when I walk out of the building. Leaning against a yellow Lamborghini is my drug, and in a second I’m high again. “What are you doing here?”
“Well,” Jake says, sheepish, “I thought we had a good time yesterday and I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you since… , so, I decided to gamble.”
“Did you, now?” I wonder. “The stakes?”
“Up the coast,” Jake says, approaching slowly, “there is this little cove. Something about the shape of it makes the water unbelievably calm. Clear blue, right to the bottom. Tall, gorgeous cliffs all around it, perfect white sand… and a little house right on the beach. Isolated and quiet, the kind of place that just sucks the stress right out of you.”
We’re almost nose to nose, and I realize too late that his fingers are gently caressing my arm.
“What do you say?” he whispers, his words warm on my lips. “I can have you back by dinner tomorrow.”
“How far is this place?” I ask, clinging to something like pragmatism.
Jake chuckles. “By Lamborghini? Not far.” He brushes my lips with his. “We can go as fast as you want…”
“You’d like that,” I manage to say. His lips are magnetic; mine feel drawn to his and whatever part of my brain is supposed to stop that sort of thing is shorted out.
“So would you,” Jake says. “I promise.”
I believe him. Or at least, my body does—that familiar heat between my legs spreads to my skin quickly, and suddenly the feeling of his fingers on my bare arm is electric.
Jake is just here for conquest. I know that. But honestly… maybe it doesn’t have to be just him. Don’t I deserve a little fun? After all the work I’ve put into this place? It’s just one night. After that I’ll probably never see Jake again, and you know what? I could be okay with that.
“All right,” I tell him, leaning in to bite his lip. “Take me.”
I have to admit—there’s something strangely hot about driving a hundred and ten miles an hour on a winding road. The Lamborghini’s engine is a smooth vibration that courses through the car seat and into me.
Talking is pointless; neither of us could hear anything over the roar of the engine, so the music is up and loud and if we go any faster I might actually somehow be able to outpace all my problems, all my worries.
Jake glances at me, and his lips move.
“What?” I shout at him.
He grins, and reaches over to my seat. His fingers slide my dress up my thighs, and he tugs at the exposed strap of my panties. In another second, he’s under them, and then I gasp as he finds me wet and sensitive from the rumbling of the car.
Whatever he’s up to down there, pinching and rubbing and stroking in slow circles, it’s better action than I give myself and I melt around it. Jake isn’t even looking—he’s got his eyes on the road—but his smile is smug, and when I moan loud enough to be heard over the radio and the engine he laughs and his fingers work that much harder and God I’m close…
As if he’s reading my mind—or at least some part of me—he eases off, exploring my lower lips with gentle, light caresses that feel incredible but are just shy of what I really need.
It takes another half an hour before we pull off the highway, and by the time we do I can barely see straight.
The absence of noise when the car stops is jarring, like coming back to the real world from a dream. I can still feel the echoes of the engine in my body. Or maybe that’s Jake’s manipulation of my clit that’s got me buzzed.
Either way, a moment later he’s opening my door and helping me out of the low-riding sports car.
The place is everything he said it would be, even at night. There’s a full moon high in the sky, surrounded by stars that glitter off the surface of a preternaturally smooth lagoon.
Whatever breath I have left is taken away by the sight.
“Want a glass of wine?” he asks casually as he leads me to the door. “I had the place stocked.”
“Did you, now?” I laugh, and let him take me to the bar.
; Once there, though, instead of letting him pour me a glass, I pull him to me and press my lips to his. Jake makes a surprised little grunt that turns into a low growl. His hands find the small of my back and pull me to him so that our bodies are pressed together, and I can feel that he’s every bit as hungry for this as I am.
And then he’s dipping a bit to pull my dress up over my thighs, and I’m off the floor, my legs wrapped around his waist as he turns us toward the bar and sits me down on it. Our lips still in contact, his tongue piercing my mouth, he finds my panties and tugs, pulling them off entirely.
I moan when his fingers slip inside me, his thumb massaging my aching, teased nub and his teeth catch my lower lip as he laughs softly at my ecstatic agony, quickly working me into a feverish kind of madness that has me bucking against his hand.
When he lets my mouth go, I almost fall forward chasing him. He pushes my dress the rest of the way up—I want to take the damn thing off—and before I know it he’s spread my knees apart. His lips and tongue clamp down around me, and my toes curl as I make a strangled sound. I have to brace myself on the overhang above the bar to keep from falling.
“Jake,” I breathe, barely able to make the word, and tangle my fingers in his hair. He makes a sound like he’s enjoying some kind of mythical dessert, and the vibration buzzes inside me like a small swarm of bees. My heart pounds, and all the pent-up need from the last weeks and from the erotic torture of the drive here gathers in a burning coil at the base of my spine. It slithers up my back as it spreads heat throughout my limbs until finally, like a wave shattering on the shore, every muscle in my body tenses. My fingers claw at the back of Jake’s head as he tosses me into the abyss with a flick of his tongue.
He laughs while I come, gripping my thighs as his elbows keep my knees forced apart and he gives me no time to recover. The intensity of my oversensitive clit sends spasms through my body, my back arching as I gasp and moan, begging him to stop even though I desperately want him to keep going forever.
When he straightens up, I can taste myself on his tongue. His kisses consume me as he pulls my legs around his waist again and draws me off the bar and across the room to a thick, plush rug meant to look like bearskin. With remarkable smoothness we both descend onto it.
I reach for his pants, eager to launch my own counteroffensive, and in a moment he’s free and I can feel that he’s thick and hard, the tip of him moist from excitement. He’ll stretch me, I know, and the thought of being full of him excites me all over, but I push him to sit up on his knees as I roll onto my side and taste him. Salty and vaguely sweet, I’d forgotten what a man tastes like, but it’s a heady taste that I suddenly can’t get enough of.
It isn’t easy to fit him in my mouth, but he groans appreciatively when I begin to suck the head of his cock, my tongue exploring in languid circles while he shivers and heaves ragged breaths. His hands rest on my head—not pushing, not directing, just urging—and he’s moaning my name over and over again while I work him, sliding the taut skin of him up and down as I bob slowly. Each time I squeeze him, he gushes drops of his essence onto my tongue and I wonder if he’s the type that still wants to kiss after he’s left part of himself in my mouth.
I get my answer moments later, when he tugs my head up and off of him, laughing as he takes several long, slow breaths. “Too close,” he sighs, “can’t come yet.”
“One-shot man?” I ask as I meet him halfway and no, he doesn’t mind kissing me, and the taste of us mingled and mixed together is strange and alien but intoxicating. Not just for me—I can feel it in the way his kiss changes, the slow enjoyment of something exotic instead of the near-rabid hunger.
And I’m pushing him over, tipping him slowly onto the rug as he finds the zipper of my dress and draws it down; before I know it he’s got my bra strap free, releasing it with more smoothness than I ever can so that when I finally press myself to him my breasts rest against his chest. I straddle his waist, and raise myself up long enough to take the damned thing off and cast it aside while Jake unbuttons his shirt.
His chest is smooth and stacked, and he bucks against me, his cock still wet from my mouth, gliding over my soaked lips that are moist from my excitement and his mouth, and with just a little work I feel the tip of him working slowly into me. The walls of my tunnel stretch to accommodate the thick rod, just this side of uncomfortable, and I sink down onto him.
His eyes are on mine, locked and wide, his mouth open just like mine is as we both hold our breath against the incredible feeling of being finally connected, joined, and I can’t believe it can feel this good. I’m still raw from having come once already, and I can feel every inch as it glides through me until I’m firmly seated on his hips.
Jake leans up easily without dislodging me, and as his hips begin to rock he takes my hard nipple into his mouth, groaning as he sucks. One hand grips my breast, while the other snakes around behind me to lift me up, and down, each thrust grazing my exposed clit just barely, just enough that I twitch in his arms every time.
I hold him tight inside me, and it’s easy because every part of me is locked up tight with the sensations echoing through my nerves, and in just minutes Jake is panting against me, his thrusts becoming more urgent by the second. The hand on my breast moves between us, and again he’s playing me like an instrument.
“Close,” he groans. “Fuck… Janie… fuck I’m close… come with me… come for me, Janie…”
His teeth bite, his tongue flicks, and his fingers pinch and rub as he picks up his pace, and I can hear it in his voice how close he is, how desperate he is to come with me. What was an almost plaintive need before becomes a command as my walls tighten around him.
“That’s right,” he growls, “come with me, Janie… good girl… you like that, baby, don’t you? Come on, just a little more. Come with me, Janie… fuck…” The word is drawn out, and echoed from my own throat as our bodies tense together and for a heartbeat we’re suspended together, his cock swelling inside me just before it begins to pulse in time with the contractions inside my own body as we both explode.
We’re both hanging in the afterglow, locked together still, and I can feel his dick still jumping in response to my own aftershocks. He kisses my breasts, and the space between them, and my neck. He nibbles my ear, groaning softly, and then finally we’re kissing again.
I don’t know how long it lasts, how long we stay like that, but when I begin to rise, he laughs quietly, and pulls my hips back down so we can start all over.
We never do get around to that glass of wine.
Chapter 20
Janie
We wake up early the next day, and from the moment I open my eyes my mind and body are filled with the distinct sensation of being on vacation even though I know that it’s still a work day for me. But that time seems to be hours away and all I want right now is to be here, now—that’s what all the self-help gurus say, right?
Jake isn’t with me, but the smell of something cooking is. I sit up, and listen carefully—from down the stairs I can hear the sound of things sizzling. That is definitely bacon.
Wrapped in only the sheet because my clothes never made it upstairs with me, I pad down the stairs to find Jake naked except for an apron, his muscular, sculpted body bobbing and swaying as he hums to himself. I can wait to announce myself; this is worth watching.
After a minute or so, Jake turns with a pan in hand and freezes when he sees me leaning against the banister.
“Caught you,” I say, smiling compulsively.
Jake snorts, and waves the pan in my direction. “That’s all the show you get. You want more, I better see some dollar bills.”
“But can he actually cook, is the question,” I mutter as I approach the bar.
Jake is smug as he delivers not just pancakes, but credible crepes to a plate. He makes a show of scattering berries, cream cheese, and some dark blackberry-based drizzle in overly intricate swirls before rolling it all up and adding bacon to each plate. “
My mom used to love making crepes,” he tells me. “I learned from her. I’m confident in my crepes, but that’s about all I got.”
“Just the one trick?” I sigh, feigning disappointment. “Taking you back to the shelter.”
Jake barks a laugh, and comes around the bar to kiss me, his warm hands gripping my hips. “I think I have more than one trick,” he mutters against my lips.
“Fair enough.” I’m hot for him again, and the fact that he doesn’t seem to mind what I look like in the morning makes it somehow even more acute. Not that I’ve passed a mirror on the way down, but I’m well aware of how I present in the early hours.
“Come on,” he says, tugging me off of the stool. He takes both plates and leads me out the sliding door facing the beach and then, bold as you please, walks off the back porch and down a little path to the sand wearing nothing but that apron. His ass is high, round. I want to grab it.
My lip between my teeth, I giggle as I clutch the sheet to me and follow him down. It’s a private beach here, probably one of his father’s properties if I had to guess, and no one can see us easily without scaling the cliffs. That doesn’t seem likely. It’s nerve-racking at first, but gets easier once we’re seated under a canopy on the sand.
He’s not wrong about the crepes—they’re good. If I was inclined to run a breakfast service in addition to dinner, these could easily be on the menu. The bacon is cooked just right, and I don’t feel remotely guilty for devouring two thick-cut pieces in just a few bites.
Jake has zero compunctions about being hungry either, and barely talks while he eats breakfast. When we’re both done, he sets the plates aside and pulls me to him, so that I’m between his legs, leaning back against his body while we watch the morning sun climb over the great blue. In the daylight, the water here is sapphire blue, and still enough that I can see fish and crabs darting around beneath the surface.
