by Jewel E. Ann
“Did you go to medical school together?”
“We did.” The grip Luke had on her hand tightened with his answer.
The conversation, if it could really be considered that, felt strained and odd.
“Eva was Fran’s roommate in college.”
Another awkward silence while the two much taller people stared at each other.
“Well, that makes sense. I don’t know who Fran is, but—”
“She was my fiancée.”
Eva nodded, casting her eyes downward for a moment. Maybe it wasn’t such a relief that she caught Jones so fast. Missing the most uncomfortable conversation ever would not have been a bad thing.
“I can take Jones and head home if you two need a few minutes alone to talk behind my back or reminisce about your engagement with Fran.”
Eva’s eyes widened as her lips parted. Not so much as a flinch came from Luke. He knew Jessica’s inappropriate humor and he’d perfected ignoring it.
“It was good to see you, Eva.” Luke gave into Jones’s incessant tugging and pulled Jessica with them.
“I’ll give Francesca your best.”
Luke kept walking, failing to acknowledge Eva’s parting comment.
“I’m sorry.”
Jessica’s legs sped to a jogging pace to keep up with Luke’s long strides. “Why are you sorry?”
“I’ve not told you anything about Fran, including her name. I put you in an uncomfortable situation back there and I should not have.”
“Luke, I’m fine. It’s not like I didn’t know you were engaged. I just don’t understand the weird looks you two were sharing.”
“While you were chasing Jones she told me something and I had trouble processing it.”
“Can I ask what she told you?”
Luke stopped so abruptly Jones’s momentum jerked his arm, causing him to flinch. “You can ask me anything. You know that, right?”
That was a good question. Jessica couldn’t say for sure why she’d never pressed Luke for information about his ex-fiancée. Had she been so self-absorbed with her own past that she didn’t think Luke might have needed to discuss his?
“I think so.” She nodded, narrowing her eyes a bit.
They continued toward his condo.
“Fran is on the heart transplant list,” Luke said in a Dr. Jones matter-of-fact way.
“Why?”
“She has congenital heart disease. I think she had two, maybe three surgeries as a child. For years she was fine.”
“So what happened?”
He shrugged. “Eva didn’t go into detail other than to say Fran needed a transplant because the medications are no longer working. Sometimes there can be scar tissue from childhood surgeries that can cause problems later in life.”
“Where does she live now?”
“Scottsdale with her parents.”
“Maybe you should go see her. Do you want to go see her?”
They stepped into the elevator. “Why would you ask me that?”
“Because you said I could ask you anything.”
Easing his head back against the elevator wall, he closed his eyes on a heavy sigh. “I don’t know.”
Jones looked up, cocking his head.
“Why did you get Jones for me?”
Luke’s brow furrowed then he opened his eyes.
“I thought you’d like him.”
Jones shifted his head tilt to the opposite side. Jessica puckered her lips and blew him a kiss. “Don’t worry, Jonesy, I love you.”
The elevator door opened. Jessica and Jones followed Luke into the condo.
“So you, who thrives on order and cleanliness, just thought, ‘Hey, I think I’ll get Jessica a puppy,’ for no particular reason?”
“Why are you asking me this a month later?” He grabbed a Heineken from the refrigerator.
Luke drinking before noon gave her an uneasy feeling. “It’s crossed my mind quite a bit, especially since you call him ‘mutt’ and I think he’s given you a few gray hairs.”
“Maybe I wanted you to stop calling me Jones.”
She hopped up on the counter. “I don’t buy that.”
A long pull of beer bought him time to reply. “Dogs can be therapeutic.”
“Jones is part of my therapy?”
“Yes.”
“How so?”
“You’ve referred to yourself as a monster. Jones brings out your nurturing side. Monsters don’t nurture.”
“So it was a test to see if I’m truly a monster?”
Luke shook his head. “Yes,” he answered, thick with sarcasm.
“Tell me about Francesca.”
Chuckling, he set his beer onto the counter and crossed his arms over his chest. “You’re asking a lot of random questions today.”
“I’m not. They’re all about you. I’m just trying to figure out how you tick. It’s my turn to ‘study’ you. That’s not random. Besides, ‘Tell me about Francesca,’ is not a question.”
“What do you want to know?”
“My God, Dr. Jones … you’d make a terrible patient.”
Talking about Francesca evidently required a second beer. Jessica frowned while he retrieved another one from the refrigerator.
“I saved Fran from a burning building.”
The pads of her fingers drummed her lower lip, eyes wide. She laughed but it came out as a cough. “You’re joking.”
“It was my sophomore year of undergrad while I was still a volunteer firefighter. She lived with three other girls in a rundown apartment building. There had been a party in the apartment below them. Someone fell asleep or passed out before putting out their cigarette. Her friends were all out of the building by the time we arrived, but Fran went back for her fish.” He shook his head. “A fucking gold fish in a bowl of water.”
“And you saved her?”
“And the fish from the third floor window. The next week she dropped off a cookie bouquet at the fire station to ‘her hero.’”
“So you ended up dating.” Hearing every little detail felt unnecessary and a bit more nauseating than she anticipated.
“For a year before I proposed.”
Of course she wanted to know how he proposed. Did he get down on one knee or two?
“What did she do?”
“She said yes.”
“No. Her profession.”
“Oh, she was in school, too, at the time. She became a court interpreter.”
“Long hours. Stressful job.”
Staring at the label of his beer, he nodded.
“Who broke off the engagement?”
The muscle in his jaw twitched. “I’m not sure.”
That answer fizzled her desire to know anymore at that point.
“We didn’t get our run in, so I might go for a bike ride. You want to come?”
“No more questions?” He finished the second bottle of beer.
The beer chugger before her looked like Luke, but his actions were that of someone much different—someone teetering on the edge of control. But why?
“No. But if you need to talk I’m always ready to listen.”
Beer number three. Jessica declared it an official what-the-fuck moment.
“How emasculating of you to my manhood and my profession.”
“How sexist of you to assume only men can listen when by nature your gender practices selective hearing ninety percent of the time. And if you’re wanting to flash your doctor badge, I suggest you first do some inner reflection as to why you’re on your third beer before noon in less than an hour after finding out your ex-fiancée needs a heart transplant.”
The impromptu speech filled with valid points did not deter Luke as he popped the top to another beer.
“Take care of my puppy. I’m going for a ride.”
Chapter Eighteen
Knight
The list of things that could top being fucked by Jackson Knight against a refrigerator was short. The birth of Maddie held the number one spot, refriger
ator sex sat at number two. The fact that there were only two events on Ryn’s Life’s Best Moment’s List seemed pathetic. Dwelling over the sleepy details of her life was a waste of time. As she sat in her car, checking her makeup one last time, the past didn’t matter. It only took forty years to be that girl—the one who got the guy that everyone else wanted.
Maddie needed help moving to her new apartment, closer to campus. Ryn had not seen Jackson since the infamous sex night. He wanted to stay for a do-over, which was ridiculous because perfection was perfection. Period. More than that, she needed a shower and time to think about his lips, tongue, teeth, ten skilled fingers, and one gifted cock.
With twenty minutes before Greta’s party, Ryn couldn’t keep herself from saying hi to Jackson before heading across the street. She knocked on the door anticipating his sexy smile and a mind-numbing kiss to get her in the mood for the party. Instead, Jackson greeted her with rivulets of water racing down his body and a white towel tied low on his waist.
“Jillian is already over there.”
Sexy smile. Check.
“You look amazing, by the way.”
Twenty six letters and infinite ways to assemble them into words, yet she couldn’t conjure a single one let alone remember what she had on that looked so amazing. A short wrap skirt and a sleeveless blouse felt about right, but really she couldn’t remember.
“If you keep looking at me like that you’re going to be late to the party.”
With wide eyes, she nodded yes to … something. Yes to being on time or yes to being late … or just simply yes to him.
“Do you want to step inside for a few minutes?” He chuckled, which brought her attention back to his face after her ogling started to feel like a hallucination.
“Maybe for a minute…” she stepped inside coming to an abrupt halt as she closed her eyes “…or two.”
Another chuckle. “Are you okay?”
“You smell like sandalwood and … patchouli.” Her eyes opened with her head still spinning from the intoxicating fragrance.
“I call it bar soap and shampoo, but I’m glad you like it.”
His eyes were unquestionably beautiful, even mesmerizing, but they didn’t demand her attention like his bare, tatted chest or the towel that looked like it could come loose at any moment.
“You seem distracted.”
She nodded.
“Maybe I should put on some clothes.”
Worst idea ever, in Ryn’s honest opinion.
Pressing his hands against the wall above her head, trapping her under a bridge of muscled flesh, he leaned forward until his lips grazed her ear. “Is that what you want?”
The question was absurd. Barely worthy of an answer. “No.” She swallowed.
He sucked her earlobe, teasing it with his teeth. “Remove the towel, Ryn.”
The strain of her nipples against the lace of her bra and the slide of her new thong between her legs when she shifted her weight had her ready to orgasm from just the words: remove the towel, Ryn.
Jackson moaned with his lips pressed to her neck as she feathered her fingers over the peaks and valleys of his abs, down to the towel. His dizzying scent intensified with each ragged breath she drew into her lungs. She wanted to taste him … devour him.
“Stop!”
Ryn jumped, pressing her palms to the wall behind her as Jillian flew through the front door. Jackson grumbled a few expletives while keeping Ryn caged beneath his arms.
“Back away from the girl and go put some clothes on.”
“This coming from my sister who is basically a nudist?”
“I told you to send her straight over if she knocked on the door.”
Ryn felt like a teenager getting caught with a guy. Ten years their senior, yet she shrank beneath the awkwardness of the Knight twins’ arguing over her.
“Come on, Ryn. Chicks before dicks.”
Of course Ryn had no idea what that meant, but she let Jillian pull her toward the door anyway.
“She still has a few minutes before the party starts. I’ll send her right over.”
It was impossible to look at Jackson after that comment. Ryn’s whole body flushed with embarrassment.
Jillian pointed a finger at him. “Knock that shit off. This is Greta’s night. Do you remember when Mom used to go grocery shopping after dinner and she’d come home with twenty dollars’ worth of groceries because after eating nothing tempted her?”
Jackson rolled his eyes to the ceiling.
“Well Ryn needs to show up to Greta’s hungry. Got it?”
Before the door shut, Jackson yelled, “Then you’re welcome. I think she’s starving right now.”
Ryn whipped her head back, mouth agape, as Jillian dragged her toward the street. Jackson winked through the glass storm door with a cocky-bastard smirk. Then he removed his towel, turned, and sauntered away from the door.
“He just flashed you, didn’t he?” Jillian asked without ever turning back.
“Um …”
She laughed. “I apologize on behalf of the Knight family. We have no self-control.”
*
“Oh my goodness! You are just adorable,” Greta said as she gently touched the ends of Ryn’s hair before resting her palms on her cheeks. “Oh … and your eyes, and these freckles, and you have the cutest little button nose.”
Ryn felt ten years old under Greta’s exaggerated, yet flattering assessment. “Thank you. So nice to meet you.”
“Well…” Greta motioned for Ryn to follow her to the great room “…you’re just lucky Marvin is still breathing, otherwise I would have already snatched Jackson up.”
Ryn equated Greta to warm chocolate cake: sweet, addictive, and sure to evoke a smile.
After handing Ryn a glass of sangria, Greta brought two fingers to her mouth and catcall whistled. “Settle down, ladies, so Jillian can get started.”
The small group of fifteen women, all over sixty years, turned the volume down to a few soft whispers as their eyes bugged out with each new item Jillian placed on the coffee table. Ryn bit back a smile. It was the most unusual group for a Lascivio party. Their fearless leader took them through everything, explaining how each personal pleasure device was to be used before passing it around for everyone to inspect up close.
When the nipple clamps came around, Ryn took a quick picture and sent it to Jackson.
Ryn: What do you think?
Jackson: I think these work better.
He attached a photo of his teeth biting the tip of his thumb. She giggled.
Next she sent a photo of the edible lubricant.
Ryn: ?
Jackson: Let me save you some money.
The photo attached showed him licking his lips. She squeezed her legs together.
Ryn: Jillian said ‘nothing’ is better than this one.
She sent a photo of a “top of the line” vibrator.
Jackson: Your choice.
Greta passed her a textured cock ring as Ryn looked at his text.
“I’ve got it, sweetie.” Greta grabbed Ryn’s phone that fell in the crack between the cushions when she went to pass the vibrator to the next person.
“No I’ve—”
Greta looked at the screen. “Oh my … what or who …” Her other hand covered her mouth.
“What is it?” Lynette asked looking over Greta’s shoulder. “Oh my goodness!”
“He’s just being—” Ryn grabbed her phone back, not realizing he sent a photo after his last remark. “Oh shit.”
“Is that Jackson?” Every eye in the room landed on Ryn.
She flipped the phone so the screen pressed against her leg. “N-no, it’s not what you think. It’s … just a friend playing a prank.” It was exactly what they thought: Jackson’s big, very erect cock.
Jillian narrowed her eyes then stepped closer to Ryn. “Is what Jackson?”
Ryn shook her head like an errant child in school. “Nothing.”
Jillian snatched her ph
one. Ryn squeezed her eyes shut.
“Eww … not cool, Bro … not cool,” Jillian whispered to herself.
Ryn peeked open one eye. Jillian wore a wicked smile. “Get some more to eat and drink, ladies, then feel free to play with the toys and browse through the catalog.”
Once everyone focused their attention back on all the other embarrassing things in the room, Jillian grabbed the strap-on penis from the coffee table and took a picture of it with Ryn’s phone.
“What are you doing?”
“Reciprocating.” Jillian smirked as she moved her thumbs across the screen.
Ryn: How do you feel about anal play? I’ve always had a thing for m/m porn. Is your sexy ass as tight as the rest of your body?
Jillian tossed Ryn’s phone to her. “No matter what, don’t text him again or answer any of his texts.
Ryn stared at the message—horrified. “What if he takes it seriously?”
“Oh … he’ll take it seriously.”
“What if he’s…” she grimaced “…okay with the idea.”
Jillian giggled. “Then I guess you’d better add a strap-on and a bottle of lube to your order tonight.”
Ryn’s eyes remained glued to her phone. “He’s not responding.”
“Ah … excellent. Just as I suspected, he thinks you’re serious. God, I’m good.”
“Jillian?” Greta called. “Are butt plugs contraindicated if I have hemorrhoids?”
“Oh my God,” Ryn mouthed. Jillian winked before excusing herself to help Greta.
She stared at her phone, willing Jackson to reply, but he didn’t.
An hour and three glasses of Sangria later, she placed her order and walked back across the street while Jillian and Greta finished up with the rest of the ladies and their orders.
The alcohol almost erased the memory of Jillian’s prank—almost. Jackson opened the door with his body covered by a pair of jeans and an Eat Local T-Shirt.
*
The quiet ones were always the kinky ones. Jackson assumed with a fair amount of confidence that Ryn was the exception. Her skittish reactions to his sexual advances pointed in the opposite direction of kinky. The text, however, surprised him, and he wasn’t easily surprised. The tipsy, sexy, cock-hardening woman at his door was a partial explanation for the bold message. The still slightly disturbing part was drunk people didn’t get new ideas from alcohol. The alcohol just brought out thoughts that were already in their brain.
