by Jess Dee
“That my grandfather had a total of seventy-one properties on file. Each and every one of which he owned.”
Claire’s jaw dropped. “He what?”
“He owned them. All of them.”
“Seventy-one properties in Sydney?”
“Yep.”
“Their combined value must be staggering.”
“To say the least.”
“Are they all leased?”
“Most of them. About ten are still standing open.”
“Holy shit,” Claire said, pretty much mimicking his response earlier.
“Know what’s even more staggering?”
“I can’t think anything could be more staggering than that.”
“One thing. He left all of those properties to Anthony and me.”
Claire opened her mouth, then closed it again, as if at a loss for words. “Holy shit,” she uttered once more. “You’re rich.”
He laughed. “Very.” The irony of the situation wasn’t lost to him. For so long he’d debated the idea of giving up teaching so he could finally earn enough money to buy his own property.
Now, when he’d finally decided that he needed job satisfaction more than he needed to buy his own place, he discovered he didn’t just own one property, he co-owned seventy-one of them.
“Is this going to affect your decision? About working in the business, I mean?”
Jack shook his head. “No. I considered it again today, but property management isn’t my dream. It doesn’t turn me on. I’m a teacher, Claire. It’s what I was always meant to do. What I love. I can’t give that up to follow my grandfather’s dream, and I think he’d be furious with me if I did.” It had taken heaps of soul searching before he’d come to a final decision about working in the business.
Heaps of soul searching, heaps of Claire-Jack time and heaps of in-depth discussions with Anthony.
They’d concluded that Anthony would take over the company—an idea that excited his brother no end. The first order of business had been hiring a secretary and an assistant property manager. Someone to take care of the paperwork and someone to help go through each property on the books and determine what needed to be done with it, if anything.
Claire’s smile shone from her eyes. “So I can count on you to keep citing the great playwrights to me?”
“At least until I run out of quotes.”
“Good. I’ve grown kind of fond of your soliloquies.” She walked over to him, took his cheeks in her hand and pressed a kiss to his lips. “I’m glad you didn’t give up on your dream, Jack. Your students would have missed you.”
“Not as much as I’d have missed them.” He caught her mouth in another kiss, one that lasted a lot longer. “Ah, I almost forgot. I found something while I was at the offices. Something I think you’ll be happy to see.”
“What is it?”
“Close your eyes. I’ll surprise you.”
Her lids fluttered closed.
“Now put your hands together in front of you.”
Immediately she cupped her hands, waiting for him to put something in them.
He grinned and pulled it from his pocket. But instead of placing it in Claire’s hands, he wrapped one end around her wrists, tying them together.
“What the…?” Her eyes flicked open in surprise. “My scarf?”
“Yep. You left it in the Rose Bay shop that first day, after you’d wrapped it around my shoulders to keep me warm.”
She laughed. “Didn’t do a very good job, now did it? It’s too insubstantial to provide any warmth.”
“It did a great job, believe me. Surrounding me with your scent didn’t get me warm, it got me hot and horny.”
“Can you untie it now?” She held her arms up to him.
He shook his head. “Nope.”
“No?”
“Nope. See, that scarf is still getting me all hot and horny. And wrapped around your wrists like that, leaving you bound and helpless, it’s giving me all sorts of ideas.” He tugged on the other end of the scarf, walked to the opposite side of the table and tied the wisp of material to a chair.
“Really?” Claire gave him the evil eye. “You’re really doing this?” The scarf was long, but not long enough that Claire could stand upright. She was forced to lean over the table.
Jack walked back around to her, admiring the luscious curve of her ass in this position. He grew hard contemplating everything he had in mind. “Oh, yeah, beautiful. We’re really doing this.”
Claire snorted. “I’ve heard of barefoot, pregnant and in the kitchen, but tied to the kitchen table is a new concept for me.”
He leaned over her to nuzzle her cheek, making sure he caressed her ass with his erection in the process. He also pressed his weight down on her back, flattening her chest on the table. “I’m not just tying you to the kitchen table, Miss Jones.” His hands were on her sides, molding to the hourglass curves of her waist. “I plan to fuck you on top of it too.”
“Y-you do?” It wasn’t nerves or inhibitions that made Claire’s voice tremble. She’d lost all sense of shyness around him over the last few weeks. Every time they made love, and they made love a lot, Claire seemed to relax more and more about her body. In fact, last night she’d had no trouble flaunting it in front of him, dancing naked to his tuneless singing, making him half crazy with lust.
She’d given him a whole new view of the tango. A dirty—filthy actually—view that he couldn’t wait to grab another glimpse of.
No, the tremor in her voice was excitement. Pure and simple. The wash of goose bumps over her neck told him as much. As did her sudden sharp inhalation of breath. “I most certainly do.”
He slipped his hands beneath her belly, undoing the zip and button of her pants. Then ever so slowly, he tugged her pants over her hips, and down her legs, making good and sure to take her knickers too. He paused after exposing each inch of skin, stopping to admire her shape, her womanliness. Stopping to press tiny kisses to her bare skin and nip provocatively at her buttocks.
She moaned and clutched the far edge of the table with her bound hands, shimmying her hips, trying to get her pants off.
“Uh-uh.” He smacked her butt. Not hard, just enough to leave the slightest sting, and she gasped in response. “We do this on my time.”
He nuzzled the pink skin he’d just slapped before dropping to his knees, moving down her legs and paying attention to her thighs and the back of her knees. He took his sweet time, enjoying every inch of her, loving her response, her taste, her moans. Loving the way she trembled beneath his hands and lips, and begged him for more.
When at last the lower half of her torso was nude, free of pants and shoes and socks, he smacked her other buttock. Again, not too hard, just enough to leave a sting. A little pain always increased the pleasure.
“Spread ’em,” he demanded in a guttural voice, sounding not at all like himself.
She showed him the slightest hint of her wet, puffy pussy and her puckered, pink hole.
“Wider.”
Her breath hissed from her, and she obeyed, letting him see exactly how aroused she was. Her pussy lips glinted beneath the kitchen light, wet from her juices.
He rubbed her buttock, easing the sting. “Much better,” he praised. She looked good enough to eat.
Jack grabbed handfuls of her buttocks, spread them as wide as he could, knelt behind her and helped himself to a taste of her sweet cream.
No, a taste would never do. He helped himself to as much of her as he could, licking her juices away, gorging himself on her ripe lips, pushing his tongue into her channel, seeking more of her nectar.
Claire shivered around him, begging him for more. And he gave it, dipping his finger inside her, wetting it and then gliding it back, from her pussy to her ass, until he found that puckered hole, and let his finger play to its heart content.
Tonight he would make Claire his—in every possible way. Starting with her pussy, then claiming her ass, and after, demanding her
heart. She had his. Absolutely and completely. It was only fair she give him hers.
“Jack…” Her legs began to shake, and she pushed against his finger, twisting her hips. He gave her an inch, slipping it inside past the first knuckle, and continuing to lick her pussy.
The tension rose in her. Her muscles flexed, relaxed then flexed again. Her knees locked together and her torso began to quiver.
Jack placed one last, chaste kiss on her delicious lips, and withdrew from her altogether, almost laughing when she swore viciously at him.
Almost laughing. But his cock ached like the devil and blood boiled in his veins and humor was the last thing on his mind.
* * *
“Damn it, Jack,” Claire groaned. “Don’t you dare stop. Not now.” She couldn’t believe he’d pulled away. Seriously, the man seemed to have orgasm radar. Soon as he sensed hers approaching, he backed off, leaving her stranded, so close to coming she wanted to scream, yet unable to reach her peak without him.
“Giving me orders, Miss Jones?” He must have taken a step back, because now she couldn’t feel any part of him.
“You bet I am,” she huffed. “Get back here right now.”
He smacked her on the ass, harder than before. It hurt like the devil, and reverberated all the way through her pussy and clit, like a red-hot wave of pain and pleasure. A fresh gush of liquid seeped from her channel.
“You should know by now, I don’t take orders too well.”
Claire considered swearing at him, but didn’t. He’d probably smack her again, and as tantalizing as the smacks were, it wasn’t his hand she wanted on her ass.
She tried a different tactic. “Please, Jack. I’m begging you. Don’t leave me hanging.” With any other man, she’d have been too proud to beg. Or too inhibited. But Claire had learned that Jack loved it. It inflamed his passion to greater heights. And when he was inflamed, he ensured she was too.
He rubbed her buttocks. “I won’t leave you hanging, Clairey. I swear it.” As though sealing his promise, he swiped his finger over her pussy, slipping it between her lips as he did, and then dragging it back over her anus. “I love you too much to do that.”
A tremor shook her body, and her heart smashed into her chest. What did he say?
“But I need to get something. So I’m going to leave you here, with your hands tied to the chair, while I find it. When I come back, I want to see your pussy wet and ready for me.”
What the…? He’d told her he loved her, and followed the confession up with orders? Really? “You can’t say something like that and then walk away.”
He laughed. “That’s where you’re wrong. With you in this position, I can do or say almost anything.” He slapped her again, and she jerked at the pulse of pain and pleasure.
Claire squirmed, pressing her thighs together, trying to exert some pressure on her clit. She needed to come. Jack was acting bossier than usual, more dominant, and his behavior and comment sent an almost perverted thrill through her, escalating her need and hunger for him.
He placed his hands on her legs, stilling her desperate squirming. “Keep your thighs open the entire time. Stay right where you are and don’t try and make yourself come. When you orgasm, it will be because I’ve brought you to that point. Not you.”
“Hurry up,” she growled.
“Pardon?”
She closed her eyes and grit her teeth. “Please, Jack. Hurry up, please.”
He swiped his finger through her wet folds one last time and was gone, leaving Claire exposed and aroused and draped over her kitchen table.
She didn’t question that he’d be back, didn’t doubt that when he returned he’d take her to new heights, let her soar across the sky. She trusted him. If Jack said he’d be back soon, he would. And she couldn’t wait. Not because her pussy thrummed, hummed, clenched and needed to be touched. But because when Jack was around, Claire was happy. Filled with a pleasure no man had inspired in her before. He filled her heart and obliterated a loneliness she’d never realized was there.
When he was around she…lived. Whether they argued or laughed or grieved or watched telly together, she felt alive. And the part that stunned her the most? Jack seemed to feel exactly the way she did. When she was around he was…calm. Happy. He seemed content.
The seconds dragged by. Cool air wafted over Claire, hitting the juncture of her legs. She moaned at the conflicting sensations of hot desire and cold air pooling in her pussy and prayed Jack wouldn’t be long.
She needed him. Wanted him. Loved him.
Claire froze.
Loved him?
Yes, loved him. Of course she did. How could she not? He was everything she looked for in a man. Strong, sensitive, kind, loving…bossy.
She closed her eyes, laid her cheek on the table and let the knowledge fill her. She loved Jack Wilson. She was wholly and entirely in love with him. And that love made her heart swell. A smile played on her lips. She loved Jack, and if his words were anything to go by, he loved her too.
“Fuck, you don’t look half sexy.” His voice broke through her musings.
She opened her eyes to find him standing in the doorway, leaning against the frame, naked as the day he was born, his gaze pinned on her.
He held something in his one hand which she couldn’t see, and his dick in his other hand. Correction. He didn’t hold his dick, he pumped it slowly, starting right down at the base and sliding his hand over his length, all the way to the tip, enclosing his tip in his palm, and then sliding his hand back down.
Claire noticed he wore a condom, whimpered at the sight and its meaning, and flicked her gaze to his eyes, knowing everything she’d realized must be on display in her expression.
His breath caught. His gaze darkened. And his hand pumped a little faster.
“We’ve had fun up until now.” His voice danced across the kitchen to a slow, sexy beat. “But tonight I make you mine.”
She smiled at him. A slow, siren’s smile, borne of her confidence. “I dare you to try, Mr. Wilson.”
He stalked over to her. “Grab the edges of the table, Miss Jones. You’re going to need to hold on to something.”
There was almost no time to follow his instructions. Not with her wrists bound like they were. But she managed to grasp the edge with her fingertips, and then there he was.
His hands on her hips, his thighs between hers, and his cock at her entrance, pushing, plunging, driving inside her.
One thrust, and he filled her. His shaft, thick and long, stretched her inner muscles and teased her nerve endings, dragging along the walls of her pussy.
But one thrust wasn’t enough. Not for her, and evidently, not for Jack either. He withdrew and thrust in again, not tempering his actions with soothing words. No, Jack was fucking her, hard. Slamming into her, filling her, then withdrawing only to slam into her again.
His hands were on her hips, holding her in place, pulling her back on his cock as he thrust in, then slackening their hold as he withdrew.
Claire loved it, loved every second, loved him. Loved the force with which he took her. And take her he did, claimed her as his, and she gave herself to him fully, gave her body over to him, to do as he pleased with. Knowing whatever he did would be as pleasing to her.
Then his hand was gone, only one arm pinned her down, and his thrusts slowed. He still filled her, utterly, but the pace was different. Not as demanding.
He slid his hand between her ass cheeks, and something cold and wet touched her hole.
She shrieked, the cold stilling her body.
It didn’t stay cold. Not for long. Jack rubbed it into her, rubbed it around, teased her hole, all the while fucking her pussy.
A sob escaped her throat. She wanted…more. Jack had hauled her past a place where emotion and logic reigned. What he did to her, the sensations he inspired within went way past pure physical need. With the knowledge he loved her all wrapped up in the knowledge she loved him too, Claire threw caution to the wind, and lost
herself to his demanding seduction.
The teasing was exquisite. But not enough. The next time he thrust inside her, she lunged back, lifting her ass up, silently begging for more.
And bless him, he gave it to her. Slid that finger right inside. And not to the knuckle this time. He slid it in all the way.
The breath exploded from her lungs as sensation burst through her pussy.
Jack didn’t miss a beat. He drove his cock inside her, fucking her ass simultaneously with his finger.
She was wild. Wanton. A carnal shrew desperate for more. So she begged for it, and he gave it to her. Gave her more. Slid another finger in her ass.
This time the sensation bordered on pain, and Claire missed a beat, allowing herself time to stretch, to accommodate his fingers. Just as she adapted and felt her ass give, he added a third finger.
The pain wasn’t borderline. It was instant. Burning. She had to breathe through it. But he must have added more of the cold, wet stuff as he’d slid that third finger in, because his fingers glided inside her. Like his cock glided in her pussy. And though she was full, stuffed to capacity, that fullness somehow completed her. Made the pain worthwhile.
As he increased the speed of his thrusts again, his fingers working in time with his hips, so her orgasm began to build.
“Claire, you slay me.” His voice was a hoarse tribute to her. She heard more than sexual desire in it, more than lust. She heard an emotion she couldn’t identify. That emotion filled her heart like his cock and fingers filled her below. “You’re mine, you know? You have been since that first kiss.”
His words flowed over her, and her muscles tensed, preparing for an orgasm.
And once again, he withdrew, pulling away from her, retreating completely, leaving her teetering on the edge.
She screamed. Literally screamed, frustration almost blinding her.
He moved, shuffled behind her, and then his mouth was on her pussy, eating hungrily at her, and his finger was on her clit, rubbing, arousing, demanding.
She couldn’t stop it. Couldn’t hold back the release. It wasn’t what she’d expected. Not at all, but the pressure on her clit was undeniable.
