Black Jack

by Mari Carr

  Setting her on her feet, Jack was prepared when she launched herself at him. He caught her swinging arms, twisting them behind her back. Her gasp of pain caused him to loosen his grip, only to tighten it once more when she landed an excruciating kick against his shin.

  “Let me go, you bastard! You whoreson. You…you…”

  “I think I’m following your theme. Regardless, we are at sea and you are still my prisoner.” He pushed her toward the bed and saw shocked awareness creep into her eyes.

  “You can’t be serious. I won’t lie with you again, you rutting cock. Let go of me! Put me in the hold with the other prisoners. This game is done.”

  He shook his head and pushed her none-too-gently onto his bed. She tried to push herself upright, but he followed her down, trapping her with his body. She struggled with renewed vigor and it took all his strength to pin down her flailing arms. Unfortunately, he failed to capture them before she dug her fingers into his left cheek, her nails leaving gouges that stung painfully.

  Holding her against the mattress, he stilled for a moment, taking stock of his injuries. Once he’d determined he wasn’t bleeding too badly, he turned his attention back to her. Her hair had fallen loose from her chignon and she was breathing heavily—equal parts exhaustion and fear. She’d put up a hell of a fight. His arousal grew. She was an amazing woman.

  “The game isn’t over until I say it is.” He pressed her wrists more tightly as her lips parted with a gasp.

  “I won’t give in to you this time. I won’t stop fighting.”

  “I look forward to the battle. It will make the spoils of war that much sweeter.” He bent down and placed his lips against hers. It wasn’t a gentle kiss or a wooing. He forced her lips open, driving his tongue into her mouth. She wasn’t going to forget him or this night. He intended to leave a mark, to weave himself so deeply into her soul that she’d never be rid of him.

  She tried to twist away from his hard kiss. He moved her arms above her head, capturing her wrists in one hand. With the other, he gripped her hair, holding her in place as he ravished her lips. Plunging his tongue in again, he jerked when she tried to bite him. He moved his face away a few inches, studying her glaring eyes. “You want to play rough, do you?”

  She continued to squirm, her fury knowing no bounds.

  “So be it.”

  He rose from the bed and grabbed a length of rope from the corner. Emma bolted, running for the door. He caught her before she reached the knob. Carrying her as she kicked and screamed, he ignored her blows, his intent clear.

  He threw her back onto the bed, landing on top of her. After several moments of sheer aggression, he managed to secure her hands to the headboard. When she continued to thrash out at him with kicking legs, he tied first one and then the other leg to the corner posts of his footboard. Reaching for the nightstand drawer, he took hold of a knife.

  She gasped, but refused to give up her struggles.

  “I suggest you hold still lest you want to be cut.”

  She froze, panting furiously. She never moved a muscle as he succinctly and systematically cut every inch of material away from her body. Once she lay naked, spread-eagle before him, he rose and slowly stripped off his own clothing.

  Emma fell silent, though her eyes bespoke murder, vengeance, hate. Her anger fueled his, allowing him to escape his pain at letting her go on the morrow.

  “I’ll never forgive you for this,” she whispered when he climbed atop her trembling body and placed his cock at her wet opening.

  But he refused to give up this last evening inside her precious body. “So be it,” he repeated as he thrust inside.

  Jack paused outside the club and tried to cast the disturbing nightmare from his thoughts. The pirate fetish had infiltrated the deepest parts of his psyche, consuming him day and night. He’d relived the fantasy of Black Jack and Emma ever since he’d shared the stage with her, but this latest addition to the story haunted him. Terrified him. He’d never hurt her, never force her. Yet he felt like he was propelling them—propelling her—toward an inevitable outcome. He was afraid of driving her toward a life that would ultimately disgust Emma and cause her to hate him.

  The image of her face in his nightmare returned, as did her words. I’ll never forgive you for this.

  He pushed the thought aside. It wasn’t real. He’d never do anything to hurt her. Never.

  Emma was turning out to be so much more than he’d ever expected in bed. Every night they came together in a rush of overwhelming need, his hunger for her insatiable. He was a selfish bastard for wanting more than she’d already offered. Guilt for taking her publicly in the parking lot had obviously led to the nightmare. He needed to back off. He had no right to ask for anything else. She was a giving, loving, amazing woman and he was a fool and an ass to think anything was missing from their newfound relationship.

  He took a steadying breath and tried to release some of the tension in his shoulders. He wouldn’t lose her. He couldn’t.

  Walking into Scoundrels, he spotted his girlfriend instantly. He grinned at the thought. Emma was his girlfriend. It was incredible how natural their changed status seemed. It felt like they were trying to make up for a lifetime of sheer blind stupidity. His perfect partner had been standing next to him his entire life and he’d never managed to put two and two together.

  She had her back to him, standing with the hostess as they looked at the list of people waiting for a table. It was Saturday night and the club was hopping with partygoers, celebrating the weekend with drinks and sex—either real or imagined. Emma was wearing a short skirt and silky blouse, her hair pulled back in a low ponytail that made his fingers itch to release it just to watch it fall over her shoulders.

  She shook her head and, by her demeanor, it was clear she trying to sort out some problem. He hung back for several moments, watching her in her natural environment. She was in her element, poised and professional. The hostess listened to Emma’s instructions intently, nodding occasionally.

  Once it appeared she had dealt with the problem, he moved, remaining behind her. Stepping close, he put his hands over her eyes, leaning forward to whisper in her ear. “Have you been a good girl?”

  He felt her cheeks lift as she smiled. “Hell no,” she said. “Where’s the fun in that?”

  He grinned at her response. Emma was everything he’d ever wanted in a woman. She removed his hands on her eyes and turned to face him.

  “Does this mean I need to punish you later?”

  “Why wait?” she teased.

  He took a deep breath and felt the resurgence of his cock. That didn’t take long. He’d become accustomed to walking around with a hard-on every time Emma appeared. Of course, his fantasies about her tended to keep him riding at half-mast even when she wasn’t around. “Don’t tempt me.”

  She winked at him. “Why not? I’ve missed you today.”

  “You’re asking for it. I’m warning you now. I’m a man on the edge.”

  He heard her quick intake of breath and watched her face flush with arousal. Jesus, she wanted him too. He couldn’t wait. Maybe they could find somewhere relatively private… “As I recall, there’s a storage closet off the back hallway. Start walking.”

  She bit her lip, looking around the crowded club, then she turned in the direction of the closet. He’d sworn after the incident in the parking lot he wouldn’t put her in an uncomfortable position at work again. Christ, he’d decided as much just before walking into the nightclub. What was wrong with him? Where was his willpower?

  He followed Emma down a dark passage, trying to convince himself to stop now. They paused outside the door but before he could rescind the invitation, she pulled him inside, closing the door behind them.

  To hell with it. He needed her. It was as simple as that.

  He pulled her face toward his, initiating a strong kiss. His need for control surfaced whenever she was within a few feet of him. He loved commanding this powerful woman, knowing she be
nt to his will alone.

  He pushed her against the wall, thrusting his tongue between her parted lips as he pulled her hair free of its constraining band.

  She pushed back a fraction of an inch. “Hey, I’m still on the clock. You’re messing up my hair.”

  He ignored her complaint, pulling her face back to his, resuming the kiss. He wanted more of her. Reaching down, he lifted her leg to his waist, letting his fingers dip beneath the flimsy material of her skirt. She moved her hips back, allowing him easier access to her pussy.

  She mewled softly when he delved beneath her panties and pressed one finger inside her. She shuddered slightly as he began to thrust shallowly, his thumb rubbing her clit. As he played with her cunt, he continued to worship her lips—determined to share her space, her air, her cries.

  “God, Jack,” she whispered. Her pussy muscles clenched tightly and he sensed she was nearing an orgasm—when a voice in the hallway disrupted the private paradise they’d created in the tiny closet.

  “How many packs do you need?” a male voice called out to someone.

  Emma lowered her leg quickly, the motion forcing Jack to remove his hand from her wet depths. Her skirt fell back into place and they separated as the door opened. The man—a busboy, judging from his uniform—seemed startled to see them. When his gaze landed on Emma and her mussed-up hair, he stammered, “Sorry, Ms. Potter. I didn’t know you were in here.”

  Jack saw a faint blush cover Emma’s cheeks and he felt guilty. Once again, he’d put her in a precarious spot at work. He needed to get a handle on himself and his desires before he pushed her away with his demands. His feelings for Emma were strong and true. The last thing he wanted to do was hurt her by forcing her into situations that made her uneasy.

  “Did you need something, Pete?” Jack was impressed by the steadiness of Emma’s voice. She never let anything fluster her for long.

  “We’re out of napkins,” Pete replied, red-faced with embarrassment.

  Emma pointed to a shelf on the opposite wall. “They’re over there.”

  Pete hastily grabbed two large packages of napkins, turning for the door and his escape. “Thanks. And um…sorry!”

  Pete closed the door behind him. Jack turned and gave Emma a guilty grin. If the busboy hadn’t spoken before entering, they would have been caught in a much more risqué arrangement. He’d been seconds away from unzipping his pants and driving his cock into Emma’s cunt.

  “Damn,” Emma muttered. Jack knew it bothered her to be caught making out with her boyfriend while on the job. Emma took work very seriously.

  “Sorry,” he said, with an apologetic shrug.

  She gave him a rueful grin. “Busted.”

  He laughed, pleased by her amazing resilience. Somehow she always found a way to find the humor in any situation. “What do you say we cool off with a couple of drinks at the bar?”

  Emma glanced back at the door and Jack wondered at her reticence. Surely she didn’t want to continue where they’d left off. Did she?

  “Emma?”

  “I saved us a table for the fantasy show,” she said.

  Jack just barely restrained from groaning aloud. He was finding it extremely difficult to keep from pulling her skirt up, bending her over a stack of boxes and fucking her senseless. With any other woman, that’s exactly what he would do, but he couldn’t do that to Emma. He wasn’t trying to get laid. He wanted the whole enchilada—a relationship, love, trust, commitment. If that meant he needed to curb his twisted kinks for a lifetime, then that’s what he’d do.

  “Jack?” she asked quietly. “Don’t you want to see the show?”

  He wanted to fucking be in the show. With her. There was no way he could sit in that darkened theater and keep his hands to himself.

  Instead of speaking the truth, however, he heard himself say, “Sure. The show sounds great.”

  He waited while Emma attempted to put her hair back in its ponytail. He used the time to try to convince his cock to deflate a bit. It was going to be tough walking through the club with an erection the size of his forearm.

  “Okay?” he asked when she smoothed the material of her skirt.

  “Yep.” She opened the door and he did a quick readjustment of his cock. His hard-on clearly wasn’t going anywhere. This was going to be a long night.

  As they settled themselves in the corner booth Emma had reserved, Jack knew he was in deep shit. If she’d chosen one of the more visible tables toward the front of the auditorium, he’d have found it easier to restrain himself. Instead, she’d placed them in the back, tucked away in one of the darkest, most secluded areas of the club.

  In other words, all bets were off.

  He couldn’t watch the sexual fantasy onstage and not touch her. He swore to himself he’d go slowly. If Emma stiffened up or gave him the slightest inclination that she was uncomfortable, he’d find a way to stop. Otherwise, she was going to find herself with a pussy full of fingers very shortly.

  The lights dimmed as the music cued the beginning of the show. The stage was sparsely furnished and Jack quickly realized this week’s theme was a striptease act. Four scantily clad women danced around poles that had been positioned at various places on the stage. Their movements were fluid, sensual, hot as hell.

  Jack moved closer to Emma on the booth’s bench seat. Reaching down, he gripped her right knee and pulled until her leg straddled one of his. The position left her open for his questing fingers.

  He halfheartedly watched the dancers while he used his peripheral vision to try to read Emma’s reactions to his touch. He lightly caressed the soft skin at the inside of her upper thigh and he heard Emma’s struggle to take a steady breath.

  The women’s movements around the poles slowed as the music grew louder and four men walked onto the stage, carrying chairs. Each man positioned himself beside one of the dancers and the women’s performances resumed. This time, Jack found himself enthralled by the responses of the males. He shared their painful needs, understood how difficult it was to sit next to sex personified and not be able to release those desires.

  Emma’s hand tentatively rubbed his covered cock and he gritted his teeth. An image of her dancing in front of him clouded his vision to everything in the club. She’d twirl and twist sinuously until he freed his dick, rubbing the hard flesh with his fist. Then he’d bid her drop to her knees to suck him.

  The speed of her strokes beneath the table picked up and she pressed harder. He imitated the movement, driving two fingers deep inside her pussy, both of them oblivious to the actors onstage.

  He wrapped his other arm around her, pulling her closer, enjoying the feel of her hot breath on his face. They were struggling to remain quiet, to keep the motions of their hands beneath the table subtle enough that those at neighboring tables wouldn’t know what they were doing. The concealment of their actions drove Jack’s arousal higher, lost in their secret world of give and take.

  Jack brushed her clit with his thumb and Emma gasped. Both of them stilled at the sound, waiting to see if anyone else had heard. A waitress walked by with a tray of drinks, but she bypassed their table without glancing their way. Jack crooked his fingers inside Emma.

  “I want to touch you,” Emma whispered. Her fingers tightened around his cock as best they could, given the constraints of his pants.

  They were pushing the limits of acceptable behavior already. If she released his dick, he’d never manage to restrain from fucking her right here, right now. Public indecency arrests be damned.

  He shook his head. “Later. I’m going to push you to your knees and you’re going to suck my cock until I explode. Then you’re going to drink down every single drop of my come.”

  His sensual promise had her eyes drifting shut and her pussy clenching around his fingers until he added, “But not here, Emma. Not now.”

  She opened her eyes and looked at him. He watched as she recalled their surroundings and removed her hand from his cock. She apparently expected him to
follow suit.

  He grinned and shook his head. “You’re not waiting.”

  She frowned, confused.

  “You’re coming now.”

  He began to move his fingers inside her cunt, faster, harder. Her hand wrapped around his wrist, but he refused to stop.

  His thumb rubbed her clit firmly and she shuddered. He sensed she was fighting to remain quiet, perhaps even struggling not to come. He wouldn’t give her that option. He added a third finger and leaned closer, whispering in her ear. Nothing sent Emma over the edge faster than dirty talk.

  “Don’t fight this, Emma. Don’t fight me. I own this cunt and this body and I want to watch you disintegrate right here, with all these people around us.”

  She shook her head, her eyes closing slowly, and he knew she was still holding back.

  “Goddamn it,” he whispered, keeping his voice low. “Don’t you dare refuse me. Keep fighting this and I’ll take you home and beat your ass until you can’t sit comfortably for a week.”

  The threat hit home. Not because of fear, but because of Emma’s pure, unabashed love of his hand striking her bare ass. He’d given her several sexual spankings over the past two weeks and her resulting orgasms were some of the strongest he’d ever witnessed.

  “Please,” she hissed as her inner muscles compressed, clamping down on his fingers painfully.

  “Now,” he murmured.

  She jerked when he crooked his fingers inside her. Her hand flew to his upper arm, gripping it tightly as she tried to ride out her orgasm in silence. The music reached a crescendo, the noise helping to drown out her quiet moans. The spotlights on the stage flashed in a variety of colors, casting Emma’s gorgeous face in a rainbow, highlighting her ecstasy.

  As the music dimmed and the theater went dark with the end of the show, Jack removed his fingers, making sure her skirt covered her once more. As the house lights came on, he glanced at his girlfriend and felt a twinge of guilt surface once more. Christ. He’d done it again.