Jackson turned in his chair and stared at Marti again, feeling his cheeks burn because his best friends now had a view into Marti’s dirty little mind that he had loved keeping as his own private treasure. Jackson didn’t like sharing Marti with them. And therein lay the big fat issue.
A cough sounded, drawing his attention back to his crew.
“She serious?” Gus asked, his gaze shooting to Marti like he was seeing her clearly for the first time.
“As a heart attack,” he said dryly.
“It’s not a long list,” Mondo said, his voice tight—no doubt because he was trying not to laugh. “You plan this right, you could take care of every one of them over a long weekend.”
Jackson nodded. “I asked for time off. Starting tomorrow.”
“Wow.” Mondo’s lips pursed. His gaze narrowed. “And you’re telling us because you need a little help?”
Jackson drew a deep breath. “I don’t want it to be strangers. And I need this kept on the down-low.”
Beau nodded. “Last thing you’d want is for the whole station house to get wind of it.”
“Exactly.”
“Craig and I have the strip tomorrow night,” Mondo said, fighting a grin. “We could arrange something. Make sure you two aren’t arrested.”
Gus leaned forward. “I’m off tomorrow night.”
Jackson gave him a hard-edged glare.
Gus shrugged, his lips curving slightly at the corners. “It’s her list. Sooner we get ‘er done…”
Jackson’s neck tightened. “Get ‘er done?”
Soft laughter erupted around the table.
Gus raised both hands. “One of us has to go first.”
Jackson wiped a hand across his face. Shit. They were really going to do this. “All right. You’re up tomorrow.” He cringed at his word choice as the laughter grew.
Craig cleared his throat. “Saturday, I’ll make sure my car’s free. But I’m off after midnight.”
“Let me know when you’re in place, and I’ll be there too,” Gus said.
“Saturday’s gonna be tricky,” Beau said. “I’ll call in sick. You’ll have us all at your beck and call.”
Saturday was gonna kill him.
Jackson tapped the list with is forefinger. “Sunday? Maybe if we count just after midnight…”
The men nodded their heads. They wore the same expressions they had when they’d all faced the last physical evaluation at the academy. Pumped. Excited. Determined.
Craig leaned forward in his seat. “Come Monday, bro, she won’t have any excuses left.”
Marti watched Jackson’s table out of the corner of her eye. The way the men huddled around it, their voices pitched low, she knew something was up.
If things weren’t so hinky between her and Jackson, she’d make up an excuse, take another round of beers to the table, but Jackson had been so quiet since he’d read her list that she didn’t dare. Not without an invitation.
She wished she could take it back. Tell him it was just her fears getting the best of her. What they had was so good, she knew sooner or later she’d mess it up. And it looked like she already had.
He hadn’t spoken a word about it. But she could see the suspicion in his eyes every time he looked at her, like he thought that maybe she didn’t think he was enough. Lord, did he think she was a slut or a badge bunny? Not to be trusted because she had some pretty wild fantasies?
Craig leaned back in his chair. His head swiveled her way. She gave up pretending she wasn’t watching them and met his gaze. He lifted one finger, then aimed it around the table. They needed refills.
Relief surged through her. She hoped the guys hadn’t picked up on Jackson’s vibes and would feel like they needed to shun her, but she was willing to take the risk. She missed their usual teasing and flirting.
She filled the tray with each of their preferred drinks, then twirled the tray up on one hand and strode with conviction toward their table. All the guys, save Jackson, watched her, but the way they studied her curves had her stomach dropping to her toes. Jackson had shared The List with them.
Disappointment stung her eyes. Heat flared in her cheeks. As she drew near she lowered the tray and dealt out paper coasters like a blackjack dealer, which she’d once been, then walked around the table to set a beer on each one.
“Can I get you boys anything else,” she asked, cringing at the scratchy note in her voice.
Craig pulled her arm and brought her closer, then lifted a ten in the other and slid it into the front pocket of her jeans. He did it slowly, and his fingers lingered.
Her breath caught and her gaze shot to Jackson, who’d been watching her all along. Not a hint of what he thought was revealed. But his eyes smoldered.
Was it anger? Or was he turned on?
She could work with either. Lifting her chin, she gazed down her nose at Craig. “Thanks for the tip,” she drawled, then turned and walked away with a sultry wiggle of her hips.
A chair scraped behind her, and one corner of her mouth curved. She jerked her chin at Jenna the waitress, their signal that she wasn’t to be disturbed, dropped the tray on the counter and headed back to her office with a little more speed.
Before she could shut the door behind her, Jackson’s body blocked it.
She didn’t say a word. Simply walked backward, opening buttons down the front of her dark blue blouse and letting it slid off her arms, then reaching behind her to unsnap her bra. When she was nude from the waist up, she hopped up on the edge of her desk and opened her thighs.
No way could he miss the fact she wasn’t wearing any panties.
“Did you forget somethin’?” he ground out.
Not responding, she leaned back on her elbows.
Jackson cursed under his breath but strode toward her. His hands clamped on her knees and shoved them wider apart, which caused her skirt to rise. His glance dropped to her bare pussy.
When he went to his knees, she let out the breath she’d been holding, only to gasp when his mouth closed around her hooded clit and drew hard.
He suckled, drawing blood to engorge it. The rounded knot hardened, the hood receded.
She lay back on the desk and draped her legs over his shoulders as he continued to torture that one vibrant little spot.
When fingers entered her vagina, she mewled. Moisture greeted them, slicking them as he slipped in and out. A finger, maybe his thumb, teased beneath her pussy, gliding toward her asshole. She stiffened, but he growled, letting her know she didn’t have any say, that he’d take what he wanted.
She didn’t mind it when he took charge. He’d never been harsh, never selfish. And even though they’d been wary around each other these past two days, she still trusted that about him.
A roughened pad teased the delicate opening then pushed against it.
Her breath caught. Her heels dug into his back. The tight ring resisted, burning as he continued to force his way inside.
“Breathe,” he rasped.
She’d forgotten how, but pursed her lips and blew, trying to relax enough to let him inside. Something wet and warm dripped onto her perineum, then slid toward her asshole. It was just enough lubricant.
His tongue slicked once over her hardened clit. Cool air brushed it. Then the tip of his tongue flicked the rigid knot, feathering it with soft lashes as he drove his thumb and fingers into her body. The door wasn’t locked. Anyone might twist the knob and look inside, but she didn’t care.
They needed this. They’d made love every time they were alone, but it had been perfunctory, lasting only long enough for them both to reach their peaks, but ending far too quickly. The intensity had been lacking, and she’d missed it.
Something was different tonight. She felt it in the air. Something electric. Dangerous.
Not wanting to miss a single sensation to lingering doubts, she closed her eyes and gave herself over to his caresses.
Jackson filled her cunt with his fingers, giving her the girth she need
ed. Her muscles tightened around him. Her ass burned, but she found she liked it—loved the base, crude thought of his fingering her ass. Lord, someday she’d want to take his cock there. Why hadn’t she put that on her list? She hadn’t known there was pleasure in the act.
Again and again, he eased in and out, lashing her clit with his tongue until she made those sounds again, and her body began to convulse with pleasure. His mouth latched on to her distended clit and pulled, and that was all it took. She clutched her own breasts, squeezing the tips, and came—so hard she banged her head against the desk and beat his back with her heels as she writhed.
The moment stretched. The tense coil of pleasure in her belly unwound…slowly.
When he stood, she opened her eyes, meeting his bleak glance. Tears filled her eyes, blurring his frame. He turned away.
That was when she saw someone else standing behind him. She gasped and blinked.
It was Mondo, and he held up a white wash cloth. Over his shoulder he said, “Jackson, go wash your hands. I have things handled here.”
She remained mute, flabbergasted that Jackson would allow it, but Jackson opened the door and left her with Mondo.
Marti began to close her legs, but he stepped between them and tapped her clit. “Keep ’em open.” He washed her like a baby, rubbing the wet cloth over her swollen sex, then trailing downward.
Her cheeks burned, but he held her gaze the whole time, challenge in his dark eyes.
“You saw the list,” she whispered.
“Jackson needs players.”
His slight Hispanic accent was more pronounced, something she’d noticed happened when he was tense. “You must think I’m—“
“Scared. That’s what I think. I’m not judging you. None of us are. Trust us to have both of your best interests at heart.”
When he finished washing her, he stepped back and bent to retrieve her clothing.
She pushed off the desk, stood on wobbly legs and pushed down her skirt, although it was a little late for modesty.
“Jackson loves you,” he said, gliding the bra up her arms and turning her to close the clasps. He didn’t stop there. He reached over her shoulders and slid his hands into the cups to arrange her breasts, one at a time. “This will be our privilege,” he whispered, then kissed her cheek.
His footsteps faded, and she was left alone, a hand pressed against her belly to still the excited flutters.
Flustered and sweating, she exited her office, needing to wash up in the restroom before returning to help Jenna the barmaid. They were short-staffed, and she owed Jenna big-time for covering for her. Managing a bar didn’t mean she could sit back and let everyone else do the work. More often than not, she pitched in when things got busy.
She locked her office door, then turned, slamming into a wiry, lean figure. The guy, wearing a dark T-shirt and New Orleans Saints ball cap, didn’t say a word, muscling past her and heading to the emergency exit at the end of the hallway. She got a glimpse of his profile, a large hooked nose and small receding chin. And pimples.
“Hey!” she called after him. “Are you even old enough to be in here?”
The man didn’t turn around, just lifted a hand and shot her the finger, before pushing through the back door.
“Jerk,” she muttered. But she couldn’t remain annoyed. Not when her body felt so relaxed, so wonderfully loved. Jackson had taken her list to heart and enlisted the help of his best friends.
Good Lord, it was really going to happen.
Chapter Four
So far, her first fantasy wasn’t living up to her expectations.
Marti was tempted to take off the large, dark sunglasses which hid her features. Other than the lamplight illuminating the street corner, the shadowed alleys were pitch dark. Ominous. Every scrape and skitter made her jump in her four-inch heels.
Worse, the corset she’d donned bit into her ribs, making it hard to take a deep breath, so she panted. Jackson ought to like that. If he ever got there.
And where were the other guys?
Every one of them, even those on duty, had their marching orders, or so she’d been told. Jackson hadn’t filled her in. Craig had—while she’d given him a fashion show of her sluttiest outfits before he’d headed to work.
He’d sat on the edge of her mattress while she retreated to the bathroom to change until she’d finally found clothing he approved. The “fuck-me” red heels—his words—had passed muster first. Then she’d strutted in short tight skirts, fishnet hose, bustiers, layering T-shirts that were nearly transparent because they were meant to be worn with a cami, but he’d been insistent. Told her no underwear. When she’d stood in front of him with tonight’s outfit—the black bustier and ass-hugging leather miniskirt—he’d tugged down the upper edge of her top to see how accessible her boobs were, or so he said.
Because she faced a mirror, she could see her cheeks turn an unflattering tomato-red as he stared at and then fondled her breasts. “Does Jackson know you’re doing this?” she’d gasped as he fingered a tight nipple.
His mouth curved into a sly grin. “He said we could do what we wanted short of penetration.”
She’d sputtered. “What?”
“Marti-mine-for-the-moment, you may as well get comfortable with it. There’s not much we won’t see or touch.” The hard glint in his eyes, a look she’d never seen in those mossy green orbs before, had made her shiver.
He gave one nipple a quick, gentle twist then pulled up the garment to cover her again. “We better head downstairs. Your carriage awaits.”
Mondo’s squad car had deposited her on this street corner after he’d given her strict instructions not to speak to anyone who might pass by, until she saw Jackson’s car. However, her disgruntled promise not to deviate from the plan might be hard to keep. The two women who stood next to the curb ten feet away were eyeing her with malice.
One of them, a tall back girl with a zebra halter top and shiny black boots, fisted a hand on one hip. Her lips, glittering with a sparkly gloss, pushed into a belligerent pout. “Whatchoo doin’ on our corner?”
Marti glanced away, trying to ignore the taller woman although a response was right on the tip of her tongue. Somehow, she knew that saying, “I’m waiting for my cop boyfriend to show up,” wouldn’t win her any brownie points. So she ignored her, turning her head to watch cars prowl down the dimly lit street.
A car, an older model red Plymouth with a loud muffler, pulled to the side of the curb beside the other two girls.
Marti watched, fascinated, as their expressions turned sultry, and they bent low to give the driver a peek at their deep cleavage.
“Lookin’ for a good time?” the girl with the glittery lips said, her smile widening.
Marti eyed the woman’s ass as she leaned lower. She didn’t seem to care that her skirt rode up in the back to show a glimpse of the half-moons of her ass.
As close as they were, Marti couldn’t hear the driver’s muffled response, but Glitter Lips’ mouth pouted. She straightened and banged her fist on the roof of the car as it rolled toward Marti.
Marti tried to take a step back, but one heel caught in the seam between the curb and the sidewalk. Now, she could leave her shoe behind or topple over into the street. She straightened and cleared her face of panic as the window slid down. She gave a quick glance up and down the street. No sight of her bodyguards. Had they abandoned her to teach her a lesson?
With her heart beating loudly in her ears, she bent to look into the car, peering over the top of her sunglasses, trying to figure out how to discourage this particular John. “I’m not available at the moment,” she said breathlessly—bending in the corset cinched her diaphragm.
The driver’s side was too dark to make out the man’s features. “What? My money not good enough for you?”
The voice was husky but familiar, and she leaned further inside to squint at the driver, but the ball cap he wore kept his face obscured. All she saw was a huge frame and large shov
el-like hands curved around the steering wheel.
Marti shivered. She wouldn’t stand a chance if he decided he wouldn’t take no for an answer. Where the hell was Jackson? She couldn’t believe he’d left her swinging in the wind like this? Had his car broken down? Had he been in accident?
If he wasn’t dead, she was gonna kill him. “Um, I’m sure your money’s fine,” she said, trying to keep her tone even, “but I have an appointment.”
He snorted. “An appointment? What kinda ho are you?”
Marti’s eyes bugged. “What the fuck kind of man are you? Does your wife know where you are?”
“You know ‘er?” he asked, his voice getting smaller.
“No, but if I get your license plate, I can find her.”
“You’re a crazy bitch.” His head canted. “Sure you don’t wanna take a ride around the block?”
She straightened, pushing up her sunglasses, and turned her hips to angle her body away. The heel came free, and she stepped hastily away from the car.
The John’s burly shadow leaned toward her. “You change your mind…”
Marti jutted her chin. “In your dreams.”
As the Plymouth pulled away, another car drove up—a sleek black Camry with tinted windows.
“What the hell?” Glitter Lips flipped Marti the finger.
Marti straightened and crossed her arms over her chest, not lowering her gaze when the window glided silently down.
“How much?”
Her head swiveled. “What? Not even gonna try to be polite? No wonder you have to buy a girlfriend.”
A choked chuckle sounded from inside, and she leaned toward the window, squinting over the tops of her shades. Jackson’s profile in the darkness was distinctive.
Five Ways 'Til Sunday Page 3
