He seemed so eager she thought maybe he was the one excited by the idea. Maybe he was too manly to admit a carriage ride in a “princess” carriage was enticing. “You know, as long as I’ve lived here, I’ve never taken a ride in one of these.”
Jackson grinned and fished in his pocket for a couple twenties, handing them to the driver. “Take us by the river?”
“Scrape the dirt off your shoes before you step up,” the driver said, his voice brisk now.
With few cars still on the street, the ride was quiet except for the steady plod of the horse’s hooves.
Marti sighed and snuggled close. “This is nice.” She yawned.
“Don’t you dare go to sleep on me,” he growled.
“Got plans?”
“You know I do.”
She glanced at the driver’s back, then whispered. “Plans that require…complicated choreography?”
Jackson laughed, lifted her hand and placed it squarely on his crotch. “Maybe.”
“None of that now,” the driver groused. “This here’s a fam’ly-orientated buggy ride.”
Her eyes widened. His back was still turned. How’d he know she was feeling her man up?
Jackson pressed her hand harder against himself, molding her fingers around the impressive bulge beneath his fly.
But she slipped her hand away, jerking her chin toward the driver. “Behave yourself,” she whispered.
“Fine.” However, he picked up her hand again and kept it inside his.
They settled back against the padded seat.
“You don’t have to finish it, you know. That list—”
Jackson’s mouth quirked up at one corner. “Was a crock, right?”
“Right,” she thoughtfully, eyeing his expression because it was growing more devilish by the moment. “How’d you know?”
“You’re adventurous, but the things you wrote… Well, they weren’t you.”
Unable to hold his steady stare, she glanced away, noting they’d turned onto Jefferson, heading toward the road that flanked the Mississippi. “I’m sorry if I pushed you too far.”
Jackson squeezed her hand. “I’m not,” he said quietly. “We got to play a bit. And maybe you got to see I’m not such a stick in the mud.”
“I never thought that. In fact, you’re so far from dull… Jackson?”
“Baby, just snuggle up. We don’t have to talk. We can have the driver drop us near our place when we’re done.”
“You’re not still mad at me, are you?”
“Not even a little bit. I’ve enjoyed givin’ you your little fantasies too.”
Marti didn’t know what she felt. Relieved the lie was over? Or disappointed because some of the things on that list had come from a part of her she hadn’t known existed and she still might like to give them a try?
Still, he wasn’t angry and didn’t seem disappointed in her. But he hadn’t asked her that question again either. Had he changed his mind?
Jackson tucked a finger under her chin and turned her face toward him. “You okay?”
When had she become such a crybaby? Marti blinked, hoping the darkness hid the wetness welling in her eyes. “I’m fine. Just tired.”
“Then it’s a damn good thing I didn’t make you walk. You’re gonna need everything you have left.”
Marti gave him a crooked smile. “Am I ever too tired for that?”
“No funny stuff back there,” the driver muttered.
Jackson laughed and settled back in his seat, wrapping his arm around Marti’s shoulders. She laid her head on his arm and watched as they turned onto Riverside Drive and clomped toward the park nestled at the edge of the Mississippi. Streetlamps stretched down the drive, and if she blurred her eyes, they looked like shiny crystals strung together. Sitting beside Jackson, enjoying the silence and the feel of the solid body beside her, she began to dream of what a lifetime of such silences might be like.
For once, the thought didn’t leave her feeling like an indigestible meal sat at the bottom of her stomach. Her body relaxed, her chest filled with an aching warmth. Jackson would be a good husband and father. What more could she ask for? He’d already proven he could put up with her crazy shit.
“My dad used to take us on carriage rides,” Jackson said. “Not often, ’cause we only had his cop’s salary, but he knew folks—some of the drivers—and they’d cut him a break. I acted like I didn’t appreciate it. My sister was all about bein’ a princess, and me and my brothers would make fun of her until dad would give us the look.”
“The look?”
Jackson smiled with faraway look in his eyes. “Yeah, I never quite knew what it meant, I just knew it scared the shit out of me. Then we’d behave and let sis enjoy it.”
“Think he knew you liked it too?”
“Yeah, he’d wink after a while. He knew we were boys. We had to make some noise about it first. I mean, ridin’ in a princess carriage with glittery lights?”
His grunt made her smile and think about a young Jackson entranced by the ride, but hiding it behind a boyish gruffness.
He kissed her forehead. “What about you? You rarely talk about your childhood.”
“I was an Army brat. We moved a lot. Not much to tell.”
“You keep any friends?”
“Nah. We’d always lose touch. You learned to make new friends everywhere you go. That’s easier.”
“That’s no way to bring up a kid.”
Marti shrugged. “It wasn’t a bad life. I got to see things. Travel.”
“But you never learned how to stay put. You never got to sink deep roots. Didn’t you ever miss that?”
“Sure. I’d think about it whenever dad got new orders, but then we’d get busy, throwing out things, skinnying down the household. When mom was alive, she’d make it feel like this great big adventure. Like the journey to dad’s next duty station was a long safari.”
“And when she passed?”
Marti sighed. “Then it was just Dad and me. And I was in charge of organizing things.”
“Do you miss him?”
“Sure, but he’s got his buddies. They play golf, go fishing. He’s got a full life.”
“Did he cut you adrift?”
“It wasn’t like that. I went to college. After that I took a job teaching English in China.”
“He let you go, just like that?”
Again, she shrugged, trying to pretend she really didn’t mind that her father had let her go so easily. “Why wouldn’t he?”
Jackson pulled her closer. A kiss landed on her cheek. “I wouldn’t let my little girl go without a layin’ a lot of guilt on her, big-time. And she’d be seein’ me holidays, birthdays. I’d wear her down until she came back. I’d never let her doubt how much I love her.”
Marti glanced up. “How’d you know?”
“That he doesn’t tell you he loves you?”
She cleared her throat. “Yeah.”
“Because he never taught you how to love, baby.”
Marti glanced away, stricken. “How can you say that? What is it we’ve been doing?”
“A lot of fuckin’.”
“Didn’t need to hear that. La-la-la-la,” the carriage driver chimed in.
Marti wrinkled her nose at the driver’s back. “See why this won’t work?” she whispered harshly.
“I’m a good teacher, Marti. I learned from the best.”
“Your mom?”
“Yes.”
“My mom was loving too,” Marti said, her voice tight. “She was the glue that held our family together.
“But you felt abandoned when she died.”
“Dad was there.”
“But he was busy. And likely grief stricken. He didn’t know what to do with a little girl. Didn’t understand how to make you feel secure.”
Marti’s gaze locked with his. There was no judgment, no pity in his expression. Just that quietly intense stare of his. He was there for her. All she had to do was ask for his suppor
t, his loving.
“How’d you get so smart?” she asked gruffly.
“I’m not. I’ve just had a lot of time to think about us. About what’s wrong with us. I’m gonna finish your education. Show you what lovin’s all about.”
She gave him a sideways glance. “Oh yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“Does this lesson have anything to do with why we’ve taken the slow route home?”
“Maybe.”
“Do you have another surprise for me waiting there?”
“The boys have been workin’ on it as we speak.”
Marti shook her head, excitement giving her butterflies in her belly. “The List again?” At his nod, she shrugged, trying to pretend a little nonchalance. “But I just told you it’s bogus.”
Jackson bent toward her ear. “It may have started as a way for you to erect a barrier between us, but I think it serves another purpose now. Mine. I’m gonna show you how much I love you. How willin’ I am to walk through fire for you, baby.”
The low growling texture of his voice made her wet. She squirmed on the seat beside him, then gave him a glance from under the fringe of her eyelashes. “Has it been that bad?” she cooed.
His expression tightened. “Like havin’ toothpicks crammed under my fingernails.”
Marti sighed. “I’m sorry I ever started this. I don’t want to cause you any pain.”
“Don’t. You don’t have a thing to apologize for, and if you haven’t figured it out, my buddies are part of my extended family. We love and trust one another. This game we’re playin’ is makin’ you a part of us. You’ve got family now, Marti.”
She blinked her eyes. “It’s a damn incestuous family you have, Jackson Teague.”
He gave her a crooked smile. “We’re southern boys, what’d you expect? And baby, you don’t know the half of it. Just you wait.”
Chapter Seven
Jackson twisted the key in the lock. Inside the apartment, the lights were dim in the foyer, but a golden glow emanated from around the corner. He reached back and wrapped an arm around Marti’s waist and pulled her inside.
She dug in her heels. “My list wasn’t all that detailed…”
“Worried?” He kept his voice calm and cheerful, knowing it riled her.
“Scared to death.”
And she probably was given the scowl on her face. He closed the door, but also kept hold of her hand in case she tried to flee. She tugged, but stomped a couple feet farther into the apartment.
“All it said was ‘A Ménage’,” she whispered. “That could mean a lot of things. Could even mean that we watch one, but never actually do it.”
“We already did one,” he said amiably.
Her cheeks flushed. “The little blow thing?”
“Blow thing? It was a blowjob. Deep throat. Tail wagging and you bleatin’ like a lamb.”
Her scowl deepened. “No need to get nasty.”
He grinned. “I’m not. But I do want you out of those clothes.”
“Now?”
“Yeah. When you walk in there, you need to be naked.”
Marti glared, shaking her head. “You’re not gonna leave me an inch of pride.”
“What’s pride got to do with it? This is about pleasure, sweet pea—so much cup runnin’ over pleasure that you’ll be too weak to say no to me ever again.”
Her jaw dropped.
“Don’t get ahead of yourself.” Letting go of her hand, he tipped it closed with a finger under her chin.
“Man, you don’t do things by halves, do you?”
“You’re the one who threw down the glove.”
“I was protecting you.”
“Do I look like I need it?” He crossed his arms over his chest. “Strip.”
“What about you?”
“This is about you. Now we can do this the easy way…”
Marti didn’t need the “or” spelled out. If she didn’t do exactly as he said, he’d do it for her, and she’d have a new set of marks on her ass. “Where’s the incentive?” she grumbled.
“Baby, do you really want me to bend you over and spank you in front of them? Would you rather have one of them do it?”
She guessed she mulled that one over so long he thought she was seriously contemplating the suggestion, because he made a noise and stepped toward her, his hands dragging up her blouse and throwing it into a corner. Then busy fingers unsnapped, unbuttoned and tossed until she stood nude in front of him.
He gripped her shoulders, turned her toward the corner then gave her bottom a swat. “Get on in there. You’re keepin’ everybody waitin’.”
Embarrassment burned her face and breasts, but she kept her hands dangling by her sides and strode into the living room.
They’d performed a transformation.
The sofa and loveseat were pushed out of the way against one wall. Tables lined the opposite side of the room. Easily a dozen white candles blazed on every surface. In the center of their beige shag carpet was the red jacquard chaise from the bedroom, draped in fluffy pillows. She could only imagine what they had in mind.
As for the men, they stood shirtless, in blue jeans, a host of broad chests, naked skin gleaming with oil. Grins stretched across their faces as they all inspected her, head-to-toe. Thank God for the wax job she’d had at the salon a week ago.
Beau cleared his throat and broke rank, striding toward her and holding out his hand, palm up. Marti drew a deep breath, unsure and beginning to quiver.
Beau was the one who made her the most nervous, because he rarely gave away a thing he thought. Not by expression or word. The tribal tat encircling his upper arm only added to his aura of danger.
His hand wrapped around hers. Then squeezed. He bent toward her, until he mouth grazed her cheek. “Don’t be afraid.”
“I’m not. Not really. This is just…not something I ever really thought I’d want.”
“But you do now?”
Her gaze locked with his. She nodded. “Is he going to hate me?” she whispered.
One corner of his mouth twitched. “I’ll let you in on something. Something Mondo figured out.”
“What’s that?”
“Jackson liked your list.” He waggled his eyebrows. “Play hard. Make him sweat.” He straightened away, then held his hand aloft, as though escorting a princess toward a staircase—only he led her to the chaise.
By gesture, he placed her on the seat, her back supported by cushions.
As soon as she leaned back and drew a deep breath, three of Jackson’s friends moved in, kneeling around her. Beau, kneeling at the end, grasped her ankles and pulled apart her legs. Craig grabbed a long cylindrical pillow from under the lounger and placed it beneath one of her knees. Gus did the same with the other.
With her legs spread and her knees raised, every one of them had a view of her pussy. Her wet and swollen pussy.
Mondo, standing behind Beau, snapped his fingers. The men around her rose and began to strip away their clothing.
“Long as y’all don’t start dancing,” Marti gibed.
Mondo’s dark brow arched.
“Well, you look prettier than Chippendales, and you’re all getting naked.”
“You nervous?”
She lifted her chin. “’Course not.”
“Then you must be bored.” His jaw firmed. “Play with those pretty tits while we get comfortable.”
“Tits?” she asked, her voice rising.
Mondo sauntered toward her, and Marti wanted more than anything to close her legs and pull them toward her chest to hide, because the heat smoldering in his dark eyes just about burned her up.
He placed a knee on the end of the lounge and gripped the cushion on either side of her hips, bending over her. His mouth hovered just above hers. “Tits. Ass. Cunt. Get used to the words. I’ll be using them.”
“Who put you in charge?”
“Your boyfriend. He knows a thing or two about me.”
“Like?”
Her mouth opened, but she bit back her words. The stillness of his body, the way his gaze bored into hers, made her want to be good. “Lord, are you a Dom? Do you play in those kinky sex clubs?”
He didn’t answer, but his mouth slid into a slow smile. “Now, play with those tits.”
He bent, kissed her forehead, then backed away. Her gaze stayed locked with his, fascinated as he drew off his jeans. Already, her senses were on overload. So many tanned chests. But his caramel-colored skin was cloaked in silky black hair, nipple to nipple with a well-defined, straight trail that led directly to his cock. His balls were hairless. Had he shaved?
She almost thanked him, because she had the overpowering urge to beg him to let her blow his cock. His sex wouldn’t give her quite the jaw ache that Gus’s had, but he was long and thick. The head tapered like an arrow.
“Tits,” he repeated.
Her gaze shot back up to his face, and she flushed. Still, her hands went automatically to her breasts and she plumped them up, feathering her thumbs across the tips while her pussy grew wetter by the second.
Marti forced herself to glance around at the others, all nude, all standing with their man-parts jutting proudly over taut abdomens.
Beau drew her gaze again. His light brown chest was nearly hairless with a sparse smattering of hair at the center. His nipples were dark, his cock a deep ruddy purple. The shaft was heavily veined, the tracery of vessels raised like ridges. Lord how she’d love to feel its scrape as it crammed up inside her. The blunt, round head was every bit as big as the circumference of his cock.
Gus was a bull of a man. Well hung. His appendage was slightly curved upward, a heavy cudgel of a dick. But she already knew that. His chest was also impressive, his arms and thighs even more so. Some lucky woman, someday, would feel safe from any storm wrapped inside his embrace.
Craig was beautifully proportioned. Tall, long-limbed, gilded by blond hair on his chest that turned a darker brown as it trailed toward his groin. His long-fingered grip made a slow pass up and down his shaft while she watched.
Her breath caught at the pearl of pre-cum he worked into the eyelet opening.
Marti licked her lips, and he wiped off the drop with his thumb and came to her. She opened her mouth, not thinking really what she looked like, but when his thumb entered she eagerly closed her lips around it and sucked off the smear of ejaculate, then gave him another pull, loving the way his green eyes darkened as he watched.
Five Ways 'Til Sunday Page 6
