by Piper Rayne
“It’s beautiful,” I say, my eyes roaming every surface for clues as to who Jagger Kale is now. Has he changed from the overindulgent teenage boy who rarely suffered any consequences for his recklessness? I head toward the sliding doors and they open before I reach them. I look back, finding a remote in Jagger’s hand.
“Go get comfortable. I’ll grab us some wine.”
Wrapping my arms around myself, I step out onto the deck where the pool is overlooking the sandy beach with lounge chairs lined on either side. A gigantic grill is set up in the corner. He must entertain his high-end list of clients here.
“Here.” He hands me a glass of white wine, which I’ll drink, but I prefer red. But he wouldn’t know that because I was underage when we were together. We’ve missed so much of each other’s lives.
“Thanks.” I sip the wine because any amount of alcohol right now might overload my brain. “You have a great place,” I say, smiling over at him.
“Wait until you see the upstairs.” He waggles his eyebrows.
“Let me guess. That’s where the magic happens?” I lean against the railing, my gaze glued to the sun casting an orange glow over the ocean.
“I’m not that cliché. I can make magic happen anywhere, it’s more of a caveman mentality. I’m taking you to my lair and never letting you go.”
I giggle, shaking my head, and his chest hits my back, his chin resting on my shoulder. Every nerve in my body feels him, aware of his proximity and every point of contact.
“Please tell me you take advantage of this view,” I say.
“Not as often as I should,” he whispers with what I think is a hint of melancholy. “I work a lot.”
I nod, already assuming that. It’s his family business, in his blood. His dad was never home when we were younger, and his mom was often gone on long trips to foreign countries with her friends—or, if my suspicions were correct, her lovers.
“What about Nolan?” I’ve seen Jagger’s brother in the pictures on Google, too. He’s the spitting image of their father.
“He’s married to a wife he never screws with three kids he barely sees.”
“Jagger!” I turn my head to look at him and he straightens up from my shoulder.
“It’s true. They’re always arguing, and he misses all my nieces’ and nephews’ shit. They’re not the poster children for monogamy and marriage, believe me.”
I spin around. The only thing separating us is my wine glass, gripped tightly in my hands. “What about you? Why is there no wife in your life?”
A smirk crosses his mouth and he stares down at me for a beat. The sun has almost set now, but I can still make out the intensity in his gaze. “She left me fourteen years ago.”
All the air leaves my lungs in a rush. He can’t possibly mean it.
I push at his stomach and snake out from under his arms. “I’m not a gullible teenage girl who’s willing to believe all the crap you threw at her.” I gulp down the rest of my wine.
“It’s the truth.” He follows me further down the railing. “But I don’t want to talk about that anymore. I’d rather convince you how perfect we are together.” His arms wrap around my waist, his face nuzzling my neck. Every breath leaving his body ghosts across my earlobe and my breathing picks up. His tongue flicks over my earlobe, then he pulls it between his teeth.
My body morphs into putty, and I collapse back into him. He takes the opportunity to grab my wine glass, placing it on a nearby table. “Let me take you to my cave.” He scoops me up again.
The carrying thing is new. Maybe because he’s so manly now. I swear his muscle mass has doubled.
I wish I didn’t like it so much.
The rest of his house goes by in a blur because I’m fixated on his five-o’clock shadow. It’s sexy as hell. My hand reaches forward of its own volition, rubbing the stubble under my fingertips. Jagger glances down, a small smile forming on his lips.
“Sorry.” I retract my hand.
“No, I like it.” There’s a rough quality to his voice and he squeezes me tighter into his body.
He walks us up the open staircase, down a hallway to the last door, pushing it open with his foot. The manly scent of cedar and musk hits my nostrils. He places me down, my feet landing on a warm hardwood floor.
My gaze slowly rises until he’s all I see. His brown eyes project his feelings as if they were spoken words. And hasn’t that always been the problem? Jagger has a way of making me feel like I could be in a room with fifty runway models and he’d only be staring at me from across the room. That’s what got me into his bed in the first place. The memory of our first time together, the way his hands explored my body like it was a treasure, the easing of hips forward at a snail’s pace so he wouldn’t hurt me, the way he placed a towel on the bed and held me the entire night after.
No one can argue that Jagger Kale knows how to handle a woman. That’s why he’s asked for one night. He knows that’s all it will take.
He’s probably acquired a million more moves since then that I don’t even know about. He’s been as slow and sweet as honey dripping from a jar. He’s buttering me up. Using those manipulation skills he’s honed over the years to convince me he’s changed. And for what?
I push down the anger and smile up at him. Two can play his game.
“Why don’t you sit down?” I point to the chair in the corner, biting my lip and seductively eyeing his body.
He turns back. “I want my hands on you.” He inches forward.
“There’s time for that.” I nod at the chair again. “You don’t want me to dance for you?”
His eyes widen, flaring with lust.
Gotcha.
“All right.” He doesn’t strip any of his clothes off because we both know this is what he likes. Being in control. Being the last one to undress. When he’s sitting comfortably in his oversized chair in the corner of his spacious bedroom, I walk the distance to him, harnessing my inner angel and strutting as though there’s a stage and I’m a Victoria’s Secret model.
His gaze doesn’t focus on any one part of my body, but rather scatters across my skin. I ignore the shivers and goose bumps racing along my skin at his appraisal.
Grabbing the hem of my t-shirt, I tease him, showing a sliver of my bare stomach. His eyes finally zoom in on my motions, eyes transfixed, his breathing staggered. This is what turns Jagger Kale on and has from a young age.
Inch by painfully slow inch I raise my shirt and pull it over my head. He stretches his legs out, his palms rubbing down his jeans. I can’t refute how sexy he is when he’s denying himself what he wants.
When I unbutton my shorts, I use my two fingers to tease the top of the zipper. “Do you want to know what kind of panties I’m wearing? Wondering if they match my black bra?”
His gaze never leaves my hands, his tongue snaking out and licking his lips. I didn’t factor my own need into this act. I have a box full of vibrators I know I’ll use to imagine this very scene tonight.
I slide my zipper down and the sound feels like it’s bouncing off the walls. Jagger’s right hand inches closer to the fly of his jeans. It’s like a cat-and-mouse game. I want to make him touch himself and he wants to see what’s under my clothes. Hooking my thumbs into the sides of my shorts, I circle around, peering over my shoulder, leaning forward and pushing them down past my ass.
He sucks in a breath, his hand gripping his hard cock through his pants and rubbing slowly up and down.
Bullseye.
I step closer to the bed and sit on the edge, spreading my legs, giving him a peek at my landing strip through my sheer panties. He sits up, stripping his own shirt off his body.
Jesus, he’s long and lean and muscular and pretty much perfect. My mouth waters.
You can do this.
Pushing my tits out, I unclasp my bra. The straps lower on my arms, but I hold the cups to me, eyeing the erection pushing at his pants to be free. I raise a brow at him. I was always the one to give in, now it�
�s his turn to show me how much he wants this.
He chuckles lightly, a smile mixed with his heat-filled gaze. His hand leaves his dick, joining his other one to unbutton his jeans. He moves faster than me, and in seconds his jeans are spread open, his black boxer briefs revealed. His dick pushes against the limits of the fabric. Snaking his hand inside, he frees it through the opening, stroking it. It’s so much bigger than I remember.
“Your turn, baby.” Jagger looks on eagerly and I let my bra fall to the floor. “Goddamn.” He bites his fist, watching me.
I stand and approach him, leaning down when I’m in front of him, letting my tits hang inches from his face. His fist opens, and he reaches for me.
I back up. “No.” I shake my head and his eyes flare.
He loves it. Loves to deny himself satisfaction until he’s ready to break. I push his legs together, my knees on either side of him, his dick literally inches away from my wet panties.
I reach for the tie sitting on his dresser and wrap it around my waist. “Tell me…baby.” I take the blue pinstripe fabric, rubbing it along the outside of my underwear where I’m positive my scent will linger. “Would you like me to tie you up?”
I fall to my knees in front of him, my tongue about to slide up his shaft as my hands work overtime, using the tie on his ankles.
“You know I’m not into being tied up.” He moves his leg up, and to distract him, I fist the base of his cock and lean forward, encasing the tip in my mouth. Damn, he’s so perfect everywhere.
His hands push through my hair, quickly forgetting what I’ve done. I pull my lips from his cock with a pop and use my hand to pump him, resting my chin on his stomach.
“Jag?” I ask, coyly, as though I’m about to rock his world.
“Yeah, babe. Anything.” He answers a question I never even asked.
“I’m not in the mood.” I stand up, stepping into my shorts and grabbing my t-shirt and bra.
“What?” he asks, still not grasping the meaning of my words. “No. Quinn!” He rises on his feet and I bolt out of the room, my feet slipping on his steps. Damn Marisol and her good cleaning job.
“Sorry, maybe next time,” I say lightheartedly, laughing as I throw my shirt over my head, stuff my bra into my purse before grabbing it from the counter.
“Quinn!” he screams and then I hear a thud.
I wince. “Shit.” But I have no time. Going out the garage, I contemplate taking a car, but who knows if he’s pissed enough to file a police report? So, I take the next best thing. His bicycle.
I pedal as fast as I can away from Jagger’s house, hoping like hell he’s not dying from a head wound in a puddle of blood. Once I’m far enough away that I don’t think he’ll catch me, I stop to breathe, reminding myself that he would have used and abused me. He would’ve thrown me out with last year’s top actress, maybe not tomorrow but eventually.
He always does.
8
Jagger
“I love it!” Leo slaps his leg, a spritz of water bursting from the wetsuit fabric.
“Fuck off,” I say.
“The thing I don’t understand is why you’re telling us this.” Vance grabs his towel, drying his hair. Always trying to make sure he’s prettied up for the paps. He’ll deny it, but the man hasn’t had a bad picture in the press since he started dating Layla.
Leo and I both stare at him with confusion.
“A girl tied up your legs and left you with a hard-on. I’d keep that shit in the vault for life.” Vance pulls his water from his bag, tipping his head back and guzzling it like he’s in a soft drink commercial or something.
“You know that the paps don’t really give a shit about you, right?” I ask, and Vance takes the bottle from his lips and gives me the stink eye.
“Don’t deflect onto me, man. Today we’re dealing with your shit.” He sits down on the sand.
I let my head fall forward into my hands. I wonder when my dad is going to call to ride my ass for not working twenty-four seven. I’ve been pretty much MIA for seventy-two hours, so he’d have a valid reason.
“She’s screwed me royally,” I complain. “She’s all I can fucking think of now. All these years I imagined she was married with kids. Shit, I never even checked up on her because I just couldn’t—”
“I would’ve thought you’d get a P.I. for sure.” Leo grabs a handful of sand, letting it slide through his fingers.
“P.I.? I woulda thought he’d contact the feds,” Vance chimes in.
I roll my eyes at both of them. “Are you even listening to me?”
Both their faces remain stoic. “You fucked up, Jag. Man up,” Leo says, tossing his head so his blond hair swings out of his eyes.
“Fight. Isn’t that what you told me?” Vance adds his two cents.
I’m not sure what I expected my friends to say. Did I want them to coddle me and tell me I did the right thing all those years ago? Tell me she was better off without me and still is? Encourage me to forget her and fuck the next girl who comes along?
“She does have you all twisted.” Leo laughs, and Vance joins him. And why not? The two of them are tucked into their beds every night with their loved ones, while I’m face down on my bedroom floor with a bruised dick.
“I might bow down when I meet her. She must be a goddess or something to have this much control over you.” Vance laughs again while packing up his shit.
“She doesn’t hold any power. I still lead where this relationship is going,” I counter to save face, though I don’t even believe it myself at this point.
“Sounds to me like there isn’t a relationship.” Vance stands, swinging his backpack over his shoulder. He grips my shoulder, squeezing it. “Do what you’re known for. Be the pit bull you always are and if she has feelings for you, she’ll stop fighting—eventually.”
Pit bull? He has a point.
Hell, I’m Jagger fucking Kale. The agent most Hollywood studio heads fear. The one who got a B-list actress the highest-paid deal ever. I negotiate with powerful people every day. Surely, I can deal with Quinn.
“You’re a fucking genius.” I stand, grab both sides of his face and kiss his forehead.
A camera snaps somewhere behind us and Leo laughs.
“Fuck. Of course, they snap a photo of that. Damn it.” Vance shakes his head while I join in Leo’s amusement. Vance takes the paps way too seriously.
“Why is Vance a genius?” Leo asks. “You know you can’t actually bite the girl, right? And pit bulls get a bad rap, they’re one of the most loving animals and they’re completely loyal.”
He raises his eyebrows and I’m going to let the whole insinuation that I can’t be loyal go right now because I’m about to break out in song, I’m so damn excited.
“A business proposition!” I yell, my arms stretched out to the side. The warm sun heats my body like God himself is blessing my plan.
“Proposition?” Vance asks, glancing over to Leo. They’re both shaking their heads.
“Yeah.” All the fine print and stipulations rush into my head.
“Like draw up a contract?” Leo asks.
I cringe. “Quinn probably won’t go for that. A verbal agreement will have to do.”
“Earth to Jagger, come back to us.” Vance waves a hand in front of my face.
I clap my hands, ignoring his bullshit. “That’s it. I’m going to her house as soon as I’m done visiting Marisol.”
“We should stop him,” Vance says to Leo.
“Why? He’s not even listening to us now.” Leo shrugs.
“You guys don’t get it. Quinn needs a commitment and I need to woo her back. This might just be my most brilliant plan.”
Leo raises his hand in the air. “I’d like to vote for stupidest idea.”
Vance laughs. “I gotta get Payne and Via. You want to come and maybe pick Payne’s brain for some ideas on getting Quinn back? I think you’re both on the same wavelength.”
I ignore him and Leo. Squatting down,
I shove my water bottle and phone into my bag and grab my towel to change outside the car. “See you later, once the imaginary ink dries!”
Without waiting for a response, I jog up the sand to my car, running through the best way to approach Quinn to make sure she can’t refuse.
The antiseptic scent of the hospital nauseates me as I head up the elevator to the third floor. Isa called me this morning and Marisol will be here for three more days at least, getting tests done on her kidneys to find out exactly what’s going on.
Laughter rings out from the room before I have a chance to open the door and I take that as a good sign for Marisol.
I knock, peeking my head in, seeing the curtain pulled around the bed for privacy. “Hey, it’s me.”
“Come in, Jagger,” Marisol says.
My shoes click on the laminated floor and I peel back the curtain, expecting to find Isa and Marisol. I smile with surprise. She just saved me a trip.
“Quinn.” I nod my head in her direction.
“Good morning, Jagger.” She stands, patting Marisol’s hand. “I’ll come back later.”
“Don’t go. Surely we can all sit in a room together.” Marisol looks to me and then to Quinn and back again.
I shrug.
Quinn wavers though, her eyes never meeting mine. Either she’s obsessed with my pecs or she’s having trouble facing me after her little escape artist routine the last time we saw one another.
“I wanted to talk to Quinn anyway. I’ll go grab a coffee and then we can all visit.” I step forward, gripping Marisol’s cold hand in mine. “Do you need anything?”
She shakes her head, a smile on her lips. “No, mi querido. I’m good.”
I haven’t seen her this happy since Isa’s college graduation years ago.
Leaving the two of them in the room, I go to the waiting area and pour myself a shitty cup of coffee. Should’ve picked one up on my way here, but I’d planned for a quick in-and-out since I have to get to the office today.
