When Alex Was Bad

by Davis, Jo

“Y-yes. I mean, no,” he groaned, assailed by the images she awakened. His dick was on fire, ready to detonate. “Liv, baby, I can’t.” But he’d already been considering it, hadn’t he?

  “Why not?” Pushing down the front of the boxers, she grasped his penis. Stroked.

  “There’s nothing in this for you. I get all the benefits and you get hurt.” Closing his eyes, he spread his legs to accommodate her attentions. Lost himself in her touch.

  “Not if we do things my way. Besides, if we keep going as we have been, I get hurt, anyway.”

  Alex no longer had to agonize over whether she’d seen him and Jenna groping one another. Liv had been watching. . . .

  The breath left his lungs as the truth hit him like a runaway truck. He opened his eyes, read the unmasked emotion in her blue ones.

  Olivia was aroused by what she’d witnessed.

  Rather than letting their marriage die, she’d chosen to participate in their sexual reawakening as a couple. To give him the freedom to explore . . . and then what?

  “Your ground rules?” he gasped. Her hand pumped him, slow and steady. Bringing him near to orgasm.

  “I’ll allow your liaisons, with any lover you wish, so long as you are honest about being married. Also, I don’t want to know beforehand when you plan to seek your pleasure. This gives you the thrill of being naughty, you see.”

  “The catch?” God, he was going to explode.

  “After each encounter, you’ll confess to me,” she purred. “In detail. Every caress, every word. Then, my love, I’ll exact your punishment. That is the price you will pay for our pact.”

  “Wh-what?”

  “You’ll willingly submit to whatever discipline I choose, and no, I won’t tell you what the punishment might be. I’ll only say that the encounters you pursue give me permission to enjoy myself likewise. You’re the gambler here, so you take the chances and live with the consequences. One thing more.” Her lips hitched up in a small smile.

  “You get seven confessions total. After the last punishment is delivered, our pact is done and we must make a decision on where to go with our marriage.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Maybe we’ll want to continue our pact for another seven confessions, same rules.” Increasing the pressure of the strokes, Liv looked him straight in the eye. “Or we might embrace a whole new sexual lifestyle together.”

  Alex moaned, unable to stave off the orgasm. Cum boiled in his drawn-up balls, shot from the base of his spine so hard it shook his body. Semen spewed over her hand, his boxers, the sheets. On and on, thick and hot.

  When he lay spent and panting, Liv leaned over, placed a loving kiss on his lips. “Do we have a pact?”

  The monumental impact of his answer made him tremble in fear. And anticipation. One way or another, their lives were about to change forever.

  “Yes, sweetheart. We do.”

  The restaurant would survive without her for a few days. Finally, when it was almost too late, she understood that.

  But Alex loved her.

  Olivia repeated the mantra throughout the bright Monday, which stretched on, interminably long. The silence was broken only by a pair of delivery men, who glanced at her in curiosity more than once as she had them erect her new purchases in the downstairs media room.

  She declined to reveal what the items were for, but suspected they knew all the same. After a generous tip, they left, averting their gazes.

  Bored, she donned her bikini bottoms and went to sun in a lounger by the pool. Normally, she’d be more cautious about sunbathing topless, but the lots on their right and out back were wooded, part of hers and Alex’s property, and their widowed neighbor on the left, Bill Strickland, had died a couple of months ago, leaving no children. The sprawling mini mansion stood sad and empty, and what might become of the place was anyone’s guess. Their gated community boasted a burly security guard and a group of snoopy, blue-haired old retirees who watched everyone that came and went like beady-eyed hawks. Hell, they probably knew tae kwon do.

  So, no worries.

  Which was why, a few minutes later, she was shocked as shit to open her eyes and see a man staring at her over the top of Bill Strickland’s fence.

  Squeaking in alarm, she snatched a towel over her breasts. His eyes widened and his head ducked out of sight. Before she could find the words to admonish him, the man’s distressed voice drifted from her deceased neighbor’s yard.

  “Gosh, lady, I’m sorry! I-I wasn’t expecting . . . I mean, I didn’t . . . damn.”

  For some reason, his stammered apology enchanted her. Soothed her fright. He truly seemed as surprised as she by the encounter, and dreadfully embarrassed to have been busted ogling her.

  Relaxing a little, she called out. “Are you a friend of Bill’s?”

  A pause. “I’m his nephew, Jason Strickland.”

  Ah. That explained things. “You’re in town to take care of his estate?”

  “You could say that,” came the muffled reply.

  “This is a tad awkward, shouting through the fence, don’t you think? Come over if you’d like, Jason. The gate is unlocked.”

  After a moment’s hesitation, footsteps shuffled through the grass. The latch clicked and the gate squealed open. Liv turned her head to see the man walk tentatively inside. Nervous, he wiped his hands on faded jeans slung low on his hips and sporting holes in the knees.

  “I’m really sorry,” he said, color staining his cheeks.

  A young man, Liv noted. No more than twenty-three or so. Shaggy, sun-kissed brown hair fell to strong shoulders, not too broad. He had a lean build, hard with muscle but not bulky. His navy T-shirt was new, unlike his jeans, and emphasized his flat, almost concave, stomach.

  And holy cow, was he a looker. High, supermodel cheekbones, a boyishly handsome face. A perfectly sculpted mouth.

  “You gave me a start, that’s all. Come, Jason, sit down.” She gestured at the lounger on her right, which Alex used when they relaxed together. Strickland approached, sharp gaze taking in his surroundings warily, as though he expected to be jumped.

  Curious, she wondered at his story. Why hadn’t Bill ever mentioned his own nephew?

  Jason sat on the edge of the lounger facing her, hands clasped between spread knees. He made an attempt to appear nonchalant, but the tense set of his posture gave away his discomfort. He was poised for trouble and seemed totally unaware of the fact, as though the survival instinct was ingrained into his DNA.

  Liv held out her hand. “I’m Olivia Quinn, but most people call me Liv. My husband, Alex, is working right now, but I’m sure he’d love to meet you.”

  Jason’s eyes widened a fraction. He stared at the offered hand for a couple of seconds before enclosing her palm in his. “I . . . thanks. I don’t know how long I’ll stay in the neighborhood, but I’d like that.”

  His hand was strong, callused, the nails clean. These were the hands of a working man who’d known little luxury. The bruised look in his lovely mocha brown eyes hinted at secrets, pain, and hard-won knowledge beyond his years.

  If she had her guess, Jason Strickland had been hurt. Badly.

  “Forgive me for being so forward, but Alex and I believed Bill died without an heir.” At his pinched expression, she relented. “Now it’s my turn to apologize.”

  He gave her a small smile. “No, it’s fine. I was Uncle Bill’s only living relative. I had no clue he left everything to me, and his lawyer had trouble tracking me down. I never realized Bill gave a shit about my welfare.” He shrugged. “His absentee nephew was a better option than letting the state take it all, I guess.”

  So young to be so cynical. Poor man.

  “What will you do now?”

  He shook his head, gaze dropping to his battered tennis shoes. “I don’t know. I’ve always dreamed of having a nice place to hang my hat. But that mausoleum doesn’t feel like home. I’ll probably sell.”

  Reaching out, she patted his knee. “I hope you’ll st
ay while you figure out what you want to do. My husband and I would enjoy having you around.”

  Jason’s gaze went to the hand on his knee. Traveled up to linger on the towel covering her breasts, and on to her face. She sucked in a breath at the heat in his eyes. The longing.

  “Then maybe I’ll have to stay,” he whispered. Getting to his feet, he took her hand from his knee. Kissed her fingers. “It’s been a pleasure meeting you, Olivia. I’d like to get to know both of you better.”

  Her pulse pounded, tingling warmth moistening her sex. Had Jason meant to imply he’d be open to more than neighborly friendship? Letting go of her, he skirted the lounger and headed for the gate. On impulse, she called after him.

  “Lunch with me tomorrow?”

  He froze. Glanced over his shoulder. “What time?”

  Triumph surged in her breast. “Eleven thirty.”

  A ghost of a smile tugged at his lips before he answered. “I’ll count the minutes.”

  With that, he disappeared through the gate.

  “So will I, dear Jason.” She grinned to herself. Oh yes, the chemistry was there, and if Jason was willing . . . this young man might play a vital role in their future.

  The wait for Alex no longer seemed unbearable as it did before. She had no doubt he’d fuck Jenna tonight, and there were several others in their acquaintance Liv knew would be thrilled to bed him. Her magnificent husband was seething with suppressed sexual desires that had gone ignored for far too long.

  If she knew Alex as well as she’d always believed, he’d be very eager to share his confessions and receive his punishment. Soon he’d come to crave his discipline from Liv as much or more than taking his lovers. Then she’d enact phase two. A bold plan.

  The survival of their marriage depended on it.

  Two

  Monday passed in a haze. After the post-party discussion with Liv, Alex tossed all of Saturday night. And last night, too. His sleep-deprived brain hardly registered what Jenna or any of his associates said to him during the course of the day—except for one pissed-off man who would not be ignored.

  And with good reason.

  “Tell me, Alex, why the fuck you assigned Jenna Shaw to assist with the Boardman trial. Over me?”

  Alex leaned back in his office chair and gazed at Ken Brock, one of Alex’s senior partners and six feet two inches of lean, mean hard-ass. He steepled his fingers, striving to appear unperturbed in the face of the hard onyx stare that made prosecutors tremble, and heaved a deep sigh.

  “Come on, Ken, I went over my reasons in the meeting. You were busy finishing up the Briggs murder trial, and the other partners are all in the middle of big defenses.” Truth, every word.

  “The Briggs trial wrapped this morning, just like I told you it would. You could’ve waited for me.”

  Also true. Dammit.

  Alex stood and rounded his desk, unwilling to have the angry black man towering over him. He affected a casual pose, leaning one hip against the corner of his desk and folding his arms. “Time is money and all that, so I chose not to wait. Besides, this is Jenna’s first big case. It’s a good opportunity to get her feet wet.”

  Ken barked a bitter laugh. “Yeah, man. Something’s getting wet and I’ll bet my Rolex it’s not her feet.”

  Alex’s stomach gave a sick twist and his expression froze. “All right, that’s enough. I’m done with this conversation except to promise you’ll get the next big client. Take the rest of the day off, Ken. You’ve earned it.”

  Ken bristled at the curt dismissal. He opened his mouth to protest, but must’ve thought better of continuing the argument. The cold look he shot at Alex before he spun and stalked out suggested the reprieve was temporary.

  The remainder of the day went downhill from there. Papers were shoved in his face, clients demanded to be placated, court dates had to be set, more money was piled in his bank account.

  And Jenna Shaw badly needed to be fucked.

  Ken’s assessment was dead-on.

  Half the firm had to know she wanted him and intended to have him. She hadn’t exactly been subtle about her mission these past few weeks, though at least today she’d had the sense to keep the sly invitations discreet, for his eyes only.

  A glimpse of the dark red triangle under the short black skirt as she uncrossed her legs while discussing case notes. A flash of creamy breasts as she leaned over his desk to point out an argument the prosecution might make against one of their clients.

  All goddamned day he’d been hard enough to hammer railroad spikes.

  He and Jenna were slated to work late. Very late. And Liv knew what might happen. Even approved.

  I can’t do this.

  What on earth had made him agree to Liv’s proposal? Temporary insanity, amplified by her low, seductive voice as she worked his cock. Painted the most erotic picture he’d ever imagined.

  Sitting behind his huge mahogany desk, Alex swiped a hand down his face. Frustration and despair ate at him. He glanced at his watch. Seven o’clock. There was still time to slip out and head home before Jenna came around with the Boardman files. Grabbing his suit jacket, he decided he’d call his junior partner on her cell. Explain that he hadn’t felt well—

  The door opened, and Jenna stepped into his office. She did not have a file or anything else in her hands. Her glorious coppery hair was no longer secured in the demure twist at her nape, but hung in shiny waves over the shoulders of her white blouse.

  “About the Boardman case—”

  “I’m sorry, Alex. I seem to have left the files at home by accident,” she said, all wide-eyed innocence. Slowly, she walked toward him, five feet, ten inches of feline grace. Stalking her prey.

  Shrugging, he feigned indifference. His dick didn’t receive the message. “No problem. We’ll come in early in the morning and go over the notes before Henry Boardman arrives.”

  She made a face. “Didn’t Danielle tell you? Mr. Boardman called and changed his appointment to seven a.m. sharp.”

  “No, she didn’t.” Crap. Staring at Jenna, Alex wondered whether she’d had a hand in Mr. Boardman’s change of plans. Danielle, his new secretary, had gone home at five, so he couldn’t question her. Damned convenient.

  “Well, then, we’ve got no choice. We’ll have to go over the files tonight so we can be ready to present his defense.”

  “I’d offer to go get them and bring them back here, but I don’t have my car.” She sighed. “My sister dropped me off, then kept my wheels to borrow since her car is in the shop.”

  Oh, that was neat and tidy. He had to give the she-devil credit for a well-executed conquest. “I’ll give you a lift home; then we can just go over them there. No need to drive all the way back to the office when your place is practically on my way home,” he heard himself say. Idiot.

  Their gazes locked. She’d won, and knew it.

  Her berry-ripe lips turned up, a sly smile of victory. Reaching out, she cupped his cheek. Leaned in, brushed his mouth lightly with hers.

  “Perfect.”

  Caught, a fly in the black widow’s web.

  The drive to Jenna’s condo was fifteen minutes of sheer torture. She made sure of it, reclining in the supple leather passenger’s seat of his Jag, tiny skirt hiked to the top of her toned thighs. Her long legs were spread, body angled just enough for him to see the shadow of the curls nestled there. Waiting, begging for his touch.

  Eyes closed, head tipped back, she appeared not to care. The poke of taut nipples against the fabric of her blouse, the pungent scent of arousal gave her away.

  “Which unit?” he asked, pulling into the complex. His hands shook on the wheel and his throat had gone tight. Sweet Jesus, he couldn’t lie to himself. He was about to fuck someone other than his wife for the first time in nearly two decades. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t nervous as hell.

  She pointed at the last building on the right. “There. The empty space is mine. Go ahead and park in it.” As he pulled into the space, s
he fished a paper from her purse and handed it to him.

  “What’s this?” Opening the driver’s door, he peered at the sheet. Oh, boy. “Test results?”

  “I’m clean. Thought you should see.”

  He cleared his throat. “Ah, good to know. I . . . I haven’t been with anyone but my wife in fifteen years. We’re both clean.”

  She just gave him a smile as she retrieved the paper.

  In short order, he was following Jenna into her spacious, third-floor condo. The place was sleek and sexy, like the woman herself. Done in modern decor, light tints of blue and beige, mirrors and glass everywhere.

  Tossing aside her purse, which she’d grabbed as they’d left, she turned to Alex. Parted his suit jacket and smoothed her palms on his chest. “You like?”

  “Yeah,” he said hoarsely. “I like a lot.”

  They both knew he wasn’t referring to the furniture.

  She cupped his sex through his pants, slim fingers squeezing his already aching erection. Moaning, he shifted his stance to give her better access.

  “What, no gallant protests of fidelity? After weeks of resisting, you’re finally ready to stop fighting me?”

  “Y-yes.” Sharp teeth grazed his earlobe.

  “Why? I want to hear you say it,” she demanded, pushing the jacket off his shoulders. It fell to the floor, and she began unbuttoning his shirt.

  “Because I-I want you.”

  “You can do better, stud. I’m waiting.” His shirt joined the jacket. She unbuckled his belt, went to work on his fly.

  “I have to slide my cock into your hot pussy before the anticipation kills me.” He almost told her about his arrangement with Liv, but this was simpler, cleaner, and no less the truth. “I’ve wanted to do your luscious body from the second I hired you, and I can’t resist anymore.”

  God help me.

  Something dark and dangerous flashed in her topaz eyes, there and gone so fast he must’ve imagined it. “And why should you? Poor neglected baby, let me make you feel good.”

  Taking him by the hand, she led him into the living room to stand in front of the sofa. Grasping the waist of his pants, she tugged them down, boxers and all. His shaft sprang free, ready and eager for whatever games she had in mind. Indeed, she seemed to be taking the dominant role, a role normally his, and the idea shot a thrill down his spine.