by Zara Chase
“No need to look so pleased at their misfortune.”
“Serves them right for being tight-fisted when it comes to keeping a supply of spares. Besides, all’s fair in dislike and business.”
“Oh, I love this song.”
Jack elevated a brow. “You’re a Brit and you know who Brooks and Dunn are?”
“Sure. England isn’t exactly third world, you know.”
“I know, but still, American country music is kinda…”
“American?” she suggested when he struggled to find the right word.
“Right.” His smile was positively lethal. “And you’d best dance with me.”
“As long as you don’t expect me to line dance.”
“I prefer contact sports myself.”
“Hmm.”
He pulled her to her feet and into his arms. They slow-danced to Ronnie Dunn lamenting about the possibility of “seeing her.” Chelsea’s resistance, such as it was, melted when his arms tightened around her and he pulled her tight against a burgeoning erection of impressive proportions.
She sang along softly to the music and decided to go with the flow.
Chapter Three
Part of Jack—the part that wasn’t currently doing much of the thinking—wondered what the hell had gotten into him. All the guys at Hadleigh’s were wary about allowing strangers into their private domain. With good reason. There wasn’t anything illegal about the dungeon scene they had going on there. It was strictly members only—carefully vetted, consenting adults who were into the life and knew what they were getting. But if its existence became general knowledge, they’d become an even bigger tourist attraction than they already were—for all the wrong reasons.
His invitation for Chelsea to dine in private with him had been a spur of the moment, instinct over intelligence, reaction. Normally, if a woman took his eye, he’d invite her to the public dining room and, if he got lucky, was rewarded with a return invitation to her hotel room. It was tidier that way. Jack didn’t want anyone invading his space, but unless he put a stop to this thing he had going on with Chelsea right now, then they’d finish up fucking one another’s brains out in his room. He could tell from the way Chelsea clung like a vine that she knew it, too.
Jack closed his arms tighter around her slim waist, blown away by the feel of her soft curves pressing against his chest, and the decision made itself. There were exceptions to every rule. What the fuck! Giving into temptation simply too sinful to resist, he dropped his hands and cupped the cheeks of her ass, imagining those long legs of hers wrapped around his waist as he sunk his cock into her slick pussy. The small globes fit nicely into his hands as he used them to press her pelvis a little harder against his thick length.
He groaned, or was it her? Either way, neither of them was objecting to the intoxicating friction that sent his cock into orbit, suppressing the slight misgivings he had about Chelsea’s agenda. There was something about her that didn’t quite add up. She was on edge and just a little too willing to get into this. Perhaps he was inventing problems where none existed but something told him Chelsea Hoxton didn’t do casual sex. So why pick on him?
Why not?
Jack was too far into her already to waste time on dumb introspective questions. It wasn’t as though they were signing some sort of exclusive agreement. She was on vacation, she wanted a fling, and Jack was happy to oblige.
“Yeah, baby!” he muttered softly, lowering his head and teasing her lips apart with the tip of his tongue.
The elemental sparks already firing between them ignited when their lips fused. Jack slid his tongue further into his mouth, spurred on by the enthusiasm of her response. She wound her arms around his neck, tangled her fingers in his hair and her tongue with his. He took control, kissing her like it was an Olympic sport and he was a contender for the gold medal, crushing her mouth as brutally as he was thrusting his groin against her pelvis. Shit, if this went on he’d disgrace himself.
Such thought brought Jack to his senses. He did not lose control, not ever. He broke the kiss and smiled down into eyes clouded with passion.
“What happened?” she asked, shaking her head in dazed disbelief.
“I was gonna ask you the same question.”
Jack’s hand drifted beneath her sweater and covered her breasts. She was wearing a lacy bra and he could feel her nipples harden beneath his touch. He tweaked one of them fairly hard, testing her. She moaned.
“Yeah, you’re receptive,” he said, deliberately breathing over her ear as he whispered the words and then sucked her lobe into his mouth. “I knew you would be.”
“And you’re totally in control, I suppose.”
“Always,” Jack lied, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “But I have to tell you, I don’t do this clothed. If you wanna take it further, we need to go upstairs. Your call.”
“Oh no!”
“No?” Jack loosened his hold on her, trying to quell his disappointment.
Her somnolent smile was full of feminine empowerment. Like she didn’t already know what she could do to a man, just by looking at him a certain way. “I mean, no, you don’t get to not finish what you started.”
“Are you absolutely sure. I didn’t bring you in here just to…” Hell, why was he trying to talk her out of it?
“What’s the male equivalent of a cock-tease?” she asked, tilting her head and sending him a provocative smile.
“A cunt challenger?”
She giggled. “A pussy provoker?”
“Hey, no man can live with that sort of accusation. You’ve left me with a point to prove, lady.” Jack growled as he nipped at her neck. “Come on.”
He grabbed her hand and almost dragged her from the room. Shit, he was acting like a teenager who’d never gotten his end away before. He felt like one. There was something about Chelsea that made breaking all his privacy rules seem like a perfectly rational decision. Essential if only for the sake of his sanity. He could no more stop this than he could fly without a rotor. He would stop, of course, if that was what she wanted, but he wouldn’t be a happy camper if she changed her mind now.
“What’s down there?” she asked as they passed the internal door to the dungeon, protected by a keypad entry system.
“Storage. Come on.”
Still holding her hand, Jack ran up the stairs. Chelsea kept pace with him, her glowing eyes telling him she was as desperate as he was. Desperate was good. Jack could do something about a woman desperate to get laid.
He reached his door and almost kicked it open, too impatient to turn the handle. He had a living room, bedroom beyond and bathroom off that. All the guys had similar accommodation and it was more than adequate for Jack’s needs. As he watched Chelsea taking in her surroundings, he wondered what she made of his living arrangements. He hadn’t given much thought to them before. As long as he had somewhere to lay his head and his buddies to hang out with, that was all that mattered to him.
His rooms probably didn’t seem like much to Chelsea but it shouldn’t matter to him what she thought. She was just passing through. At least he was meticulously tidy—no dirty socks or unmade beds to embarrass him. She couldn’t see the emotional baggage he’d never been able to offload and that was just the way he intended for it to stay. Some things were still too sensitive to be aired in public.
Even so, such thoughts caused Jack a moment’s anxiety at allowing her into his private domain. It felt as though he’d crossed some sort of invisible boundary from which there would be no going back. He glanced at his lovely guest, nipples still visible through her sweater, lips shiny and moist as she subconsciously moistened them with the tip of her tongue, breathing just a little ragged, and his anxiety fell away. Nothing that felt so right could possibly be wrong.
* * * *
Part of Chelsea wondered what the heck she thought she was doing. She did not do casual sex. Not ever. And definitely not on a first date. Come to that, this wasn’t even a frigging date. Having de
cided to get close to him was one thing, but this was happening way faster than she had anticipated and she didn’t know how to put the brakes on. Didn’t want to, even though he’d offered her the opportunity. She remembered the feel of Jack’s cock pressing against her pussy and knew she didn’t have the strength to fight against the fierce attraction she entertained towards a man who could well be a bad guy.
She was beginning to understand now why so many women enjoyed the challenge presented by bad boys, hoping to reform them. She was a moth to Jack’s flame, helpless to fight against whatever instinct drew her towards him. Already aroused beyond the point of rational thought, her real reasons for wanting to get close to Jack suddenly seemed irrelevant. That was his fault. He’d distracted her with his lips, his magical hands, a focused, sexy smile that made her feel like the only woman in the universe and…well, Chelsea had already proved to be a bit of a pushover. If she started thinking too long about the feel of his glorious cock, then what little dignity she’d managed to cling on to would be history.
“This is nice.”
Chelsea glanced around his living quarters, so sterile she could have been in a hotel room—a monastery even—although there was nothing the least bit monastic about the man who occupied those rooms. There was comfortable-looking easy chairs arranged around a flat screen television and a small desk to one side with nothing on it other than a laptop. A couple of pictures decorated the walls, predictably showing various aircraft in-flight, but nothing else of a personal nature that revealed anything useful about Jack’s personality. The only conclusion she could draw from his uncluttered living arrangements was that he needed to be in a position to vacate at a moment’s notice. That, in turn, implied he was involved with the Dutchmen, which caused Chelsea’s heart to lurch. She so didn’t want that to be true. She wouldn’t feel such a fierce attraction towards a criminal, would she?
“You seem tense,” Jack said, hitching a brow in evident concern.
Chelsea returned her attention to him. He was across the room from her, leaning casually against the wall, arms folded across his chest, watching her with unnerving stillness.
“Sorry. I guess I’m out of practice at this sort of thing.”
“I didn’t have you pegged as the type that jumps into bed with a man you don’t know.”
“I don’t know how you drew that conclusion. I didn’t exactly put up a fight when you hit on me just now.”
He chuckled. “I’m not just any man.”
She rolled her eyes. “You’re not exactly modest, either.”
He flashed a cocky grin. “I have something to be modest about?”
Chelsea rolled her eyes and refrained from comment but his self-deprecating banter helped her to relax. A little.
“I can always tell, if a woman’s too easy,” Jack said softly. “And it’s an instant turn-off. A man enjoys the thrill of the chase. Women seem to forget that.”
“We’re supposed to be equal.”
“I wouldn’t have it any other way. Just don’t cut me off at the balls, is all I’m saying. We get a lot of predatory females in this place but they don’t do a lot for me.”
Chelsea shook her head. “I’ll just bet you do,” she said, glad he didn’t categorize her as predatory, even though she hadn’t given him much reason to think otherwise.
“Let me look at you, baby. Take your clothes off for me.”
Chelsea froze. Suddenly there was something different about Jack. He remained right where he was, wide shoulder holding up the wall, arms still crossed over his chest, but his voice had dropped several octaves. His eyes zeroed in on her like lasers and there was now an authoritative edge to his voice that commanded obedience. Even so, she hesitated, aroused by his dominance, curious yet afraid. Despite the way she’d behaved that evening, she really wasn’t that experienced and had never had a man ask her to undress for him before. Usually they tore her clothes off in a darkened room and got straight down to business. Jack, it would appear, had more control and didn’t even plan to kill the lights.
“Do it, darlin’,” he said. “Don’t make me ask you again. I already know you’ve nothing to be ashamed of.”
“I…I haven’t…I’m not used to…hell, Jack, I’m scared.”
And she was. Her limbs were trembling and she wasn’t sure if she could go through with this. Not because she didn’t want to but because she did—a little too much—and wouldn’t be able to remain detached. She knew there had been a reason why she didn’t mix business with pleasure. This was a hell of a way to find it. If Jack turned out to be one of the bad guys, it would rip her heart out.
“You have nothing to fear from me, sweetheart. I’ll give you the ride of your life. Guaranteed.”
“I don’t doubt it, but—”
“You’ve changed your mind.” He sighed and finally levered himself from the wall. “That’s okay. Don’t let it bother you. We’ll go back downstairs and finish that bottle of wine, then I’ll walk you back to your hotel.”
“No!”
“No?” He did that lifted-eyebrow thing. “You don’t want us to make out?”
“Definitely no. I mean yes. I’m sorry to be so jittery. I really want to be here with you.” And she did. More than she’d wanted to do anything for a very long time. “It’s just that—”
“Just what?”
“You undress first.”
Oh God, she sounded like a kid issuing a challenge in the school yard. Show me yours first. Jack chuckled, already attacking the buttons on his shirt.
“Just so you know, in my world, taking matters into your own hands would normally earn you a spanking—”
“A what!” She widened her eyes, totally and completely shocked. “You’re not serious?”
“I thought so.” He appeared smugly satisfied. “The idea appeals to you, doesn’t it?”
“You are serious.”
“I never joke about sex.”
He’d finished unbuttoning his shirt and shrugged out of it. She gasped when she saw what he’d been hiding beneath it. His sculpted torso was a powerful wall of muscular strength and natural definition. A trail of curling hair wended down its center, skirting his belly button and disappearing beneath the waistband of his jeans. There was an amused look in his eye as he watched her literally gaping at him.
“Like what you see?” he asked.
Cocky bastard, she thought. He knew damned well that she did and was waiting for her to say something complimentary. A small smile flirted with her lips and she suddenly felt a little less nervous.
“Hmm,” she said pensively. “I guess you’ll do.”
He grinned. “It gets better. Trust me on this.”
He toed off his worn boots to reveal bare feet inside of them. Then, without hesitation or the slightest sign of embarrassment, he unsnapped his jeans, jerked down the zipper, and pushed the denim down his thighs. Oh my! He wasn’t wearing underwear and an erection, every bit as thick and angry as earlier evidence had led her to suppose it would be, sprang free. He grasped it at its base and ran it through his clenched fist, his gaze never leaving her face. It jerked in his hand, a drop of pre-cum oozed from its head and a blue vein stood proud down its impressive length. Chelsea had serious doubts about her ability to accommodate him but kept those thoughts to herself. She might not manage to take him all but she wasn’t leaving here until she’d given it her best shot. She was now a girl on a mission who had no intention of taking prisoners.
“Your turn.”
He used the same commanding tone as previously, causing Chelsea’s dwindling doubts to completely disappear. Glad she had worn matching underwear, she pulled her sweater over her head, took a deep breath, and threw it aside. She glanced up to see Jack’s reaction, encouraged because his green eyes darkened several shades as they zeroed in on her tits encased in their pretty lace enclosures. She had done something that pleased him, and pleasing Jack, earning his approval, suddenly seemed like the most important assignment in the world t
o Chelsea.
She wasn’t as adept at him as removing her footwear and it was necessary for her to perch on the arm of a chair to do so. When her feet were bare, she stood again, took a deep breath, and unfastened her jeans, realization at what he got out of this slow striptease business hitting her as she did so. It was the ultimate way to racket up the anticipation. She felt empowered when she pushed her jeans down her legs, revealed her thong-covered pussy, and heard his sharp intake of breath.
“And the rest of it,” he said, tapping a finger impatiently against his thigh. “Don’t keep me waiting, Chelsea. When I ask you to do something, you do it. Are we clear?”
She stared at him, astounded by his arrogance. Except it wasn’t arrogance, she instinctively understood, but a need to dominate. She glanced at his rigid cock and decided that wouldn’t be such a bad thing. She would let him take the lead. For the time being. With a reckless shrug, she reached behind herself, unhooked her bra, and let the straps slide down her arms. But she held the cups in place with one hand, teasing him because his eyes were now drilling into her chest as though he was the one running out of patience and needed to feast his eyes on the naked truth.
“Chelsea.”
The elevation of one brow and the threatening way in which he said her name was sufficient for Chelsea to throw her bra aside and stand in front of him, naked but for a flimsy thong that really left nothing to the imagination. She found the courage to stand her ground and meet his gaze. What she saw there rocked her to the core. This was a guy who looked like a Viking god and could pick and choose his women. And yet dark flames leapt in his eyes as his gaze slowly roved over her body. A muscle leapt in his jaw and a low moan slipped past his lips. His gaze rested significantly on her pussy and she hastily pushed her thong down her legs, stepped out of it, and threw it at him. Laughing, he caught it and tossed it on his desk. She doubted if she would see it again. Some men liked their trophies.
