The Club: Ace

by Jenna Elliot

  Wild. Forbidden feelings.

  I’m in over my head with this man and his dangerous sex. So over my head. I should get up, demand he take the boat back to port, and run far, far away.

  But I know I won’t. No matter how my survival response urges me to go. I’m too amped up by the feel of him to give into reason. My clit is on fire. My butt pulses. And my nipples are so hard that when he brushes his chest against mine, I can only moan his name.

  “Ace.” I say his name over and over. Mindlessly. A mantra in the quiet.

  At some point, I expect him to remove the toys. But he doesn’t. He simply climbs on top of me, and I open my legs for him, lift my hips.

  I’m breathless with my need, shocked by my ability to shove aside self-preservation just to feel him inside me.

  And I weep with gratitude when he finally throws back his head and enters me with a roar. He pushes his hard erection so deep inside that I feel him everywhere, as if he has taken over my body, my mind, my reason.

  And then he thrusts. In and out. So hard. So desperate. I am dragged into the sensation, only able to cling to him, to meet each stroke. Our hips dance. My body sings.

  Tension builds as his hips slap mine. His dick fills me, stretches me, slides in and out so fast that my bottom bounces against the bed, each driving thrust adding to the pressure of the butt plug.

  And I want more. Just more.

  “Sweet, Emme,” he groans against my mouth, and keeps pumping.

  There is no resisting the wave of sensation that pours through me, no denying that this man has mastered me, my body, and my mind.

  I can only respond to his touch, and he pushes me past my limit. I go wild against him as my body explodes.

  He never stops moving. He rides my climax, still hard as steel inside me.

  And the vibrators won’t let me stop.

  Ace kisses my brow, my cheek, my neck. He takes my mouth. Slowly. Sweetly.

  But his hips never slow that fierce pace, as if he can bridge the boundaries that separate me from him. I can’t catch my breath, but he doesn’t stop moving. Effortlessly. Relentlessly. As if my orgasm feeds his need and back again, an endless cycle. As if we are one.

  Only he knows the tempo that pleases me, knows how to tempt and tease and lift me even higher. Until I’m clinging on the edge once more. And then I’m falling over again. Spinning out of control. I thrash, but he pins me with his weight.

  Oh My God. I love his big dick inside me, the way he angles it so I come unglued. I’m so damn sensitive and there’s no rest, even when Ace stops and holds perfectly still. But it’s the hungry, possessive look in his eyes that confuses me. Like our sex is much more than a game. So much more than a test.

  And then he smiles at me, a charming wonderful smile with his dark eyes shining, as if he’s never been more content than in this moment, as if he feels the very same things that I feel.

  25

  Ace

  AFTER THE MOST smoking hot sex of my life—which is saying something—I wrap Emme in a sheet and carry her out onto the deck. We lie under the stars as my yacht cruises down the intercoastal waterway.

  The breeze teases her hair, and she snuggles against me. I hold her close, refusing to think about anything more than tonight. We have now. I won’t think about the way she feels in my arms or how I get lost in her eyes when she tips her head to look at me.

  I know every inch of her body, but I have no idea what she’s thinking. With other babes, I don’t care. They either please me or they don’t. It’s very simple.

  Not so much with Emme.

  Part of the fun of being with her is seeing her reactions to everything. The sex. The yacht. The wedding. But most especially, how she reacts to me.

  “We have just one more Friday night . . . We’ll make it special,” I say.

  Her hand skims over mine, a thoughtful caress. I gaze into her face. Her lips are swollen from my kisses.

  “You make every time special, Ace.” Her voice is soft and sexy. “Being with you is like a fantasy.”

  “I’m glad you’re enjoying the ride, baby doll.”

  And I think about taking her again as the sun starts to rise, but I see the exhaustion in her eyes, and realize I’m content just holding her in my arms.

  That’s never happened before. I don’t get attached. I don’t do special. I’m just a fucking fuck machine. No feelings allowed.

  The darkness in my life has no room for Emme’s light. Next week, she’ll be gone, and I’m already thinking about all the things I still want to do with Emme. Much more than one Friday night will allow.

  When I think about it, I’m surprised. I’ve been exclusive to her for three weeks. That’s never happened before, either.

  Suddenly restless, I shove to my feet and stride to the railing. Why have I stayed exclusive? Why have I been content to spend my time plotting and planning for Friday nights with Emme?

  I knew what I was doing, but I was content not to think about it, content to single her out and enjoy the anticipation of our visits. Obviously, this has been a huge mistake.

  On a bunch of levels, and perhaps the most important of them is the break-in.

  As if sensing my agitation, Emme joins me at the rail. Places her arm around my waist. And leans into me in companionable silence.

  But I don’t need company. I never need company. When the sex is done, I’m always done. I always want the girl to leave.

  Emme slips her hand into mine. She’s not clingy, but I know I should shake her off. I give her hand a squeeze instead.

  “Ohh, see the dolphins?” she points to several of them playing in the bow wave.

  I see them swimming, but I’d much rather watch the dawn play on her beautiful face. She’s such a magical creature. Strong, sensual. Sexy as hell. Out of every babe I’ve been with, she’s the one who could entertain me for a while.

  As we stand together and watch the sun splay fingers of reddish light over the water, I try to understand why she feels so good. Not just her warm curves, but her. Everything about her makes me too aware of her.

  I should turn her over to Jax for her last test. Disconnect now before I spend another week lying to myself about why I’m waiting for Friday night.

  I need to be very, very careful. Because in my hellish world, reddish dawns turn to bloody waters. I think of the break-in, and realize I may already be too late. Emme deserves better. Someone so much better than me.

  Someone who won’t get her killed.

  26

  Emme

  WE DON’T DISEMBARK the yacht until after ten. I finally spent the night with Ace. I want to feel triumphant. I’ve accomplished something that, by all accounts, never happens. I don’t. As we kiss goodbye in the marina, and I hop into my car, my mood is anticlimactic, and strangely bittersweet.

  Very bittersweet. As if one night of awesome only highlights even more nights of not-so-special.

  I did have the foresight to get someone to cover my shift today, which turns out to be a good thing. I’m drained. Between all the emotion with Mia, the emotion with Ace, the sex . . . I walk in my door and head straight to bed and crash. And I manage blissful oblivion for a while.

  Not long enough.

  I’m dragged from sleep by pounding on my door. I must have been sleeping like the dead because it takes me a while to even figure out what awoke me.

  Bang-bang-bang.

  Ugh. I roll over and . . . A wave of nausea storms through me, so violent that I’m instantly wide awake. I stare into my sunlit apartment, trying to manage the sensation. No good. My throat constricts. Uh-oh.

  I race to the bathroom and empty my stomach. Yuck.

  As I sit there with my head draped over my arm, I’m afraid to move. My head isn’t pounding—only the front door—which I think is what woke me in the first place. I don’t understand. I don’t feel hung over. I felt fine when I drove home.

  The pounding on the door doesn’t stop.

  I can’t imagine
anyone I know being so persistent unless there was an emergency. Someone in a car wreck? God almighty, I hope not. I grab a washcloth to clean my mouth, and hurry to the door, bracing myself to face some horrible news.

  I whip open the door saying, “What on earth has—” The words break off when I see Jason.

  He stands there, smiling stupidly, with another fucking bouquet of flowers. I stare just as stupidly as he drops to one knee and holds out a velvet box.

  “Marry me, Emme. I love you.”

  The stupid staring continues as I try to wrap my brain around what’s happening. The only thing that makes any sense is how my stomach somersaults and my throat convulses. Shit. Shit. Shit. I bolt for the bathroom, and barely make it to the toilet before I hurl some more.

  I sit there with my cheek against the cool seat, convinced I must be dying. Or wish I was when I hear Jason’s voice.

  “Not exactly the reaction I was hoping for.”

  Jason sets a glass of water beside me. I stare at it, thoughts racing through my fuzzy head. Did he really come here to propose? Propose? We were already engaged once, and look how that wound up. I’ve been clear I don’t want a second helping.

  “Looks like someone partied too much last night.” He motions to the water then reaches for my toothbrush.

  Once upon a time, I didn’t mind him being in my bathroom, but the intimacy is gone. He’s an intruder in my life.

  “No, Jason.”

  No, I didn’t party too much last night, and no I won’t marry you!

  I grab the water, rinse, and spit. I flush the toilet, determined to find the strength to put an end to this once and for all. God damn it. My stomach lurches again.

  I dry heave this time. Lovely. I must have caught a bug.

  I finally manage to brush my teeth and weakly slide onto my couch. Jason props a pillow behind me and hands me a cool cloth. I place it over my eyes, grateful I no longer have to look at him. How is this even fair? He cheats on me, then gets to witness me in this pathetic state. So unfair.

  “I was thinking October the first.”

  “What?”

  “October first. For the wedding.”

  I groan. But this time it’s not my gut, it’s disbelief. I’m dying here, and he’s bringing up memories of when he knowingly and willingly broke my heart into pieces. No wonder I threw up.

  “I haven’t answered you, Jason.” I even sound like death.

  He frowns. “Once we’re married, you won’t be out partying all night on a yacht.”

  “Mia got married on that yacht,” I snap. “I was her maid of honor. No way would I have ever missed her wedding.”

  “Okay. Okay.” He spreads his hands in entreaty. “I’m pushing, and you’re sick. I’ve just been thinking about this for a week. It’s hard, you know.” He shoves the velvet box into my hands. “At least tell me you like the ring.”

  I don’t open the box. There was a time he was my person. My one, the only one, I wanted. But no more.

  Although I might just have it in me to forgive him. He did me a huge favor. I found out he was a lying cheating bastard before I married him.

  Possibly, I can forgive, but I can’t trust him. And I don’t want him. Ace may have thought I was kidding last night, probably did think I was kidding, but he has ruined me for other men.

  “Jason, I’m sorry.” I push the box into his hands. Then I lean back on the pillow and pull the damp cloth over my eyes. “Please go before I get you sick, too.”

  “Hangovers aren’t contagious,” he sneers.

  My stomach churns. I lurch up and scramble for the bathroom again. “Just go.”

  “Whatever.” He’s angry. He takes his ring and flowers and walks out the door.

  I’m too busy hugging the commode to spare him a crumb of regret.

  I no sooner plop back onto the sofa when my cell rings. I don’t want to pick up, but it’s Mia, calling from the Bahamas on her honeymoon.

  “Hello. You just got married. I thought your new husband would keep you in bed for a week—at least.”

  She laughs. “Last night was great, but every morning I throw up at eight like clockwork. How did your mother do this so many times?” I don’t get a chance to answer before Mia chatters on. “Ethan’s still sleeping. I just want to say thanks for being there for me yesterday.”

  “Oh, girlfriend. Where else would I be on a Friday night?”

  Besides in bed with Ace, of course. And as I rub my own churning belly, an unexpected thought crosses my mind.

  A stomach bug, or pregnant?

  That’s ridiculous. Ace always uses protection, and there’s been no one else. I can’t be pregnant.

  Mia’s chattering about all the things she and Ethan want to do while they’re away, but I try to remember my last period.

  It’s been a while. I can’t remember exactly when, and I’m not nearly organized enough to write it down. But my period hasn’t interfered with any of my nights with Ace. I have an MA in accounting. I can do the math. It’s close. Too close. I didn’t have my period the week before when I applied for level-two candidacy. And my cycles only run twenty-three or twenty-four days at best.

  “You know, I should have started my period,” I say, thinking out loud and interrupting Mia.

  “What?”

  “Jason showed up a little while ago and proposed. I said no while I was hurling my guts into the toilet.”

  Silence on the other end of the line.

  I’m still trying to remember exactly when I last bought tampons. “I definitely should have had my period.”

  “Wait a second. Wait a second,” Mia says. “Let me get this straight. Jason proposed? Did I hear you right?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you said no.”

  “Yes again.”

  “Have you slept with him?”

  “No, of course not.” Just the thought makes my stomach swim dangerously. “Not since I caught him cheating.”

  More silence. Finally, “Emme, I know the club rules. Surely Ace uses protection.”

  “Of course he does.” I feel like shit. “Maybe it’s just the stress of waiting for my test results and the break-in and seeing Jason again.”

  “Could be. But don’t torture yourself worrying. Just go to a drug store and buy a pregnancy test kit,” Mia orders. “Call me back after you pee on the stick.”

  “We used protection. Every time.”

  “Condoms leak. And break.”

  “No, that’s crazy.” I really feel like shit, and denial is about the only place I can go right now. “A pregnancy test won’t work that fast, will it?”

  “Of course they do. It’s all about the hormones. Just do it, Emme. You’ll torture yourself if you don’t. And promise to call me back or you’ll torture me, too.”

  “Okay. Okay. Stop bossing me.” I get up. I feel steadier on my feet. The nausea seems to be fading. Thank God.

  “Just call my cell. I’ll be waiting.”

  “I will. Go screw your husband.” I disconnect the call to the sound of her laughter and head into the kitchen for something to settle my stomach.

  I nibble a saltine and decide to pick up Powerade while I’m at the drug store. Coffee’s definitely out for the moment. But I can’t go too long or I’ll have one of those caffeine withdrawal headaches, which will be even worse than puking up my guts.

  By the time I get to the drug store, I feel almost human again, and I’ve pretty much talked myself out of the possibility of accidents.

  Pregnancy is not on my radar yet. First, I’m supposed to have fun. Then fall in love, find a terrific job, get married to the right guy, buy a house, turn it into a home. Then, and only then, will I get pregnant. My mom had kids well into her forties, so I have plenty of time.

  It’s all worked out, and I’ve never even had chance sex with no protection. Ever. Not even with Jason.

  I may like to enjoy myself, but I’m not a risk taker. Not about anything that might derail my careful plans. I
’m also not endlessly wealthy like Mia, so I regret wasting money on a pregnancy kit. But I did bring up the subject with Mia, and I can’t be responsible for stressing her out on her honeymoon.

  Turns out I’m the one stressing when I pee on the stick.

  27

  Emme

  I DON’T KNOW how long I sit there staring at the sticks. Both positive. Both telling me something I refuse to believe.

  I forget all about my promise to call Mia until my cell rings. I glance down at the display . . .

  “Really?!” Mia sounds annoyed. “How long does it take to run to Walgreens and back?”

  “O. M. G.” is all I can manage.

  She gasps. “You. Are. Kidding. Me.”

  “Ahhhhhhhhhh!” The reality suddenly kicks in. Alone in my bathroom, I can stall. But facing Mia . . . “Ahhhhhhhhhh!”

  “Holy shit, Emme,” is all she can say. “Holy shit.”

  We sit in silence for a bit. Neither of us knows what to say. She recovers first, taking evasive maneuvers.

  “Okay, okay. It’s going to be okay,” she promises. “We can have our babies together. Or you’ve got other options if now’s not the time.”

  Those other options throw us back into that horrible silence again. A horrible silence for a horrible option.

  “That’s not an option.” I can’t even fathom that option. “What the hell am I going to do?”

  “Okay, okay. Back to we can have our babies together.”

  “You’ve got a husband, Mia. I don’t even have a real job.” I do have heart palpitations, though. Lots and lots of heart palpitations.

  “I know, I know, but you’ve always wanted lots of kids, and you didn’t make this one on your own.”

  That only makes me twitch. “We’re talking about Ace.”

  “You’re certain?”

  “There’s no doubt it’s Ace’s—not with my sex lag prior to me going back to the club.”

  “Admittedly, he isn’t exactly husband material. But he doesn’t have to be.” An idea gains speed in her head. I can tell by the way she grows breathless and talks over me when I start to point out the problems.