“How?” Apparently she thought better than to finish her question. But he knew where she was headed.
“How did I find out you mean?” He smirked as she nodded once, no, twice, before she simply looked at him as if waiting for his response. “Mom put you in my bedroom without telling me.” Marq smiled at the look she unwittingly made, an incongruous mixture of perplexed and embarrassed at the same time. He let her take a shower alone as his mind raced a mile a minute. He thought about her reaction to him the night before when he stroked the smooth column of her throat.
Marq had watched her melt easily beneath his simple touch. She would be a goddess in bed. Her head tipped back with eyes closed as if basking in his worship of her, and she bit her fat lower lip. The caught rim of mouth didn’t capture her groan completely, instead muffled and banked the sound deep down. The aborted sound was begging for a triplet of moans like it to follow the first. But he heard it, and now wouldn’t give up until he had her begging beneath him. Scenes so vivid they resembled flashbacks played through his mind. What she would feel like under him. What she’d taste like in his mouth, sound like when she begged for more of him. But he thought to himself that she was in a foul mood and his lascivious thoughts were a waste of energy.
When the shower was finished, Jamison made her impatience for Marq to leave known. He followed her through the house, watched her dig through a closet and dresser for a plain set of night clothes. The set was a basic cotton tank and capri cotton bottom complete with drawstring. If nothing else spoke to her need to evict him from her space, the choice of no frills beige garb drove her message home. While she puttered about, he did as well, intent on being nosy and not in the least covert with it either.
“Wow, it’s already eleven?” She hemmed and hawed, the wordage was at first polite, just a vague murmur about the time. At that moment, Marq opened her dresser then closet door in quick succession. There was a bag with faux Easter eggs, the plastic novelty ones that either were used in a treasure hunt or fell out of the quarter machine in front of any chain department store. His gaze darted over the impeccable closet, filled with monochromatic garb. Shit, he thought as he peered at the contents of the closet, no wonder he never really saw her before yesterday. Her clothes were milquetoast and less interesting than watching paint dry.
Every garment was a neutral, designed to either wash her out or make her fade into the woodwork. Even her underwear, which were all folded neatly and arranged by color, were simple. There were no frills or fuss, and the lack of feminine fripperies made him want to show her what she had been missing. There was an untapped well of passion that simmered within her. Marq knew it. What he really wanted to know was how she survived living a half-life, washed free of excitement and color. The woman was sensual, and she burned inside and out with cravings. They were written in the way she fucked him. Her motions were clumsy and fraught with lust. She wanted him, as badly as he desired her. She was a woman of mystery. What made her tick? Why did she hide herself from the world? He was game to get the answers, but he was surprised by the fact he wanted more of her. She wasn’t the type of woman he usually went for.
“Well, tomorrow is a full day for me, I know you must have plans.” Her gaze was pointed at him, as if hoping her wording penetrated. It did, but it was his prerogative to avoid her line of attack. Her next pointed words alluded in detail to her busy schedule the following morning. Marq just pretended to ignore her poorly veiled references and decided to keep her on her toes.
“Are you happy, Jamison?” The question surprised her, as she only blinked wide eyed for several long moments. The wait was long enough to make him think he was way out of line and he might get rudely rebuffed. Then he’d get put out of her house, and not necessarily in that order either.
“No, I’m not.” He was surprised at her honesty. If he were a betting man, he’d have thought it would take at least an hour of debate before she conceded the easily discerned point he made.
“Are you willing to let me take control of your life for a month?”
“What do you—” The words stopped abruptly, as if speech were water from a dry well ended all at once.
“I mean what I said. One month, thirty days, and I will help you to see what you really keep hidden underneath the bland garb you use to veil yourself.”
“H–hide myself?”
“Yes. You act as if you don’t want to be seen. You hide yourself behind those glasses you like to wear paired with plain clothes to be ignored. I know there is more to you. There is a little sparkle in your eyes when you watch the world pass by. I want to taste that spark, Jamison, on my tongue when I make you scream for mercy. You would be perfection on film.” He would bet everything he owned that he could turn her from the bland person she showed the world to a confident sensual beauty worthy of the world. All the makings were there. She was a diamond in the rough.
“F–film?” Her face showed her interest was piqued, even as the features were distorted from nerves.
“Yes, film, Jamison. I would like to record us together, and I think you would love it.”
“You mean during…” She let the words trail from her lips as if she couldn’t say what she knew. Or at least what she thought he was alluding to.
“Fucking? Is that was you were going to say?” He couldn’t help but chuckle at her hesitation to complete the query verbally, instead letting her eyes ask it. Apparently, she took exception to being laughed at and attempted to push him away. But she wasn’t getting away with it that easily. He grabbed both of the hands pushing at his chest and walked her to the mirror resting atop a chest of drawers.
“Look at yourself.” His words were forceful, but that couldn’t be helped. It was apparent that she didn’t think too much of herself. “You are incredibly passionate, but you bottle your needs up. Hide them and yourself like a chameleon along walls in plain view. I’m surprised that you haven’t exploded and gone postal yet.” He felt her shiver and arranged her to his liking, wrapping his arms around her.
“You act like I’m r–repressed.”
“Shhh…” He rubbed his hand over her throat, quelling her mutterings. “You are in some ways, but I think you can be so much more than this. Don’t you?” She seemed to agree, closing her eyes and nodding once. He took the inch her concession gave him and used the gained ground to take the full mile. “So can I take that to mean you’ll let me have you for one month, no holds barred?”
Her agreement was slow in coming, but long minutes later she gave in to the demands his words and presence made and looked away before giving her consent. “Yes, Marq, I will give you one month. But there are no expectations for the end of that time, and this is not a relationship or ending as one.” He could let her have the arguments posed, as he was going to get his way in the end anyway. He always did, and even his mother would claim he could talk birds from trees.
He crooked a brow and grinned. He was going to have the time of his life with her. There was so much she was innocent to, and he was going to film every moment going forward of their mutual exploration into decadence. She was going to be a new woman after he finished with her. His Pygmalion, although something told him that she wouldn’t be schooled alone. There was an inferno inside her just itching to climb out, and maybe he could finally learn what it meant to be intrigued by a woman. Really, he’d never had to work at getting women in his bed. After he’d had sex the first time at thirteen, Marq never went longer than a few days without sex. But if he wanted, Marq could fuck every hour of the day with different women. He’d been tossed too many pair of panties and until recently couldn’t conceive of doing without his daily dose of sex.
* * * *
Jamison was in shock. She’d never expected to have Marques offer her a month of his time. He could be fucking anybody he wanted with his looks and wealth. Then his prior words came back to her. Filming them in bed together. She could see it, him over her, riding her into oblivion. He would make her scream for more and every b
ead of sweat would be immortalized for posterity on camera. The thought was slightly sobering. She was a behind-the-scenes kind of girl, and she dressed the way she did deliberately. What was the point? Why bother putting on garments to catch the eye when she couldn’t even deal with the attention they would garner her? Most of her life had been spent hiding her desires. She could talk on the phone, but the moment someone spoke directly to her face-to-face, she would shut down and become incapable of the simplest conversation.
The major part of her life was keeping her problem silent and minimalizing her association with others. The only reason she even had Charli and Mak as friends was that they forced their way in her life. Otherwise she’d be friendless and single to boot. But she was lucky to have them both, as they loved and took care of her even when she didn’t want their attention. Between the two peacocks they made with their opposing beauty, she looked like a homely wren. But little by little, she grew to trust them. She spent time with them and got to know them. The next best thing to sliced bread was having them for friends. They brought out the best in her. Having the two of them in her life let her know what it was like to belong somewhere. After years spent orphaned, she now knew what it meant to have some kind of family, some sense of fitting in.
That was why she loved film so much. The industry was vibrant and ever changing. From one project to the next, she could find a way to mingle and make temporary associates. For the most part, she worked on various projects and enjoyed herself learning more about the industry. It was the reason NCindieseen was so popular with her grassroots fan base. They got more than a dry recitation of a film. The readers got to know behind-the-scenes aspects, too. They could see how the movie became and not just the finished product. Plus, films were bustling with other information, and even if her blog didn’t refer to gossip, she had made a pretty penny with tabloids for small snippets of info about the actors involved in the production.
But she wasn’t sure what his angle was. Why did her want to help her? She was an orphan who held up walls and spoke with a strong stammer. He was a trust fund baby with the world at his fingertips. But he was too delicious to say no to. If she didn’t use this opportunity to get her brains fucked out, she would regret it for the rest of her life. The caveat she made was to remind herself that this was a temporary fix. It wasn’t about love, or romance, or anything associated with hearts and flowers. None of those things were for her anyway, and there was a term for women just like her. Spinster. If that was her calling in life, so be it. There was no way a man like him would accept her and the baggage from her childhood she carried along to boot. She wanted him to screw her senseless, hot, wild, and powerful. Makenzie was right. That tattoo was the sexiest thing she’d ever seen. It was impossible not to be turned on by its design. She closed her eyes, remembering what the skilled rendering portrayed. The Garden of Eden. He was Adam, the features and build were a close match for him, and Eve was…definitely not white, blonde, or blue eyed. The few moments she got to see it were enough to make her want to know more about it.
“Why is Eve black?” The question came out so quickly after the thought occurred that she didn’t even stammer once.
“Because I don’t believe that genetically, two white people could give rise to our civilization of multicultural people. One of the two had be something other than white then, right?” He laughed slightly, and she was left with more questions and no answers to go with them. She found herself holding yawns at bay, and when Marq heard her, he immediately escorted her to bed. All she could remember is how good he smelled next to her, masculine scented even with the use of her shower gel. She was asleep in moments.
Jamison dreamed of their first fuck against the wall, the way he tormented her with his thick length of dick. The way he grunted at her, nipped her flesh as he rode her. Only this time she could see herself and him in plain view. The vision was nearly better than the fuck for some reason she couldn’t explain. The only thing missing was the audio. It was as if it was off somehow. The best description she could get was that the dream was poorly dubbed. Similar to when she watched foreign films before the review and the mouthing motions didn’t match the words spoken. Instead of the grunts and groans Marq uttered during their steamy wall fuck, she heard lusty phrases.
“You feel so good, damn near virgin tight.” Then he followed with, “That’s right, toss that pussy back at me.” She had no idea where the words were coming from. Sound seemed to come at her from all directions, bombarding her sense of hearing in stereo sound. She felt so good all over, and the scene before her grew more explicit and aggressive. Her nocturnal avatar was receiving something she’d never had before, a slow, mouthwatering screw that left her panting out of control. But something was niggling at her, similar to a pesky fly buzzing around the ear. The sensation, if she could call it that, was pulling her from her dream, and she desperately didn’t want to leave the sensual tableau.
By the time the fog of sleep began to lift, Jamison was truly snared. She panted and felt needy, but she didn’t know why. Her hand was moving toward her clit before she could even think of the action. But there was a hand there already, insistently plucking the nerve-laden bundle into a pebbled erection of female flesh. She could feel puffs of air bathe her neck and ears, followed with erotic mutterings hot enough to sear steaks on a grill. She couldn’t make sense of half he said, but all of it made her cream around the intrusion of cock speared within her delicate walls. She was turned on her side. He was behind her, around her, as he aroused her. None of her body was ignored by his hands, and everywhere he caressed was given equal attention.
It was all she could do to rock against him and clutch greedily at his grasping arms. She was so thoroughly entranced with his clasp, encompassing every inch of her it seemed. Even his leg was wrapped over her hip, crisp male hairs rasping over her newly shaved skin. Her feet even possessed sensations. He used his toes to rub against the arch of one foot. God it felt so good, she needed to scream. The stronger the multitude of sensations grew, the tighter she curled inward, and now she was nearly in a fetal position. Marq was curled around her, his upper arm pillowing her head. Jamison used the tense bicep as a gag of sorts, opening her mouth wide and biting him.
“So you want to fuck, is that it?” The syllables rasped over her ear, forcing a protracted shiver along her spine to end around his cock, even she felt the ripples of satisfaction pulsing from her walls.
“Uhh…god knows, this is fine.” Jamison’s voice trembled the same as her skittish body did and carried a suspiciously hoarse pitch.
“I would hope so since I’m inside you right now.” His hips moved infinitesimally slow, making every nerve-laden millimeter of motion count. So good. Her sex was so wet, she put rivers to shame. He told her that, and the words nearly sent her over until he pinched the clit he still fingered. The flash of pain just sent her blistering higher, burning harder until she gave birth to the scream that she worked so hard to keep within her chest.
“Ahh—” The sounds burned within, kept buried deep, made her long to bite, scratch, and claw at him until he gave her what she needed. It was so close, but the teasing strokes he bestowed her clingy sheath were enough to raise the bar of her orgasm, yet not enough to send her headfirst into it. The submissive position she allowed herself to fold into made interaction with his dick impossible. Only experiencing was feasible. And there was so much to dive into.
As though he could feel her spiraling away, he rolled them over. Now he was mounting her like a recalcitrant animal, and she loved it. There was something primal in the position that gave her the ability to be free in her possession. She laughed and let him guide her. By the time they finished juggling limbs, she was in child’s pose with Marq mirroring her posture. His fingers were clasped between hers, his soft palms riding the back of her hands. Each motion was still gentle, subtle waves throbbing inside her. But the angle of entry and the depths he reached were enough to make her rock back and forth in sensual madness.
The dark allure of being covered and mounted was enough for her to let go, and Jamison bit at the soft cotton sheathing her bed. The wads of fabric gagging her did little to hold her gasps of pleasure at bay. She felt Marq pull away and ripple through her walls once more before groaning and latching his lips over the head of the snake tat poised sentry-like over her shoulder. The skin there seemed more sensitive, as if the ink left the sensory organs it permeated bare. His mouth was enough send the whispers of her fading pleasure into orbit again. Only this time her cries of pleasure were allowed to escape and envelop the room in a symphony of sound. Marq refused to let her hide the wails using one hand beneath her chest, cupping her throat with the palm and forcing the column upward to face the ceiling.
When her shaking finally stilled, his next words were to tell her how well she did. How beautifully she succumbed to him and their lust. When each breath released against her ear had lowered to a normal pace, he rolled them over once more. Now she was on top, only she was facing away from him. Her chin was cocked ceiling-ward, hair a scattered tangle in every direction. Her legs splayed over his, arms flung away from her body. Unlike her sprawled limbs, his were contained. He merely thumbed a puckered nipple and rubbed circles over her belly with the other hand. His legs were tucked neatly between hers using them to keep her rubber limbs akimbo. She felt so open and so ready for anything he could offer her in this moment.
After long minutes spent shivering under his hands, Jamison looked toward her window, watching the sky begin to brighten. Instead of draining her, the surplus of early-morning, Marques-manipulated orgasms left her energized and ready for anything. She felt ready for her sun salutations and whatever the day brought her. He must have read her mind as he asked her, “Can I watch you? Greet the sunrise like you did in my room?”
Willows, Jennifer - A Harem of One [The Moreland Brothers 3] (Siren Publishing Allure) Page 7
