Modern Wicked Fairy Tales: Complete Collection

by Selena Kitt

  It would be the most sensible thing, and probably best for business, Rachel decided, if she just politely told Jake when he called that she’d changed her mind. She was going to be in enough trouble already for the hair incident.

  Which is why, when the phone rang that night in her apartment at the top of the high rise, with Rapunzel’s lights dark far below her, she closed her eyes and said, “Six? That sounds great, see you then.”

  So much for being sensible.

  * * * *

  She knew she was in trouble when Jake pulled up in a limo. At least he didn’t bring a dozen roses, she thought, blushing as a driver opened the door for her and she stepped in. Jake was drinking something amber colored from a fat glass.

  “Hey there, Rapunzel.” He smiled when she got in and slid into the seat across from him. “Ready for game two?”

  “Let’s hope it’s better than game one.” Rachel made a face. The Red Wings had lost game one in overtime three-to-two.

  “I’ll drink to that.” Jake lifted his glass. “Do you want anything? Wine? Champagne?” He nodded toward the bar and she glanced over to see it was fully stocked. He’d really gone all out.

  “Is that brandy?” she asked, looked at his glass. He nodded. “Got any scotch?”

  He raised an eyebrow but reached over to the bar without comment. The car began to move as he poured her a shot and handed it over. Rachel took it with trembling hands. She’d spent an hour and a half getting ready for this non-date. That’s what she kept calling it in her head—a non-date. How a woman could spend so much time on beauty when she didn’t even have any hair was a paradox, she was sure, but that’s how long it had taken her. She didn’t even want to know how long she might have spent if she’d considered it a real date.

  But this was a non-date, just a ride and a ticket to the playoffs. She reminded herself of that fact when she chose to wear her Red Wings jersey, but then forgot it when the short white mini-skirt made it into the mix. She reminded herself that it was a non-date when she decided not to put her hair up, but then forget it again when she found four-inch black strappy heels on her feet. And she tried to remind herself of their non-date status as she sat across from Jake in the limo, but totally forgot it when his hand brushed hers as he handed over her glass and little tingles went up her arm like electrical current.

  “Nice limo.” She looked around the car. It wasn’t a stretch, but it was still a limo with a bar and a little flat screen and leather seats. Big time luxury, at least to her.

  “I just thought it would be easier.” Jake shrugged. “Parking sucks at the arena.” He sat forward to take her glass and she relinquished it, ignoring that damned buzzy feeling in her limbs whenever he got close. She shook her head when he asked if she wanted another drink or anything to eat. There was also a little fridge. They’d already agreed on the phone not to do dinner. She’d been in a non-date mood at the time she insisted upon that. They’d also talked about Emma’s hair and Nina’s reaction—which hadn’t been good. Not good at all.

  “Well, I haven’t heard from your ex-wife.” Rachel glanced out at the city flying by. They really didn’t have far to go, just a few miles. “I guess that means she’s not going to sue me?”

  “If she was going to sue you, you wouldn’t hear from her at all.” Jake finished his brandy and set the glass on the bar. “You’d just hear from her lawyer.”

  “Eek.” The thought of being slapped with a lawsuit wasn’t a happy one. She needed less stress in her life, not more. “Well I haven’t heard from her lawyer either.”

  “Actually you have.” He grinned, sitting back against the seat, his arm stretched casually over the back. He was dressed for the game, jeans and his own Wings jersey—white on red instead of red on white like her own. Another guy might have looked sloppy or casual but Jake looked…well, good. There was no other word for it.

  “I have?”

  “I’m her lawyer.” He looked out the tinted window as the car began to slow. They were in traffic now. “At least, I was.”

  “Didn’t that present a conflict of interest?”

  He snorted. “Justice lets you represent yourself, remember?”

  “So you’re a lawyer.”

  He nodded. “And you’re a hair stylist. I guess we've got the basics out of the way.”

  “Yes, the important things," she agreed with a smile. "Career, marital status, children or lack thereof, and favorite sports team. What else is there?”

  “Um…" He seemed to consider this. "Dog person or cat person?”

  She laughed. “Dog.”

  “Me too. Chinese or Sushi?”

  “Sushi, definitely.”

  “You obviously prefer scotch to brandy. Pepsi or Coke?”

  “Coke Zero. With lemon.”

  “Ugh, how can you drink that stuff?” He made a face. “Okay let’s see…modern or classical?”

  "Both. Although I have a soft spot for the classics."

  He nodded. “Jazz or blues?”

  "Definitely blues. It makes me want to take my clothes off.” The confession just slipped out.

  "Good to know." The look he gave her made her blush all the way to her toes. "I'll have to beef up my collection of B.B. King. Rock or country?”

  Now it was Rachel’s turn to make a face. "Rock. But I like some Garth Brooks on occasion."

  "So you could tolerate a little Johnny Cash?"

  She smiled. "Tolerate being the optimum word there."

  "Here's a tough one. Love or money?”

  "Love of course."

  "Do you think rich people and poor people answer that question differently?" he asked.

  "You're rich, you tell me."

  He laughed. "I'm not rich."

  "Compared to me you are."

  "I'll give you that,” he conceded. “Okay, how about freedom or security?"

  She hesitated. “Security.”

  "I would have chosen freedom."

  “I think rich and poor people would answer that one differently."

  “Probably. The red pill or the blue pill?”

  She shrugged. “Blue.”

  “Give or take?”

  "Give of course."

  “Of course." He looked out the window again. They had stopped, and the arena was just up the block. "Half-empty or half full?”

  She paused, considering the question and then just said, "Yes."

  He wagged a finger at her, shaking his head. "That's cheating. Has to be one or the other."

  "Then...half-empty."

  He looked at her speculatively. "A pessimist then."

  "Just lately, yes." She shrugged.

  “On or off?”

  She glanced at him, at the light in his eyes, and wondered what he was thinking. “Off.”

  "On." He disagreed, grinning.

  “Wait…was that lights or clothes?”

  He laughed and asked, “Top or bottom?”

  She flushed and was glad the lighting in the limo was so dim. "Top."

  "Looks like we'll have to pick this game up later."

  The driver was opening the door and Rachel was glad. The seats were just a little to the left of the blue-line—section 101. And they were only a few rows from the glass.

  “I can see them sweating," Rachel exclaimed, turning to Jake with wide eyes. They were right behind the Red Wings' bench.

  “Is that sexy or gross?”

  She laughed. “A little of both.”

  “I thought so."

  He bought her cotton candy from a vendor even though she said she didn’t want any.

  He told her, “I want to watch you eat it.”

  The pink stuff was sticky and melted on her fingers and tongue and he really did seem to enjoy watching her. And she enjoyed him enjoying it.

  He bought himself a water and her a Coke Zero—with lemon.

  “Where did you get the lemon?”

  He shrugged. “I raided the Long John Silver’s stand.”

  The little
gesture almost made her cry and she chided herself and drank her lemony Coke through a straw, giving herself another mental lecture about their non-date status.

  When the Red Wings scored the first goal, Rachel stood up and danced in the aisle and the cameraman found her and put her on the big screen in her Red Wings jersey. By the second period, she had screamed herself hoarse and the score was tied three-to-three. When the Wings scored the winning goal—in overtime—Rachel jumped up and hugged Jake, who was pumping his fist in the air and yelling as loudly as she was. Then he pointed up, grinning. They were on the big screen again—probably the only two Red Wings fans in the whole place. The rest of the crowd was grumbling, if not outright booing the Blackhawks’ loss.

  “Bet me we’re on the news tonight. Emma’s gonna be psyched.” Jake had called their driver and had him meet them up front. It was a madhouse trying to get out of there, people pressed together like cattle being herded to slaughter, and Jake held fast to her hand so they wouldn’t get separated. She liked feeling him against her, solid as a wall, when they stopped.

  “You mean…we’ll be on TV?” The idea might have thrilled Jake’s sixteen-year-old daughter, but the thought made Rachel go cold.

  “Sure, the game was televised.”

  She paled. “I hope your wife doesn’t watch hockey.”

  “Nina watches the home shopping network and the Lifetime channel.”

  “But does she watch the news?”

  He gave her a steady look. “Who cares if she does?”

  He was braver than she was, Rachel thought.

  They found the limo parked half a block away and Jake held her hand as he helped her into the car. He slid in after, not across this time, but next to her. They couldn’t stop talking about the game, reliving every goal. Jake poured more liquor and they drank it as the limo idled in traffic. The fifteen minute ride in to the arena was going to take them an hour to get out but neither of them noticed the time.

  What Rachel did notice was the lightheaded feeling the alcohol was giving her, although she wasn’t sure it was just the scotch. It might have been the way Jake’s jean-clad thigh flexed against hers every time he reached for the bottle, or the way his hand brushed hers when he took her glass. She felt too warm, confined.

  “You have really lovely hair.”

  The comment made her breath catch and Rachel touched her wig, suddenly self-conscious. “Thank you.”

  She felt his hand moving, brushing the hair over her shoulder, and glanced at him. He wasn’t looking at her face. His gaze followed the line of her jaw, her throat. She knew it was an opening—she could have said something, told him about her illness, but she didn’t. What she really wanted to do was to erase the thought entirely from her mind and she could only think of one way to do it.

  “Hey there…” He accepted the weight of her, surprised, when she turned and put her arms around his neck.

  “Do you want to kiss me?” She could smell her own breath, thick with alcohol, her mouth so close to his. The liquor had given her courage, a boldness she didn’t normally possess, but it had opened up something else too, an empty space inside of her, a fierce hunger, a need demanding to be filled.

  “Desperately,” he admitted. “Haven’t thought about anything else all night.”

  She pressed her mouth to his, trying to recall…was this how you did it? It didn’t take long for her body to remember and Jake helped her along, his tongue parting her lips, exploring the soft recesses of her mouth, the taste of scotch and brandy together making her heady.

  “I take that back,” Jake breathed as they parted, breathless. “A few other things have crossed my mind tonight.”

  “Like what?” As if she didn’t know. She was turned toward him, stretched across the seat, half in his lap, and his cock was a hard bulge against her hip through his jeans. Her intended distraction had turned from boldness to lust in an instant.

  “I’d rather show you.” His hand moved up under her shirt, touching bare skin at her waist. She felt like a teenager in the backseat of her date’s car.

  “I think you should.” Was she really doing this? Oh god, yes, yes she was.

  He groaned at her assent, his mouth capturing hers again, hand moving up higher to cup her breast through her bra. She had forgotten about their non-date status when she’d chosen her underwear—black silk bra and panties and lace-topped sheer black thigh highs. Now she’d forgotten any agreement or non-agreement between them altogether, letting him feel her up and returning the attention, her hand moving against the swollen crotch of his jeans, making him shift and press up against her effort.

  “Oh Rachel,” he whispered her name, his hand moving through her hair, and she cringed, aware of how long it was, how it spread out over them like a curtain, too much of it, as if it had a life of its own, eager to give away her secret.

  She moved away from his hands, finding herself sliding to the floor of the limo between his thighs. His eyes lit up as she knelt and peeled her jersey off, revealing the black bra underneath.

  “And I didn’t even pull out my harmonica,” he remarked, referring to her comment about blues music earlier in the night and she laughed, blushing. He had an incredible memory. And incredible hands, she noted, when they suddenly found more interesting things to do as he fondled her breasts, thumbing her nipples through the material. The sensation made her shiver and they kissed again, tongues entwined.

  Jake let one hand wander around to the zipper on her skirt, easing it down. She helped him wiggle her out of it, feeling exposed. She glanced over her shoulder at the tinted glass where the driver sat. They could see him, but he couldn’t see them. At least, she hoped. Jake turned her attention back to him when his hand slipped down between her legs, cupping her mound. She rocked, moaning softly against his mouth as they kissed.

  “Come here.” Jake pulled her quickly into his lap again and she straddled him, his hands exploring her body, up and down her sides, over her hips, pressing her against his crotch. They danced that way, rocking together, Jake’s mouth covering the tops of her breasts with wet kisses, the heat of his cock through denim rubbing against her panties, creating a horrible friction, making her want him with an urgent, keening ache. What had started out as a temporary distraction was quickly turning into a force of nature she couldn’t control and couldn’t stop—and she didn’t want to.

  “We have to be quiet,” Jake murmured, cupping her face in his hands and kissing her again. “Can you do that?”

  She gasped when his fingers nudged her panties aside, tracing the puffy swell of her lips. They were as smooth as her scalp—she didn’t have to shave at all anymore. As much as she hated the treatments that made the hair on her head fall out, it was a benefit when it came to other parts of her body.

  “I’ll try to be quiet,” she whispered, whimpering as Jake slipped a finger inside and found her wet—embarrassingly wet.

  “Oh god.” His finger moved in and out, eliciting little noises from her throat. “When you say that, I want to make you scream.”

  “I’ll be quiet,” she promised, shivering and biting her lip as his thumb found the sensitive nub of her clit. He rubbed there as he fingered her, her nipples hardening under her bra. “Just please don’t stop.”

  He gave a low growl, pulling the material of her bra down with his other hand, letting her breasts spill free against his face. She arched so he could reach them with his mouth and he teased them back and forth, round and round, matching the motion of his tongue with the fingers between her legs.

  “Don’t stop,” she whispered, reaching back to feel him. His cock strained against his zipper. She undid it, sliding her hand in and finding the tent of his boxers underneath. Jake helped her, slipping his cock free and groaning softly, her nipple between his lips, when she took him in her hand.

  “Quiet,” she reminded him, smiling at his soft moan into her breasts as she stroked him against her behind, his precum wetting the silk of her panties.

&nbs
p; “I’ll try,” he breathed, his fingers pumping in and out of her wetness, matching the tug of her hand between his legs. “But oh my god, I don’t think I’ve ever felt anything so good…”

  “I know.” She swallowed, rolling her hips, wanting more. It had been so long, too long, and he was right, it felt far too good to stop. “Wait.”

  She shifted her hips, rubbing the tip of his dick against her clit, circling it there, and then sliding it down her slit, nudging the fingers away with what she really wanted—his cock—pulling her panties further aside for him. Jake grabbed her hips as she positioned herself, easing down slowly, taking his length. They both sighed when she bottomed out, rocking her pelvis up against his.

  “I was wrong,” he gasped, looking up at her. “This feels even better.”

  “Mmmm hmm,” she agreed.

  “And look at that,” he teased, shifting his weight, making her gasp at the pressure of him inside. “You’re on top, just how you like it.”

  “So I am.” Rachel laughed softly, her fingers gripping his shoulders for balance. His hands were moving again, up over her sides, her breasts, cupping her face so he could bring her to him and kiss her. She sucked at his tongue, feeling his cock throb in response, but when his hands moved through her hair again, she distracted him by putting them somewhere else, this time her ass.

  He grabbed her behind and thrust, making her moan. She remembered her promise to be quiet and bit her lip.

  “So where did our little game leave off?” he inquired, moving his hips to meet her.

  “Game?” she gasped. She couldn’t think. She could barely speak.

  “Hard or soft?” he asked, demonstrating, first with a few hard strokes, followed by a slower, easier pace.

  “Oh god.” She dug her fingers into his shoulders. “Hard. Please.”

  “Deep or short?” Another demonstration—long, deep strokes, followed by short, fast ones.

  “Ohhh! Deep! Deep and hard!” Rachel begged, her thighs trembling as they clenched his.

  Jake gave her just what she wanted, keeping his hands on her ass and fucking up to meet her. Rachel couldn’t take much more. Her clit was throbbing, her whole body aching for release.

  “Up or down?” Jake whispered.