Debauched (Undone Book 3)

by Jennifer Dawson

  He gives me a long, slow once over. At six-five, he’s not only scarily gorgeous, he’s intimidating. “You look ridiculously hot.”

  I roll my eyes. “You have to say that.”

  “No, I do not. Let me put it another way.” Michael grins, his unusual hazel eyes mischievous. “You’d better prepare to get fucked where you stand, so try not to blush during the story Chad gives to his parents about why you’re late. You have a shit poker face, so keep cool. If you don’t, one look at you in that dress will give you away.”

  Face heating fifty degrees; I stare at him in horror. “Is that supposed to make me feel better?”

  Michael shrugs. “I hope Chad’s not feeling particularly possessive, because if he is, you’d better watch out.”

  Oh my god, am I really standing here having this conversation with my best friend’s fiancé? I scowl. “Would you stop that? Be serious.”

  “I am dead serious, girl.” His tone, it does something deep in my belly.

  My gaze meets his, and his…it’s…knowing. He called me girl—as I’ve heard him and Leo do countless times. As Chad sometimes calls me when we are at our most crazed.

  I swallow hard and glance at the floor. “Maybe I should pick the tan one.”

  He shakes his head. “No. Wear the dress. If you don’t, I’ll be forced to text Chad and have him pick for you. And I already know what he’ll choose. So save us the trouble.” Then he turns, gives Layla a hard kiss, and leaves.

  She smirks. “See?”

  I can only gape after Layla’s fiancé, taken aback. “Did Michael just blackmail me?”

  She laughs. “How else can we be sure you make the right choice?”

  I turn to study my reflection. On the surface, the dress is perfectly respectable. It doesn’t even show a ton of skin, but I can’t deny there’s something about it. Paired with my body type and coloring I’ll be hard pressed to find something better. “Are you sure about this? His parents.”

  “Trust me. That’s why it’s so perfect.”

  My brow furrows. I’m not remotely a fashionista. My only dresses are the ones I wear to sing, other than that I like jeans, skirts and tees. “I don’t follow.”

  “The perfection of a dress like this is that it is respectable. There’s nothing inappropriate about its cut, or what it reveals. It’s you inside it that transforms it.” She gets a sly grin on her face, and really it’s almost terrifying in its deviousness. “And you, my dearest, bestest friend, are going to learn the fun of having a very proper, respectable dinner with an evil man whose one and only thought will be how to make you pay for making him suffer.”

  The oddest, strangest thing happens at Layla’s statement. I don’t experience panic or worry, as I would expect. In fact, what rushes over me is an emotion I have very little experience with, although I’ve faked it many, many times.

  Power.

  Chad

  Curiosity strums through my blood as I walk down Ruby’s hallway. Michael texted me earlier, saying I needed to make sure Ruby was wearing the white dress.

  When I questioned him, all he’d said was I wouldn’t be sorry, and that I’d understand as soon as I saw her.

  So, I’m guessing she’s rocking a white dress, and I’m always game for that. Although why her clothes are important enough to warrant a text—from a guy—well, that remains to be seen. As Michael isn’t prone to exaggeration I’m expecting something pretty good and I’m brimming with anticipation.

  I knock on the door, tapping my fingers against the doorframe.

  The door flies open and Ruby is standing in front of me.

  She’s wearing a white dress.

  And I get it.

  Everything about Michael’s text makes perfect sense.

  I take in the length of her.

  Un-fucking-believable.

  The dress is a stark contrast to her dark hair, which is a tumble of shiny waves around her shoulders. Her eyes, lined with some sort of smoky shadow are impossibly blue. Her lips look to be bare, but they are full and slightly swollen, the natural shade only enhancing her appearance.

  And that dress—that fucking dress—brings her all together in one stunning package.

  All I can think about is devouring her. My grip tightens on the wood.

  “Hi.” Her voice is breathless, her eyes excited.

  I’m still trying to get my tongue to work properly. I shake my head.

  She smiles, and there’s something there that wasn’t before. Slyness. Cunning. “Is everything okay?”

  My gaze narrows. She knows the effect she’s having on me.

  When I speak, my voice is more growl than anything else. “We’re going to be late.”

  And then I lay claim to her like this is the last fuck I’ll ever get on this earth.

  I push her inside, slamming the door shut with my foot as I eat at her mouth. Devouring her with a hunger that borders on obsessive.

  Her hands clutch at my shoulders as she stumbles back. I swing her around and slam her against the wall—the first available surface I find—as my tongue plunges into her mouth. She lets out a sound like the wind’s been knocked out of her, before our mouths crash together. I fist her hair, angling her head to my satisfaction. For ultimate penetration.

  Her hips jerk against me and I kick her legs apart. Inserting my thigh roughly to grind between her legs. It’s like some switch has flipped in my head and released the primal beast that lives inside me. In this moment I’m not interested in anything civilized.

  My only interest is possession.

  I pull her hair, tearing her mouth from me, to ask in a savage tone, “Are you on the Pill?”

  She nods and tries to capture my mouth.

  “I’m going to take you bare.” Just the thought of it frays the last remaining thread I have on sanity.

  She moans.

  I push her against the wall. “Is that a yes?”

  She pants out, “Yes.”

  “This is going to be quick and dirty. Understand?”

  She nods, tugging my shirt out from my pants; her fingers slide over my stomach. “Please.”

  I groan. She’s going to be the death of me. I capture her mouth. My kiss is brutal. Ruthless and demanding. Full of aggression and primal hunger, and she just stands there, taking it. Giving it back while she rides my thigh, working herself up as she surrenders to my will.

  I lift the skirt of her dress so it bunches at her waist, slip my fingers into her panties and play over her wet flesh. And god is she wet. I strip her panties, put them in my pocket, and fumble at my belt, never breaking the contact of our clinging, desperate mouths. I’ve spent hours kissing Ruby. Hours. I know exactly what she likes, how she likes it, and I give it to her, but hold nothing back.

  Every ounce of dominance I keep in check comes pouring out and she responds, exactly like the good little girl she is, and goes crazy. I slide my pants down my hips, free my cock, and work my way into her tight heat.

  Every sense I have is focused on impaling her.

  She makes that needy little gasp, tilts up to meet me.

  I push farther into her, pulling out and pushing in. Deeper.

  I lift her knee and hook her leg on my hip.

  Our mouths part, unable to maintain contact as we pant our way together.

  When I’m finally seated inside her, I pull out and slam back into her. Her head thunks against the wall, her neck arches. I want to sink my teeth into all that offered flesh—because it is an offering—but I don’t, because I don’t want to mark her in such a visible way. Instead, I slide my hand around her throat and squeeze.

  She cries out and rocks into me.

  Under my palm I feel her muscles working, her pulse pounding, and it feeds that part of me that wants to claim her in the harshest and most brutal way possible.

  I grow impatient. Even with her pinned against the wall I’m not deep enough.

  I growl, pull out of her, yank her by the shoulders and push her to the floor. />
  She lifts up and I stare down at her for a fraction of a second—taking in the sight of her, helpless and wanton on the floor, her body bowed in invitation. I’ve never seen anything in my life as beautiful as Ruby lying there, completely undone, needy and desperate.

  I fall to my knees and fucking impale her, so hard she slides across the floor. I grip her hips to keep her in place. Right where I want her. I slam into her again and again and again. I unleash on her, driving into her relentlessly. Her body tightens, but she doesn’t go over the edge, and my body is demanding release.

  I take one hand from her hip; grip her throat and growl into her ear, “You’re going to spend dinner with my family with my come dripping down your thighs.”

  And that’s all it takes.

  She cries out. Convulses around me, and it throws me right over the edge. I spill into her with a blinding force that shakes my entire body, my entire being right to the core. Intense pleasure sears through me as I spurt hot inside her. I don’t stop until I wring out every last bit of her orgasm and we collapse into a panting heap.

  I’m trying to catch my breath when she giggles. A very un-Ruby-like sound.

  I lift my head. “What’s so funny?”

  “Nothing.” She laughs again.

  I squeeze her hip. “You’re going to tell me.” I mean to make the words demanding, but I’m too mindless. My cock is inside her, her pussy still tight, like she doesn’t want to let me go.

  Her lips twitch. “Michael was right.”

  “Yeah, he was.”

  Her brow furrows. “What do you mean?”

  I grin, and prop my elbows on either side of her. “He texted me a very odd message saying I needed to make sure you wore a white dress.”

  “He did?”

  “Of course I didn’t understand until I saw you. Then it all made sense.” I cock my brow. “How exactly did he see you in this dress?”

  “It’s Layla’s.”

  “I beg to differ.”

  She smiles. “That’s what she said. I didn’t have anything appropriate to wear so we went to her house.”

  “I see. And what was Michael right about?”

  “Your response.” She bites her lip. “He said I have a terrible poker face and I should try not to blush when you explain why we’re late.”

  I laugh.

  “Do I have a terrible poker face?”

  I kiss her sweet mouth. “Yes. It’s one of my favorite things about you.”

  “You’re so weird.”

  I glance at my watch. “We have to go.”

  She sighs. “I hope this isn’t a disaster.”

  “Don’t worry, they’ll love you.”

  “Time will tell.”

  We manage to heave ourselves off the floor and spend the next couple minutes putting ourselves back together again. She looks around, turning in a circle before getting down on her hands and knees and peering under her couch. I bite back my groan at the sight of her ass high in the air, and try not to think about the fact that I’ll be fucking it soon. How it’s going to pulse down my cock when she comes. And she’s going to come. By the time I take her there she’s going to crave it like she’s a fucking heroin addict.

  Because I know her secret now. The dirtier and more forbidden I make the act, the more she’ll want it. The hotter it will make her.

  I put my hands in my pockets and my right one touches the scrap of silk she’d been wearing. “Are you looking for your panties?”

  She cranes her neck to look up at me. “Yes.”

  “They’re in my pocket, and that’s where they’re staying.”

  She straightens and sits back on her haunches, basically kneeling before me. On impulse I step forward so I’m towering over her and look down.

  She sucks in a breath. “I need them.”

  “No you don’t.”

  She bites her lip, peering up at me. She opens her mouth and closes it. Shakes her head.

  I brush her hair from her cheek. “I believe I told you what was going to happen at dinner.”

  “I didn’t think you were serious.”

  I laugh. “Dead serious. I want you to feel my come sliding over your legs, slippery between your thighs. I want you to feel it when you walk, when you sit, while you talk.”

  “But…” She glances around the room. “That’s…”

  I don’t make her say it. She already knows and that’s enough. I nod. “It is.”

  I grip her hair and force her chin up, arching her neck at a position that emphasizes my dominance and her vulnerability.

  She quivers, her pupils dilating.

  “I know how wet it makes you.” I let the statement hang in the air, suspended between us. Thick with meaning. Letting it change her, me, and our relationship without a single word.

  When I’ve made my point, I release her, hold out my hand, and help her to her feet. She blows out a shaky breath and pulls down the hem of her skirt before straightening. “Do I at least look respectable?”

  No she does not, but in the best possible way. And not in a way that affects her meeting my family or that my parents will be thinking about when they meet her. Although I’m sure my brothers will take notice. They’d have to be dead not to. “You look perfect.”

  She nods, grabs a purse then starts toward the door.

  Just as she’s about to open it an urge takes over. An instinct I would have ignored last week I now follow, twisting the knife deeper. I push the door closed with the palm of my hand. “One more thing.”

  She goes to turn but I shake my head. I grip her neck and push forward, while I take her hip in my free hand and urge her back. On instinct her palms come to rest on the door. I tap her thigh. “Open.”

  When she doesn’t hesitate, my cock grows hard again.

  I lift the hem of her dress, from behind I reach between her legs, where my come has combined with her wetness and draw it up to the crease of her ass.

  She gasps. “Oh god.”

  I laugh. Repeat my actions until her puckered skin is slick and quivering. I circle my middle finger where she’s most sensitive and when she’s pushing back into my hand I lean down and whisper in her ear, “I wouldn’t want you to forget I’ll be fucking your ass when you’re talking to my parents over salad.”

  Ruby

  I literally have no idea how I’m holding it together as I clutch Chad’s hand and walk across the restaurant to where a group of people are seated around a large table. There’s an older man and woman, both attractive who are clearly his parents. Even from across the room I see the resemblance between Chad and his dad.

  I also see two guys.

  All four of them are staring at me.

  I squeeze Chad’s hand tighter and he squeezes back. “Just breathe, girl. You’re going to be fine.”

  My emotions are a mess. My body is a mess. Instead of the appropriate meeting-the-parents things I should stress about, all I can think is that I must smell like sex. How can I not? My thighs are slippery wet. I’ve been fucked within an inch of my life. And he did that…that…that…thing to my ass that screwed with my head and made me want it.

  That doesn’t even take into account the cab ride over. He played with me the whole way, while carrying on a completely innocent conversation with the driver, who had to know what Chad was doing because I couldn’t stop gasping and shifting and moaning. The driver kept looking at me in the mirror but Chad just kept on talking.

  To my horror and shock, I almost came.

  It was the only time he spoke to me. Right when I was on the very edge and one hard press of his fingers would push me over, he lightens his touch, turned and whispered in my ear, “No coming for you.” Then went back to talking about the Cubs third baseman or something like that.

  I honestly don’t remember. Are third basemen a topic of conversation?

  I’d spent the rest of the ride over in some sort of suspended state of tingling mess one step away from orgasm. Instead of the situation shocking me and
pulling me back to sanity, I just kept getting hotter and hotter until I wasn’t thinking about anything else. On the other hand, Chad acted like it was completely normal to have a needy, half-crazed, desperate woman writhing next to him while he carried on an innocuous conversation.

  All of this swirls in my head, consuming me and suddenly I’m at the table, standing in front of them. They all rise to greet us and Chad releases his hold on my hand and slips his palm to my waist. “Hey, sorry we’re late. Mom, Dad, I’d like you to meet, Ruby. Ruby, these are my parents, David and Alice, and my brothers, Cameron and Christopher.” He kind of pushes me forward and like I’m watching someone else from a distance I’m holding out my hand.

  I smile. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.” Thank god my voice is completely calm.

  His mom grasps my palm and beams at me. “My, my you certainly are lovely.”

  “Thank you.” Your son is the devil and he won’t stop torturing me.

  His father takes me in, nods at Chad, I think in approval. “Well done.”

  Chad laughs and shakes his head, giving my hip a little squeeze.

  Cameron, Chad’s oldest brother is dressed in a pair of gray pants and a white button-down, not unlike things I’ve seen Chad wear. They look remarkably alike, except Cameron’s eyes are a dark brown. A smile on his face, his gaze flickers discretely, and in a second he’s roamed my entire body before he meets my eyes and says to me in a voice as smooth as whiskey, “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Ruby.”

  He’s not what I expected. I always think of doctors as older, stately and comfortable. And, well, I kind of picture doctors as bald—probably because my pediatrician growing up was bald. Cameron Fellow’s is none of those things. In fact, he’s hot; if a doctor walked into an exam room looking like that, I’d run. He has the same penetrating stare Chad does, and I’d bet my last dollar he’s a player. I nod. “Thank you, you too.”

  The youngest brother, Christopher grins at me, all charming and affable. Chad told me he’s twenty-seven and in his residency. He’s cute, with messy butterscotch-colored hair and light brown eyes, he favors his mom. He gives me a boyish grin, chuckles and gestures to the table. “Hey, Ruby. No pressure here at all, is there?”