by M. S. Force
He drops into his playful puppy pose and barks.
Jasper laughs at his antics. “Whose idea was it to invite you, spoilsport?”
“Yours. All yours.”
Randy barks again, looking for someone to play with him.
Jasper runs a fingertip over my cheek and once again has my full attention. “See? Not weird. Not weird at all. In fact, hotter than bloody hell, just as I always suspected it might be.”
Wait, what? He always suspected it might be? “You… You thought about me that way, before Mexico?”
“Darling, I’ve thought about you that way since the day we met.”
Chapter 6
I’m so hard, I can barely function. That kiss, that bloody kiss… It blew the top right off my head and left me dying for more. Next time, Randy-the-mood-killer stays home. When I think about what might’ve happened if we hadn’t been so rudely interrupted, I get even harder, if that’s possible.
“How about a drink?” I ask, desperate for a distraction, anything to calm the wildfire that burns inside me. One taste. That’s all it took to turn my world upside down. Since I confessed to having had a thing for her for a while now, she hasn’t had much to say. And why exactly did I feel the need to blurt that out?
Blame it on the overload of testosterone that’s currently addling my brain.
“Um, sure. I could use one.”
Smiling, I take her by the hand and tow her behind me into the kitchen. “What’s your pleasure?”
“Vodka would do the trick.”
I pour her a Grey Goose and soda and add a twist of lime, just the way she likes it.
“Someone has been paying attention.”
Shrugging, I pour Bushmills Irish whiskey for myself, straight up. “We’ve certainly shared a few cocktails together. Cheers.” As she touches her glass to mine, I note the rosy glow of her skin and her swollen lips. I can’t resist leaning in for another taste.
“Still not weird.”
Her shy smile makes me feel curiously off balance.
“It occurs to me,” I say between sips of liquid courage, “that it might behoove us to partake in a dry run. Well, not a dry run, terrible choice of words, but more of a rehearsal, if you will.”
Her eyes widen as my suggestion registers. “Like, now?”
J.T. stands up and cheers in support of now. Right fucking now. “After dinner, perhaps?” I reach across the annoying expanse of the kitchen counter that now separates us to take hold of her hand. “We could get the awkward preliminaries, if there are any, out of the way before we get down to business.” I fear I may appear shamelessly opportunistic, but I can’t be bothered to care. After the hottest bloody kiss of my life, I want more, and I can’t wait days to have it. Or her.
“Awkward preliminaries,” she says, touching her bottom lip in a way that has me zeroing in on her mouth. “Is that what we’re calling it?”
“After that kiss, I think we can safely drop the awkward part and just call it preliminaries. Or rehearsal for the main event.”
Before she can reply, the doorbell rings, breaking the spell that lingers between us. “That’ll be dinner,” I say, cursing the timing of the delivery. Now I have to get through dinner without her answer to my question. With Randy hot on my heels, I go to the door to accept the delivery, pressing a twenty into the hand of the young delivery guy.
“Thanks, man.”
In deference to Ellie’s well-documented love of all things Mexican, I’ve ordered from one of the best restaurants in Malibu, hoping she’s still excited for Mexican cuisine after the trip. Maybe I should’ve gotten something different, since we gorged on authentic Mexican for a whole week. I’m so rarely uncertain when it comes to women, and here I am again off balance where she’s concerned.
“That smells amazing,” she says, putting me immediately at ease.
“I know it’s your favorite. I just hope you haven’t had enough of it recently.”
“I will never, ever, for the rest of my life, have enough Mexican.”
“Oh, good.” I’m inordinately relieved to have gotten it right.
She helps me unpack the bag, oohing and ahhing over my choices. “Flynn loves this restaurant.”
“He’s the one who told me about it.”
I’d planned to set the dining room table, but we end up on stools in the kitchen, which is utterly perfect. Despite the kiss that rocked us both, the conversation is easy and unencumbered by the weight of expectations—or anticipation. I’m full of both, but I make an effort to keep things light while we devour fish tacos, shrimp ceviche, tortilla salad and delicious rice.
“This is so good,” Ellie says between bites. “I’ve been going through withdrawals since we got home.”
“Glad you like it.” I surreptitiously pass corn chips to Randy, who’s already figured out I’m a soft touch. If the way to a woman’s heart is through her dog, I’m well on my way. Like a needle dragging across a vinyl record, that thought brings me up short. Am I trying to get to Ellie’s heart? Of course not. This is about sex and making a baby. Nothing more.
Except that kiss…
Was just a kiss. Making it into something more would be a mistake of epic proportions.
“I’ve made a decision,” Ellie announces after polishing off a second taco.
“What’s that?”
“I’m going to join an elite dating service to find someone who can be an everyday father to my child.”
Again, the needle drags across the vinyl. W-what did she say? “You’re going to…”
“Find a man to settle down with. It’s time, wouldn’t you say?”
“Oh. Well, I suppose so.” I’m definitely going to need some more whiskey for this conversation. I stand up to refill my glass, aware of an ache in the vicinity of my chest that hadn’t been there a minute ago. The thought of Ellie, beautiful, sweet, vivacious Ellie, with another man suddenly appalls me. Yes, I’m well aware that I have no right to be appalled by anything she does, but I am nonetheless.
“I need someone to filter out the frogs for me,” she continues, apparently unaware that she has stuck a knife in my chest with this news. “Marlowe knows someone who runs an agency for high-profile people. Not that I’m high-profile, but I’m related to people who are. I’m trying to come up with a different last name so no one will know who I am. Maybe Ellie Flynn? They wouldn’t connect me to my brother because that’s his first name. What do you think?”
What do I think? First and foremost, I want to strangle Marlowe, my close friend and partner, for hooking Ellie up with a dating service. Second, I want to murder every man she goes out with, and while I’m feeling felonious, maybe I’ll take out the friend of Marlowe’s who runs the bleeding service.
“You don’t think it’s presumptuous of me to consider myself high-profile, do you?”
“Um, no, of course not.” Why are my hands trembling as I cap the bottle?
“The last guy I dated wanted me to introduce him to Flynn. I’m a little burned after that. I don’t want anyone to know who I really am until I decide I want to keep him, you know?”
The bottle lands a little harder than expected on the counter, the sound drawing a bark from Randy, who’d been sleeping on the kitchen floor.
“Jasper? Are you okay?”
No, I am not okay. I force a blank expression when I return to my seat. “I, uh, I thought we were going to be, you know, exclusive during the capital-infusion portion of the program.”
Her face lights up with laughter and embarrassment. “I’m not going to sleep with any of them! What do you take me for?”
“Oh, um, uh…” Christ, she’s turned me into a babbling prat!
“No, this is all about dating, not sex. Not now anyway.”
“And how do you plan to explain the child you hope to soon be expecting?”
She ponders that for a moment. “I’ll say the baby belongs to my ex, who’s not interested in being a father. That’s kind of the truth, right?”
Every single thing in me rejects that statement. Everything. I want to rage and roar and rail against the absolute unfairness of it all. In any life other than the one I was born into, I’d want to marry a girl like Ellie and give her as many babies as she wants. But in my life, that’s simply not possible, and I fucking hate that reality.
“Jasper? Are you okay? Why are you sweating? Oh, it’s the jalapeños!” She jumps up, finds the glasses, pours me a tall glass of ice water and puts it down in front of me. “Drink that. It’ll help.”
Looking to buy myself some time to explain my odd reaction to myself so I can explain it to her, I down most of the water in one big drink.
“Better?” she asks, watching me carefully.
“Yeah, thanks.” I say what she wants to hear, but nothing is better. No, everything is seriously screwed up, and I have only myself to blame. I’m the one who told her I’d happily help her make a baby but that our offspring was all hers to raise as she saw fit. So how can I object to her plan to find a real father for the baby, someone who will be there for him or her every day when I can’t be?
If I know it’s the best thing for her and our child, why does my heart feel like it’s been put through a paper shredder? My stomach turns, the satisfying meal souring in my gut.
“Do you want to go outside and get some air?” she asks, looking at me with concern.
That sounds like a bloody good idea. Maybe I’ll be able to breathe out there. “Yes, let’s.”
Randy tags along as we go out onto the deck that overlooks the Pacific. Usually it’s my favorite place in the whole world, but tonight I’m too out of sorts to properly enjoy the stunning view. We settle on a double lounge chair, sharing a blanket. It’s chilly, so she snuggles up to me while Randy settles on the other side of her. The cool air helps to calm me, but having her snug against me puts J.T. on full alert.
“Will you help me decide which guy would be good for me and the baby?”
That question drives the dagger deeper into my chest, making breathing a difficult proposition.
“I mean, it’ll be your child, too, and you ought to have a say in who helps to raise him. Or her. I’m not sure why I always picture myself with a boy,” she says with a laugh.
I can see him so clearly—a blond little boy who looks just like his mother. The ache is nearly unbearable. What the hell is wrong with me? Why does the thought of her choosing another man to raise my child make me feel like I’m having a heart attack? It’s what I said I wanted when we struck our deal, but now…
Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.
“You’re quiet. Are you okay?” She looks up at me with those clear blue eyes that are always so open and honest.
I don’t want to talk about the other guys she’s going to date. I don’t want to think about her with anyone else but me. At least not while she’s snuggled up to me, warm and soft and endlessly appealing. “I’m thinking about that kiss.”
“Oh.”
“Are you thinking about it?”
“It’s crossed my mind a time or maybe two.” She looks up at me at the same second I look down at her, and everything goes still. I’m no longer aware of the breeze or the sound of the waves roaring toward the shore. I can’t smell the ocean. I only see her. I only hear her. I only smell her unmistakable scent. And then I’m kissing her again, this time skipping over the preliminaries and going right to the tongue-twisting good stuff. I want to fuck the thought of other men right out of her, and yes, I’m well aware that I sound like a savage even thinking such a thing. But there it is anyway.
Without breaking the kiss, I pull her on top of me, dropping my half of the lounge down a few notches to get the angle I want.
Randy whimpers in his sleep but doesn’t wake up. Just as well, he’d probably tear my throat out if he knew what I plan to do to his mother. And what exactly do I plan to do?
Everything.
I’m on top of Jasper, who’s kissing me wildly, with a sort of desperation I didn’t expect from him. He cups my breasts and runs his thumbs over my nipples, making me squirm from the need for more. Something happened earlier when I told him my plans to find a full-time father for our child. Did he not like hearing that? Should I not have told him?
We’ve always talked about our dating exploits. Is everything different now that we’re fooling around?
“Let’s go inside,” he says in a raspy tone between kisses.
With his hands on my hips, he helps me up and takes my hand. We leave Randy snoring on the lounge. I expect him to lead me to the sofa, but we go directly to the stairs. Am I ready for this? Am I prepared to actually have sex with Jasper? Watching his tight, muscular ass proceed up the stairs ahead of me, I decide that hell, yes, I’m ready.
My legs feel rubbery and uncooperative as I scramble to keep up with him. He’s in a rush all of a sudden.
“Jasper…”
“Yeah?”
“What, I mean… You… You’re in a rush.”
“A rush,” he says with a dry, ironic laugh. “You’ve had me on the edge of madness for days, and you say I’m in a rush.” Taking hold of my hand, he places it over the rigid flesh of his cock, which is long and thick and very hard. My mouth waters in anticipation. “I’ve been dealing with him since that morning in Mexico, so you’ll pardon me if it doesn’t feel like a rush to us.”
Is he really referring to his cock as a person? The thought of that makes me giggle.
His brows narrow in annoyance. “You think that’s funny?”
“A little bit.”
“I need to fuck you.”
The blunt statement takes me completely by surprise and sends my already overheated body into the red zone.
“Is that okay?”
I’m so aroused and surprised by this unexpected alpha side of him that I can barely think, let alone formulate a reply.
“Ellie, focus,” he says sternly. “I won’t touch you until you say it’s okay.”
“It’s… It’s okay.”
He forgoes the buttons on my blouse and pulls it up and over my head. Groaning, he buries his face in my cleavage, kissing and licking and nibbling on the tops of my breasts.
I hold on to his shoulders because I might topple over if I don’t hold on to something. My bra disappears, my skirt falls to the floor, and I’m left standing in a skimpy pair of bikini panties and wedge heels.
“So fucking sexy,” he says in that low growl that’s made even more insanely hot by his accent. “I almost came in my pants watching you swim the other day. I wanted to put my hands on you right there in front of everyone. It almost killed me that I couldn’t.”
Before I can process the things he’s saying, he takes my left nipple into his mouth, stroking it with his tongue and sucking on it at the same. I cry out in surprise as a sharp spike of desire registers between my legs.
“You have no idea how many times I wished I could take you by the hand and drag you off somewhere to do this to you.” He cups my mound, pressing two fingers into my core with only the silk of my panties blocking the way.
“While we were in Mexico?” I ask breathlessly while grinding against his fingers, seeking relief.
“As long as I’ve known you.” He pays homage to my other breast while continuing to stroke my pussy.
The edge that Pete left me on last night can’t be compared to the one Jasper has me on now, as years of fantasy become reality one stroke at a time. God, he’s going to make me come, and he’s barely touched me. I’m nearly there when he changes the game, withdrawing his fingers from my core and turning me so my back is against his bed.
“Sit on the edge,” He never takes his eyes off me as he unbuttons his shirt and whips it off, discarding it along with shoes that go flying. “Lie back.” He unbuckles his belt and sheds his pants, kicking them to the side with his shoes.
I do as he asks, propping myself on my elbows so I don’t miss anything. I’ve seen his chest a hundred times, at the beach, on vacation, at p
ool parties here and in Mexico, but I’ve never had the luxury of staring that I have now. He’s lean and muscular, finely built with golden chest hair that trails down his well-muscled belly and disappears into silk boxers that are currently tented.
His hands find my knees and urge my legs apart.
The muscles in my thighs are liquid, quivering with anticipation and need like I’ve never known before. This is the man who will father my child. He insisted on doing it the old-fashioned way, a detail I’m now exceedingly grateful for since I’ve never had sex as hot as this promises to be.
He leans over me, his lips soft on my belly as his fingers press against my clit.
I can’t help squirming as I try to find the perfect angle.
“Don’t move,” he says in that authoritative tone that sends spikes of heat spearing through me. “Do you remember what I said that morning in Mexico? About who’s in charge when we’re in bed?”
Holding my breath, I nod.
“I own your pleasure, sweet Ellie. You come when I say you can, understood?”
Dear God. Do I understand?
“Ellie? I need the words. Tell me you understand.” He takes my nipple between his teeth and bites down just hard enough to draw a keening cry from me.
“Yes,” I say on a gasp, “I understand.”
“If you come before I say you can, I’ll spank you. Do you understand that, too?”
“You’ll…”
“Spank you, and I’ll make it hurt. Tell me you understand.”
I swallow hard, mortified that the thought of his hand crashing down on my ass nearly makes me come. “Y-yes, I understand.”
“If you want me to stop, you only have to say so, okay?”
“Okay.” At this point, I want to beg him to get on with it, to please relieve the awful ache that’s taken me over.
His expression changes then from tension to relief. He’s relieved that I’ve agreed to his terms. “Relax. I don’t bite. Not hard anyway.”
Chapter 7
