Insatiable

by J. D. Hawkins

  “I became an architect right then,” Jax went on. “I went from Lego, to graph paper, to university scholarships and awards. We didn’t have much money growing up, and my family didn’t have any connections. But I had talent and determination. Enough to break down the obstacles. Enough to drag me, and anyone who shared my vision to where I am now.”

  “And where are you now?” I say, hanging on every word.

  “I’m one of the best architects in the world, and I’ve only just gotten started.”

  I blush, smile, and look away. I can see the fearsomeness in his eyes. Feel the depths of his conviction in his words. It’s daunting, scary. I feel like I’m about to get crushed by it all.

  I open my mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. Jax laughs, and his face breaks back into the warm charm I’m more accustomed to.

  “You’re surprised that I’m for real, right?” he says, enjoying my speechlessness. “You thought I was just a dumb guy who hits on chicks. What was it you called me… ‘manwhore?’”

  He laughs again. No hard feelings. Not that kind anyway.

  “I just figured you were so good at it, that it must be your full-time job.”

  Jax smiles, and I see something light up in the deepness of his eyes.

  “It’s never my full-time thing,” he says, downing the last of his drink and sending out his nonchalant gesture that brings the bartender over in seconds once again. To my surprise he orders us club sodas with lime this round.

  “What’s with the virgin beverages?” I tease. “I thought you were a professional.”

  “Oh, I am.” He leans forward with a hungry gaze. “But I intend to keep you up all night long, and I’d hate for you to miss a single second of it.”

  I cross my legs tightly under the table and look away from the pointed lust in his gaze.

  We talk for hours. Flirting and probing each other like dancers in perfect sync. Jax talks like he fucks, hitting every note with perfect timing. He knows how to make me laugh, knows how to make me blush, and knows how to make me feel good. He’s more intoxicating than the drinks we’ve downed, and I let him carry me away once again into his world, where sex and power swirl around like angels and demons.

  It’s Jax who calls it, just like he calls everything. He glances at his watch just before midnight, gestures for the bill and says: “Come on, I’ll drive you home.”

  Drive me home? Jax has been working me up to the point I’d orgasm if I uncross my legs. I’m two drinks away from grabbing his perfectly chosen suit, pinning him to the ground, and sitting on his delicious face. And he wants to drive me home now?

  For the first time in my life, I feel empathy for the millions of guys getting brushed-off around the world tonight, and I wish I’d gone for another cosmo to combat my sinking mood. What happened to all night long? It’s definitely not gonna work at my shoebox of an apartment with all its nosy neighbors and paper thin walls, and he knows this. So what gives?

  I wait for his move all the way outside. Wait for him to throw me over the low hood of his black Ferrari Testarossa and pound me with all the coiled power of his tight butt muscles. Instead, he opens the passenger door like a gentleman and smiles as I climb inside. A moment later, he slides behind the wheel next to me and it’s all I can do to keep my hands to myself as the sexual tension pours off his tight muscled body, just inches away.

  We start making our way through the streets of LA, and I wait for him to unbuckle my belt, pull me over towards him, and let me straddle him like the greatest rodeo rider this side of Texas. Instead, he keeps his eyes on the road and one hand on my thigh, where it rests in between his intermittent gear shifts, radiating heat through my entire body.

  If this is a trick to get me squirming with anticipation, it’s working. I’m feeling so desperate I rub my thighs together like tinder sticks trying to ignite a fire. I know he’s not drunk, the way he switched us to soda after the first two rounds. The burning within me is so distracting that I barely notice him take a detour off Mulholland. I’m still glancing at him suspiciously as he guides his sleek, leather-filled car into a secluded spot, overlooking the twinkling lights of the LA skyline.

  “Where are we?” I ask, cautiously.

  Jax kills the engine, and with a slow, deliberate gesture, moves his right hand to the back of my headrest. He looks at me with eyes that make me feel like I’m falling backwards into a well. When he speaks, the words come slowly, firmly. Like powerful drums hypnotizing me into his lustful rhythm.

  “I have been hard for you since the moment I watched your ass settle into that booth. I think you’re about ready to be taught. You want to know how to fuck? You got to know how to give head.”

  I gaze into his eyes for what feels like an hour, then reach over to his fly. He grabs my hand, and pushes me back.

  “No. This is all me right now. You got to make it all you. Tell me what you want.”

  I realize my mouth is dry and I swallow. “I want your cock.”

  Jax nods, then raises his eyebrows like he’s expecting more.

  “I want that big… beautiful… cock. I want to taste you. I want to feel how hard you are.”

  Jax adjusts his seat until he’s lying almost horizontal, and I read the cue like we’ve choreographed it beforehand. I unbuckle, lean over, and unbutton his fly. I was just talking before, but when I release his rock hard dick from his underwear it really is big, it really is beautiful – I really do want to taste it. I work slowly, gently, sliding his boxer briefs down, revealing the devastatingly beautiful line of his hip muscles.

  “Real slowly,” Jax says, in a tone both soft and strong, “lick me from the balls to the tip.”

  I don’t hesitate, I’m as hot as he is. I press my tongue against his skin and feel the hotness of his flesh.

  “Look me in the eye as you do it.”

  I raise my gaze and lock eyes with him. They’re cold, hard, focused. I should be learning right now, but it’s hard to think when you’re giving head to the sexiest man you’ve ever met.

  “Good,” Jax says, as I roll my tongue down his cock once again on the other side. “Now use your lips. Kiss my balls, my shaft, work it up slowly.”

  I proceed to do exactly as he instructs.

  When my kiss rolls onto the top of his cock, I take the initiative, and brush my lips softly against his tip, tasting the precum welling up there. Jax’s head thumps back against the headrest, and when he looks back at me I smile as I suck gently over the head of his dick.

  “That’s right,” he says. “That’s really fucking right.”

  I start working my head, rolling my tongue in and around the curves.

  “Smack it gently against your tongue. Yeah. Good. Now take me in your mouth. Make me feel how hot and wet it is. Taste how close I’m getting. Suck it faster. Harder. More.”

  I feel Jax’s hand bury itself in my hair. Guiding my movements.

  “Stay in control. That’s it. Don’t let up.”

  I may be giving head, but I’m the one in control. Having Jax inside my mouth I can feel every wave of pleasure, every little flutter that brings him closer to the climax. Our eyes lock again, but this time mine are the ones that are cold and commanding, his are wide and out of control. I smile sweetly, give his dick one more long, glorious suck as I pop it out of my mouth, and then place my face below it. With one hand on his balls, and the other jerking him over the edge, I watch as his mouth opens and he lets out a helpless groan as he comes across my cheek and down my neck.

  I roll the taste of him around my lips. It should feel messy, disgusting, embarrassing, but somehow I feel glorious.

  As I roll back into my seat and clean myself off with a tissue, Jax readjusts himself slowly in the driver side, slowly catching his breath.

  He finally turns to me with a look of incredulous pride. “You sure you’ve only been with one guy?”

  I adjust his rear view mirror so that I can touch-up my lipstick. “I’m a fast learner,” I reply. “And I l
iked doing it.”

  It’s the truth. All that power, all that control, and just knowing I could do that to a man—I could get used to this. And the best part is, this is only the beginning.

  Chapter 9

  Jax

  It’s going to be a masterpiece.

  Every one of my buildings is, but the super-rich producer who commissioned this particular one already owns several mansions, and gave me free reign to do whatever I wanted. And what I wanted to do just happened to be create the best damn building the west coast has ever seen. A mansion so beautiful you feel happier just being inside it. A mansion so breathtaking it demands you become a better person if you want to live there. A mansion so overwhelmingly elegant you could have people take a walk through it as a therapy session. A mansion I’ve recently - and secretly - codenamed ‘Lizzie.’

  Aptly, everything is falling into place nicely. I make the rounds, exchanging dirty jokes with the construction teams, and ironing out details with the decorators.

  I see Luce out back by the pool, scribbling notes onto a clipboard.

  “Hey,” I say, walking up to her.

  “Hey yourself,” she says, writing a few more words down and then looking up at me.

  “’Hey yourself’? Is that a thing now?”

  Luce shrugs.

  “Did you know Santos’ wife is six months pregnant? We’re going to need—”

  She cuts me off. “Another foreman to come in and learn the ropes before he disappears? Yeah. Already on it, Jax.” Luce shoots me a smug smile. I return it with one that’s genuine. I haven’t been this excited about a project in a long while.

  “That’s my girl.”

  “Ha! Sometimes I think I’m the only one who isn’t your girl.”

  “There’s still time,” I shoot back. I give her that sexy-as-fuck cock of my eyebrow, the one I should get trademarked. But she just laughs it off.

  “They do say Hell lasts an eternity,” she says, with a grin. “You look tired, Jax. That rejection still weighing on your mind?”

  “What rejection?” I say, with an exaggerated expression of surprise.

  “You know exactly who I mean!”

  “Oh, the girl who was in my pool a couple of nights ago? And in my car last night? I’d say my mind’s at ease.”

  Luce groans, then points to the front of the mansion where she wants us to walk. “And here I was hoping you would have a revelation.”

  “It’s a revelation, alright. She…” I lower my voice as we squeeze through a corridor full of builders. “She wants me to teach her the ‘ways of the flesh.’”

  We emerge into the large lobby, where Luce has enough room to spin around in front of me so I can see her train-stoppingly amazed expression.

  “Are you kidding?”

  I shrug. “I don’t lie. I don’t need to.”

  “That’s a bad deal, Jax.”

  “For her? Probably.”

  “That’s going to bite you in the ass. Big time.”

  I smile. “We haven’t got to the ass-biting lesson yet. But thanks for the suggestion.”

  “You’re an asshole. How many times have you been together?”

  “Three, maybe four times.”

  “In the last three days?”

  I shrug. Technically it’s only the second official day of our one-week bargain, but I don’t mention that part to Luce. I want to keep my balls, thanks very much.

  Luce shakes her head, spins around as if looking for a witness, then faces me again; all pointy fingers and preachy conviction.

  “Firstly, that’s a long-term relationship by your standards. Secondly, she’s going to fall in love with you, you dick.” So much for keeping my balls.

  “Come on…”

  “How many times have we had that conversation? The one where you meet a woman, do—” she gestures towards my body, “whatever it is you do, and then can’t shake her off?”

  “But—”

  “Remember the girl who kept baking muffins and bringing them to the construction site?”

  “They were good muffins.”

  Luce rolls her eyes. “Remember the one who hired a private detective?”

  “Ok, but that was—”

  “What about the girl who scratched her name into my car because she thought I was your wife?”

  I laugh. “That was funny. Come on.”

  “And they were just one-night stands. You’re seeing this girl.”

  “I’m not ‘seeing’ her. Lizzie’s not like that. She’s cool.”

  But Luce just crosses her arms and shakes her head again. “It’s scientific, Jax. Women fall in love with men who make them come. That’s just a fact.”

  I shuffle on my feet, enjoying the way Luce’s face looks so stern when she’s in full lecture mode. She should have been an inner-city school teacher.

  “What me and Lizzie are doing is very clear, very up-front, very honest. It’s just sex.”

  Luce steps back and squints at me like I’ve got the world’s hardest sudoku puzzle scrawled on my forehead.

  “Wow,” she says, shaking her head, “how can a man so good at getting women into bed, understand so little about them.”

  Shouts from the driveway interrupt us as supplies are wheeled in.

  “I’ll go,” Luce says, “you just… stand in the corner or something. And think about what you’ve done.”

  I nod my sarcastic appreciation and watch her march over to the supply truck. Five feet seven of hurricane. I really should hook Luce up with someone.

  As I mosey out of the lobby and onto the grounds that surround the mansion, I pull out my phone. Just talking about Lizzie makes me horny. Usually, when you hear someone’s name, you remember their face, but when I hear Lizzie’s name, I think of her entire body. I remember the way she worked my cock in the car and wonder if I should break my rule of doing the same thing twice – it was that good.

  Still got your lipstick on my dick, I type, then text it to her. I’m grinning as I send it, picturing her face. Hoping she’ll make that sly one, the guilty pleasure one, the one that says ‘I really shouldn’t be liking this as much as I am.’

  I’m still smiling when I look up, and see two figures in front of me. The owners. Mr. and Mrs. Denton. He’s a likeable guy with good taste – as you’d expect from someone who’d hire me. He’s into the finer things, maybe a little too much, if you go by the slight paunch under his silk shirt. As for her…Well, I have no idea where she’s from, but if you told me it was a thirteen year old boy’s older woman fantasy, it would make perfect sense. She’s about thirty percent boobs, thirty percent blond hair, and thirty percent botox. Luckily, her husband makes enough money for her to get the good kind, so instead of her face looking like it was carved out of candle wax, she’s just permanently fixed into a cat-like expression of disdainful superiority.

  “Jax?” Mr. Denton says, offering his hand; which I almost don’t notice, after being confronted by his wife’s extraordinary cleavage. It almost feels like it deserves its own introduction.

  “Mr. Denton, nice to see you.”

  “Please, call me Michael. You’ve not met my wife, have you? This is Jacqueline.”

  “Pleased to meet you,” I say. She offers her hand to be kissed, and I do so, even though I’m still pretty certain we’re in LA, and not seventeenth century France.

  “The pleasure’s mine,” she says, in that kind of lusty purr older women have. Those older women who’ve consumed more than their fair share of cocktails and men. Those women who reached a sexual peak in their thirties, but never really came down off of it.

  “It’s looking wonderful!” Michael exclaims, gesturing around him.

  “It will be wonderful. Everything is well on-track.”

  “I have to thank you again. I heard you were good, but this is so much better than I anticipated. Isn’t it darling?” Michael says, looking towards his wife.

  Her eyes are fixed upon me, and she’s smiling like she’s imagining so
mething delightful. “Much better than anticipated. Absolutely.”

  Michael is about to start another sentence when his phone rings. “Excuse me a moment, I have to take this.”

  “Of course,” I say, allowing Michael to walk off into a secluded spot, and leaving me in the presence of the woman attached to those boobs.

  Jacqueline’s smile gets about ten degrees more naughty, and she eyes me slowly from head to toe. Me? I’m just trying to keep my eyes anywhere but her boobs, which is tough when they take up most of my field of vision.

  “My husband’s always so busy,” she purrs slowly.

  “Men as successful as him usually are,” I reply.

  She puts a hand on my shoulder and takes a step on those giant heels towards me, her face inches from mine.

  “You’re successful. Are you always so busy?”

  “Yeah,” I say. “But I’m nowhere near as successful as your husband.”

  “Oh,” Jacqueline growls, almost in my ear, “I’m sure there are many, many things you can do better than my husband.”

  My cellphone emits the message tone with such perfect timing I’m wondering if Miles Davis sent it.

  “I should take this too, actually. It was very nice to meet you. I’ll send my assistant, Luce, over to show you around,” I say, eagerly extracting myself from the gigantic breasts she’s pressing against me.

  I gesture a goodbye to everyone, leave a quick message to pass on to Luce, and make my way to my car, where I check out the phone message:

  I can still taste you in my mouth. And a picture of herself, from her nose down to her navel – in a sheer lace bra, one hand clutching her breasts, her tongue licking her upper lip in a half-snarl.

  Daaamn. A woman’s hotness usually disappears after the first time, but Lizzie still gets me going like I’ve only scratched the surface.