by RC Boldt
Jack offers a slight shrug. “Guess so. At least that’s what they tell me.” Then he grins. “Why do you ask?”
I mimic his shrug. “Oh, because I might know someone who’s curious.”
“Really?” He leans in closer, and that grin turns even hotter. “Might this someone have silky blond hair and a wicked way of speaking her mind?”
“Mmm…quite possibly.” Reaching out, I tuck a finger beneath the waist of his suit pants. “That someone might be dying to see”—I give a slight tug—“exactly what you’ve got going on beneath these.”
His head descends slowly, bringing his lips to the shell of my ear. They brush lightly against it, sending shivers down my spine.
“Well, it just so happens I’ve been wondering the same thing about you.” He drags an index finger across my bare shoulder, and his teeth nip at my earlobe as his gravelly, deep voice whispers, “Especially in this sexy dress of yours.”
Panties have disintegrated. I repeat. Panties. Have. Disintegrated.
And we all know what that means: Sarah’s lady parts are bursting free from the gates—like those old movies where the school bell rings for dismissal on the last day of class and everyone rushes out the front doors in mayhem, desperate to be free. That’s exactly what my lady parts did. They burst free and practically pulled a Julie Andrews’s move, dancing around merrily and singing, “We’re aliiiiiiive and readyyyyyyy, Jack!”
Things got weird for you just then, didn’t they? Well, brace yourself because that’s pretty much me.
Allllll the time.
I make the decision while he’s whispering in my ear in that panty-melting voice of his to do it. I turn my head and catch him off guard, our lips meet, and it happens.
It freaking happens!
The fireworks. The heat. The feeling in the pit of my stomach where just a little bit of “magic” mixes in with lust. That’s exactly what I’m feeling. We’re talking decadent, orgasm-inducing goodness.
With simply one kiss from Jack Westbrook.
CHAPTER TWO
Jack
She’s been killing me all night in that fucking dress. The shimmery material is practically begging me to unwrap her like a present on Christmas morning. I’d love to take it off her nice and slowly back at my place and see exactly what’s underneath it.
Ever since we met—when Ry and Maggie first became roommates and before they became more, of course—Sarah and I have been tiptoeing around our attraction to one other. I’d been in a pseudo relationship with Brittany, but with her being in Boston and me only making the occasional stop there for work, it never really got off the ground. She’s a great woman, and I know she’ll find someone more suitable. Not to mention, Brittany never made me feel the way I do just being near Sarah does. Like a match dropped onto dry tinder, my body feels like it’s instantly going up in flames.
The moment she turns her head and kisses me is the moment I’ve been dying for. To see if the ever-present attraction and sexual tension between us—which hinted at the possibility of rocking my world—are valid. And her lips on mine prove it. Vaguely, I register the sound of her small clutch purse dropping to the floor. Her hands slip beneath my suit jacket and glide around to the back of my button-down shirt before they descend to cup my ass and tug me closer. A rough sound erupts from deep in my throat at her boldness. I’ve never encountered someone like Sarah before.
And I like it. A whole hell of a lot.
I rock my hips against her, allowing her to feel how hard I already am and show her what she’s doing to me with just a kiss. She tastes like dark chocolate and champagne, and I can’t seem to get enough of her. My hand grazes her side, rising to slide the pad of my thumb across the silky smooth skin atop her luscious breasts, and her breath hitches before releasing a tiny moan against my lips. That sound in and of itself sends more blood rushing to my cock. Jesus. There’s no way in hell I’ll be able to return to the dinner party in the state I’m in.
Which means I’ve got to even the playing field.
My other hand reaches down to her knees and slips underneath the hem of her dress, sliding up the expanse of the smoothest, silkiest thigh I’ve ever felt, and makes a beeline for her center.
Fucking hell. She’s soaked. Sliding a finger over the dampened fabric of her panties, I break the kiss. My lips descend to the graceful column of her neck, and I whisper, “These are mine now.” Her chest rises and falls with slightly staggered breathing. It makes me damn glad I’m not the only one who’s turned on. “I might give them back.” My eyes meet her heavy-lidded ones, and I can’t resist a smug grin. “Maybe.”
Working them down over her hips, I kneel to tug them off the rest of the way and over the fuck-me heels she’s wearing. My jaw clenches at the thought of her in only these heels while fucking her and making her scream my name until she’s hoarse. Rising, I bring what must be the tiniest excuse for a thong—blue, of course, to match her dress—dangling from my index fingers. And hell if I can’t smell her sweet arousal on them.
My eyes fall closed in a painful wince—if I thought I was hard as nails a moment ago, that’s nothing compared to right now. Something about this woman just gets to me like no other.
“You always go around stealing women’s underwear?”
Goddamn. That voice of hers, the sound of it—slightly husky and heady—and the way her eyes are watching me, as though she’d let me take her right here, right now…
“Actually, I don’t.” My lips quirk upward. “You’re the first.” And damn it, I shouldn’t be doing this at Ry’s engagement dinner party. He’s my best friend, for fuck’s sake. But when I get around Sarah, all bets are off.
She matches my slight smile. “I’m honored.”
Footsteps sound down the small corridor, and her entire body jolts in alarm at the clicking of firm heels upon the stone floor. Abruptly shoving her underwear into my pants pocket, I grab her purse from the floor and reach out to tuck the few stray strands of her hair behind her ear.
“Debauchery time is over.” Her whispered words and the underlying tone of disappointment are at odds with the way her eyes crinkle at the corners in humor.
Dipping my head to dust a kiss over her lips, I murmur, “Until later.”
“Sarah?”
Her eyes widen at hearing Maggie call out for her. Stepping back where I’m still safely out of sight in the small storage alcove, I place my index finger to my lips and tip my head toward the corridor, gesturing for her to go. With a brief nod, she brushes past me.
But in typical Sarah style, it isn’t without a hitch. She allows her palm to brazenly graze my dick.
“I’m here, Maggie.” She steps out, and her heels clatter as she walks. “I was just checking out the architecture of this place. But now I’ve got a really good feel for things.”
Nicely done. My lips quirk at her play on words.
I listen for the sounds of their heels to fade before adjusting myself and willing my hard-on to ease.
I had no idea my best friend’s engagement party would be this much fun; not to mention I might have a chance with the beautiful blond, soon-to-be maid of honor.
* * *
Two hours later
Max Londons restaurant
Sweet Jesus. If this woman leans her ass into my crotch one more damn time, I can’t guarantee I won’t toss her up on the lacquered bar top, part those smooth thighs, and fuck her in front of everyone here. Just the knowledge that her pussy is bare beneath that dress is more than I can handle right now.
I dip my head closer to Sarah’s ear and mutter, “You’re playing with fire.”
It’s noisy and crowded here, which is why the handful of us who decided to walk to Max Londons and have a few drinks are standing around the bar, shooting the shit. Actually, “crowded” is a polite way of putting it; packed in like sardines is more like it. On any other day, I’d call it a night and head out. Tonight, though, the overcrowding works in my favor.
Her
head turns, gaze locking with mine in the bar’s mirrored wall, and a wicked smile toys at her lips. And that’s all it takes. Because I refuse to let her one-up me.
Continuing to carry on a conversation with one of Ry’s cousins about my business, I casually shift the arm I’ve been resting on the small portion of available bar space. Using the space beneath the bar top to hide my actions, I slip my hand underneath the back of the short hem of Sarah’s dress. Her body stiffens immediately, and I can see the tiny goose bumps popping up on her bare shoulders and arms. Before she can think to react further, I slide my middle finger between her thighs.
And into hot, soaking wet heaven.
The pulse point at the side of her neck is going crazy, and I would give anything to nip at it. Slowly pumping my finger in and out of her, I decide to get even braver—thanks in part to her reaction and probably the number of drinks I’ve had—and add another finger. It just so happens it’s at the exact time she decides to take a sip of her white wine. She sputters and coughs slightly.
Withdrawing my fingers, I pat her on the back, genuinely concerned. She turns to face me fully with ire in her eyes.
“You.” She points her slim index finger at the center of my chest.
“Me…?” I raise my eyebrows expectantly.
Crooking her finger at me to lean in closer, I comply. Her cerulean blue eyes meet mine. “You need to decide whether you’re taking me home with you or not.” There’s a brief pause. “Right n—”
“I am.” I hold her gaze, not caring that I’m acting like an overeager teen who’s about to get laid for the first time in his life. Something about Sarah makes me revert to the painfully nerdy kid I was back in the day.
A wicked gleam shines in her eyes. “Let me say my goodbyes, and I’ll meet you out on the sidewalk.”
“Deal.”
She shifts to move away, but I snag her wrist at the last second. Her eyes lift, meeting mine curiously, and I dip my head, bringing my lips to her ear.
“Don’t plan on going to the gym tomorrow. You’ll be getting more than your fair share of cardio tonight.”
Spinning around, I begin bidding my farewells in haste, knowing how I’ll be ending my night.
Between Sarah Matthews’s thighs.
CHAPTER THREE
Sarah
Goldilocks and the Three Bears. That’s what I feel like I’m about to embark on. You know, our girl, “Little G” as I like to refer to her, busts on into that house—one that’s not hers, by the way, so that warrants an instant, “Girl, you crazy!”—and tries out all the different things: porridge, chairs, and finally beds until she finds one that’s just right.
I feel like I’ve been doing that all along; except in my case, it was with penises. Waaaait. Now, bear with me on this one, okay? Penises. If you’ve only seen or been with one, plug your ears because I’ll probably send you into some deep, dark depression, and I can’t have that on my conscience. Otherwise, stick around for a moment.
Here’s the thing. While I wouldn’t classify myself as slutty, I’ve been with my share of men. And each of them had a different “penis story.” One guy—many moons ago—was tall and had huge feet. I thought for sure he’d be well hung. Ohhhh, no siree. I actually had to ask him, “Are you in yet?”
Go ahead and gasp at my misfortune—and his. It’s not like I have a super-sized hoo-ha that could double as some sort of deep abyss or anything. But, right hand to God, there’s not a chance in hell I could’ve told you if his erect penis had delved into my lady cave or not.
Another guy had one of those skinny, pretzel rod penises. It had no girth whatsoever, and while I love me some pretzels (now I’m craving one, damn it!), I sure as hell don’t want a guy’s appendage to resemble a snack food.
Another one had a curved penis. Yes, I said it. Curved. Talk about interesting. I was continuously trying to determine which way I’d have to swivel to get him to hit the right spot.
So you see, I’ve not had that final “Goldilocks moment.” But I have faith Jack’s going to change that. I mean, I copped a good feel to see what I’d be working with. Because let’s be honest. I’ve done some “hard time”—pun intended—in “bad penis penitentiary” and deserve to be released from that prison once and for all. I hope I’m finally embarking on my own “Goldilocks, this one’s just right” penis moment.
And tonight, my friends, is the night.
“You’re heading home?” Maggie asks just as I near where she and Ry are chatting with his parents.
“Yes.” My smug smile is ridiculously wide and cheesy, and my best friend instantly picks up on it.
Her eyes dart around the room before returning to me. She leans in. “You’re not going home alone, are you?”
My smile stretches even wider. “Nope.”
Her expression grows troubled. “You need to be careful. I don’t want—”
I hold up a hand to stop her. “Maggie, chill. It’s all good.”
She steps closer, laying a hand on my arm in concern. “But I don’t want anyone to get hurt.”
“I’m not going to get hurt.”
She gives a halfhearted laugh. “It’s not you I’m worried about. It’s Jack.”
Rearing back in surprise, I stare at her. “You’re worried about him?”
She lifts a shoulder. She looks awesome in her white halter-style dress with a black lace overlay. “I just get the feeling he’s not quite as tough as he seems. And you’re…”
“I’m…?” I raise my eyebrows expectantly, but I’m sure I already know what she’s about to say. That I’m a ballbuster or tough or something to that extent. Which isn’t far from the truth.
It doesn’t, however, mean I’m at any less risk for being hurt than the next girl.
“I just don’t want things to be weird for the four of us, okay?” The look Maggie gives me has me tugging her close for a hug.
“You know I love you, right?” I say as we embrace. She nods before we break apart. “Then don’t worry. We’re both adults. It’ll be fine.”
I receive another skeptical look from Maggie before I hug Ry goodbye and make my way out onto the sidewalk. Although it’s August and the temperatures reflect that, I still tug on my thin cardigan, braving the slight chill in the night air since downtown is much like a wind tunnel.
The moment I spot Jack leaning casually against the large black light post with a soft, easy smile playing at his lips, my lady parts officially speak up, practically hollering, “Put me in, Coach!”
Ohhh, yeah. Tonight’s going to be the night when Jack rounds all my bases before sliding home.
* * *
Have you ever seen that old show on HBO called Taxicab Confessions? If not, go and Google that shit right now. Now. Doitdoitdoitdoit. I’m talking hidden cameras, talking freely about anything and everything sexually related, and individuals getting freaky in the back of the cabs, horny as hell after a night of clubbing or doing God knows what.
Well, Jack and I are teetering on the edge of a could-be episode because he’s got some serious Roman hands and Russian fingers, if you get my meaning. Naughty Jack Westbrook is fast becoming my favorite.
On a quiet gasp, I tear my lips from his and press them to the cords of his neck to feel his rapidly beating pulse. “You’re killing me.” My words sound breathless, mixed with his own slightly ragged breathing.
The hand which has been encroaching on my “homeland” territory flexes, and I feel the slight rumble of laughter run through him. “Ah, but I’m pretty sure you’re the one who’s killing me, gorgeous.”
I raise my head just as he turns his own to peer at me with a heavy-lidded gaze. Taking my hand, he guides it to cup his hardness pressing firmly against his slacks and smirks. “But what a way to go, right?” I catch a spark of naughtiness in his eyes before his head descends, and his lips catch mine, his tongue delving deep inside to war with my own.
I’m greeted with mixed feelings when the cab driver pulls up to his place be
cause holy hellaciousness. I don’t want Jack to stop, but at the same time, I don’t want our cab driver to catch sight of my goods. Nuh-uh. No bueno.
Managing to throw the door of the cab open after Jack pays the fare, we exit quickly, and I practically drag him up the sidewalk so he can punch in his code and unlock the doors to his building. Once inside, we catch an empty elevator, and I shove him against the wall as it ascends.
Making out with Jack Westbrook could be added to my list of things I love. Holy moly. He kisses with just the right amount of tongue. Another Goldilocks moment for me. Not too much tongue, not too little. Just right.
You know those kisses you feel all the way to your toes? The ones that make you shiver in the most delicious way? The kisses that make you feel like you’ve been kiss-starved and need more and more and more?
Jack’s kisses have me feeling that right now.
Finally, we exit the elevator and arrive at his door. He aims his key toward the lock, and I cop numerous feels, distracting him until he finally manages to unlock the door and shove it open.
Boom! Once we’re locked inside, I press my palms against Jack’s muscled chest, backing him against the door. If I thought our kisses in the elevator moments ago were hot, I was sorely mistaken. Because when our mouths fuse again, it’s a kiss hot enough to melt off my panties.
If I still had them on, that is.
My hands frantically unbutton his suit jacket, and he breaks the kiss to peer down, those dark blue eyes watching me with a mixture of amusement and barely restrained lust.
“In a bit of a hurry, are we?”
Without responding, I move on to tackle his belt and quickly unfasten his pants enough to allow me to reach inside his black boxer briefs and feel what I’ve been hoping to get my hands on.
Jackpot, baby. Jack-freaking-pot. Jack Jr. gets my stamp of approval already, simply by judging his size and girth. Ohhhh, yeah.
