Shayla Black - [Wicked Lovers 01]

by Wicked Ties

  He was probably right. She had to trust him. She had no reason not to, since he’d kept her alive so far. “Sorry.”

  Behind her, she felt him nod. “Spread your legs.”

  Oh, God. Why? What did he have planned?

  Morgan froze in indecision. If one finger brushing her clit sent shock waves through her body, what might a whole hand do? Would he laugh if she orgasmed? As it was, she felt closer than she would have thought possible . . .

  “If I need to tie you down to get you accustomed to my touch, don’t think I won’t.”

  At his warning growl, a fresh wave of moisture gushed from her, coating her already swollen flesh. Oh, how mortifying. If Jack realized she’d responded to that threat . . . She shivered.

  With surprising force, Jack wedged a booted foot between her bare feet and pried them apart. “Put your hands on the wall above your head.”

  “What?”

  Morgan struggled to close her legs, only to find Jack’s hard thigh between them. Lord, would he feel her juices leaking through the thong and onto his jeans? Think her weak or easy?

  “Last time I’m going to tell you,” he swore. “Put your hands on the wall or things will get a whole lot more serious.”

  More serious? What was left, besides having sex? Her body jumped in anticipation at that thought.

  “You’re not listening . . . I guess you want to be tied down, Morgan.”

  “No,” she snapped and put her hands on the wall high above her head.

  But she wasn’t sure she hadn’t lied. The idea of bondage sounded primitive and tacky on the surface. Something only people who couldn’t respond to “normal” sex did. But in a handful of minutes, Jack had forced her to face her own fantasy.

  “That’s better, but you’ve got to stop questioning what I say. I tell you, you do it. This isn’t a negotiation.”

  That grated against her independent nature . . . even as it made the knot in her belly clench tighter.

  “You’re arrogant.”

  “And that isn’t going to change. You better start following directions, little girl, or there will be consequences.”

  Morgan wanted to rail at him, deny that his power appealed to her. It would only start a fight they didn’t have time to finish. If she wanted to get out of there with her pride intact, she needed to convince him she was ready to leave and fool her stalker. And she needed to convince the people they’d see that she was completely familiar and comfortable with Jack touching her.

  “You got what you wanted. My hands are against the wall. I know you’re going to grope me in public. I’ll keep any surprise or discomfort to myself. Can we end this now?”

  “You’re not ready.”

  “I’ll be fine.”

  “So, if I do this . . .”

  His hand slid back inside her thong, fingers circling her clit before dropping down to her slick opening. He pushed two fingers deep inside her. His left hand traveled down her stomach, then covered her clit.

  Unable to help it, she gasped.

  “See, you’re not ready,” he said and began massaging her clit, while the fingers embedded inside her toyed with her until they encountered a bundle of nerves Morgan hadn’t known she possessed. He rubbed there unmercifully, slow, insistent strokes ripping a scream of tingles deep inside her.

  Orgasm raced toward her, like a car speeding through traffic lights to the edge of a cliff. Her channel clenched in weeping hunger around his fingers, her body begging for release. His teeth nipped at her neck again. Then he pressed himself against her backside, grinding an unmistakably large erection into the cleft of her ass.

  At least she wasn’t the only one affected, she thought as her head lolled back on his shoulder, perspiration breaking out all over her body as his fingers continued to fill her, toy with her clit. Her chest heaved with every breath. This was insane. Madness! The edge of pleasure was killing her. When had she ever been so aroused so quickly?

  The feelings built, until she felt pleasure fill her up, nearly to the exploding point.

  Then he withdrew his touch, easing his hands out of the thong and onto her hips. “No coming, not unless I say so.”

  Before she could stop it, a whimper escaped her throat.

  Jack kissed her neck again, a brush of lips, a sting of teeth. “You’ll thank me later.”

  Morgan couldn’t imagine why he thought so. Her body was so tightly strung. He’d aroused her so thoroughly, she was tense, her mind racing. If he touched her in public, she’d probably climax so viciously, she’d black out.

  His hands grazed up her abdomen again, to her breasts. He fondled them, rolled her aching nipples between his fingertips once more. She arched into his hand, grinding her ass against the impressive erection behind her, biting her lip to hold in a groan.

  He stepped away with a laugh. “Nice try.”

  “Jack . . .” She didn’t want to beg. Really. But how was she supposed to keep her wits around the bad guys when her body ached so badly?

  “Are you going to question me again?”

  The tone of his voice told her that would be a very bad idea. But leaving her wanting like this was no better. Still, a glance over her shoulder at his suddenly forbidding face stilled the plea on her tongue.

  “No.”

  “And if I”—he reached down into her thong once more and rubbed her clit with his finger—“did this . . .”

  Pleasure shot through her again, fresh and ferocious. She whimpered and thrust her hips into his touch. So, so close . . .

  Again, he withdrew. “Excellent. Now you don’t jerk away when I touch you.”

  “You’re going to leave me like this?”

  “You inviting me to do something about it later?” His low voice rumbled like gravel in her ear.

  Jack liked to tie women down and own them, body and soul. The thought screamed through her mind. What the hell had she done?

  Let him get away with anything, everything . . .

  “Not a chance in hell.” She stiffened, trying to draw away from him.

  “That’s too bad. I like little girls like you, all starch on the outside, all creamy on the inside. The thought of hearing you scream your throat raw while I fuck you turns me on.”

  Oh, God. Her, too. “You’re the subject of an interview. That’s all.”

  “You get that wet for everyone you talk to?” he mocked.

  “Go to hell.”

  With a chuckle, he swatted her bare ass with his wide palm. “Get dressed.”

  Morgan started to whirl on him, take him down for revving her up, but then the sting in her ass turned to pure fire. Instead, she found herself biting her lip to hold another groan inside.

  Just get your clothes on and get out of here. That will make all this go away.

  Stomping past Jack, Morgan shimmied into an indecently tight purple leather skirt. Next she put on a matching leather bustier that emphasized her small waist and shoved her cleavage so high, it was practically a shelf. All the while, she felt Jack’s gaze boring into her back and the ache of the lust he’d created sizzling in her body.

  Finally, she wriggled her feet into a pair of black thin-heeled boots with pointed toes. Shockingly, they were actually somewhat comfortable.

  “Let’s get this over with,” she spat.

  He eyed her. “You ready for what happens when we walk out this door?”

  “We’d be arrested if we did more than we already have in public, so it appears I’ve lived through your worst.”

  He led her out the door with a smirk. “You think so?”

  Chapter Three

  JACK made his way down the stairs, holding Morgan’s hand. He barely refrained from using the other to adjust the length of his hard cock in his jeans. Damn, the woman about made him bust a zipper.

  After their episode in Alyssa’s bedroom, he knew several undeniable things about Morgan O’Malley: One, she had a body that called to him. The way she looked, felt, smelled—all of it reached him on a prim
itive level and urged him to chip away at her until she surrendered completely. Two, she’d be unbelievable to fuck. High breasts with sensitive nipples, a beautiful mouth, and an unexpected independent streak that told him she would be both a trial and a triumph to the man who could tame her. Three, she had a wide submissive streak . . . and didn’t want to admit it. Her wet, nearly orgasmic reactions to his slightly—okay, way-over-the-top—demands that she become accustomed to his touch were very telling. Every time he’d threatened her with bondage, she’d gushed with fresh moisture. He’d needed a surprising amount of self-control to withhold her orgasm and keep from plunging himself deep inside her cunt while she had it.

  He knew a few other things about Morgan: She didn’t panic or surrender in the face of danger. She was scared, sure. Only an idiot wouldn’t feel at least a twinge of fear knowing that a stalker who followed her across the country to end her life stood right outside the door. But Morgan had listened to his logic, pushed back when she disagreed with offered advice, and resisted his initial offers of assistance. Those facts told him a lot about her—and how to deal with her. Patience, persistence, a combination of tenderness and alpha demands.

  Lastly, if Morgan was Brandon Ross’s fiancée, she’d be wasted on the boring, uptight bastard. Brandon would ignore the needs he didn’t understand and couldn’t fulfill, fantasies Jack would bet his eyeteeth she had. Satisfying her fantasies required someone with more balls, tenderness, and self-control than Brandon ever thought of possessing. He almost felt sorry for Morgan. In fact, he might be doing her a favor in the long run . . .

  But pity wasn’t going to stop him from getting his overdue revenge against the asshole who’d fucked up his life.

  First, though, he had to get Morgan out of the club alive.

  As they hit the door at the back of the dark strip joint, he dragged her through a curtain that led to a backstage area. Abruptly, the pounding music stopped and wild clapping began. A slender brunette with large artificial breasts wriggled her hips at the crowd of men shoving bills in her miniscule G-string. Morgan stared, clearly uncomfortable with that much nudity and touching with complete strangers. Good. Despite the fact he’d been to dozens of places like this, he wanted a woman willing and eager only for him, not a whole room full of stiff dicks.

  Looking away from the dancer, Jack scanned the crowd. He knew the mood of the clientele, the feel of revelers seeking hedonistic fun. Across the smoky room, a guy in jeans and a black sweater looked around, rather than at the stripper exiting the stage and giving the audience a prime view of her ass. A few feet from him, another man in a suit lurked in the corner, wearing a watchful scowl. He didn’t fit in. The bulge inside his jacket hinted to Jack that the guy might have a shoulder holster full of weapon.

  Either of these dudes—or neither—could be Morgan’s would-be shooter. But Jack knew they couldn’t afford to take chances.

  As nonchalantly as possible, he turned Morgan to face him and covered their sudden stop in the crowd by pulling her against him and planting a series of kisses on her neck. She tensed.

  “Cher,” he called.

  Others near them would hear an endearment. Morgan’s nod told him she took it as the warning he intended. She forced the tension from her shoulders.

  “I see a couple of men who look suspicious,” he whispered on the soft, soft skin of her neck. “Anyone look familiar?”

  She hesitated, and Jack took advantage of her distraction and breathed in her sweet raspberry scent, brushed his lips against her soft-as-sin skin.

  “I can’t think with you doing that,” she whispered harshly.

  He dropped a hand down her spine, over the curve of her ass, more because he wanted to than because it was necessary. But it helped with the image that they were lovers who couldn’t keep their hands to themselves.

  “You can. You will.”

  Morgan breathed out a four-letter word, and Jack smiled. If her curse hadn’t told him that he was getting to her, the pulse picking up speed at the base of her neck would. The scheming part of him loved knowing he affected her. So did his sexual side. Oh, he didn’t forget that the shooter was probably somewhere near, but the asshole was too smart to shoot with so many able to see his face. And the sick jerk had no reason to believe that Morgan wasn’t Alyssa.

  “I can’t see. It’s smoky, and I’m too short.”

  True on both counts. Damn!

  Curving both arms around her body, Jack anchored Morgan against his chest. The top of her head barely reached his shoulder, reminding him how small she was. With her big personality, her size was easy to forget.

  Given her story, she’d been through a whole lot lately. He couldn’t help but admire her grit to go on, her strength to fight.

  “Let’s get out of here, just in case one of them is your gun-happy nightmare.”

  Morgan nodded, but he felt her trembling. Jack eased back to look at her face. Under the thick makeup, her blue eyes clearly reflected the knowledge that she was being hunted. But equal parts fear and determination tightened her lush mouth. She wasn’t giving up.

  Neither was he.

  “I’m not going to let anything happen to you,” he assured her. “Take my hand. Smile. Good enough. Now, follow me out the door.”

  Slowly, Jack wended his way through the crowd, working the far side of the room as much as possible. He stopped to answer a greeting, endure some backslapping from frat boys he’d helped out of a scrape once, all of whom assumed fucking Alyssa would be every man’s version of paradise.

  The suspicious characters cast glances over them as they neared the door. The dude with the suit kept his gaze glued to Morgan. Jack covertly watched the man assess her, eyes narrow with speculation. Running would only alert the asshole if he was Morgan’s stalker.

  Instead, Jack whirled Morgan around and grabbed her. Her eyes went wide as he held her face between his palms and slanted his mouth over her own.

  Right away, her softness assaulted him. After a gasp of protest, Jack sensed Morgan forcing herself to relax. To submit. At the press of his lips, she opened to him slowly, slowly, with shy hesitance that made him burn with need. A delicious uncertainty flavored her kiss, making him hard as a pike. But it wasn’t enough—either to convince the assassin chasing her or to assuage the hunger that churned like a violent storm in his gut.

  He couldn’t wait for more.

  A growl erupted from this throat as he dove into the kiss and urged her soft lips to part wider. He entered her mouth with a ravaging thrust of his tongue. And groaned as her wet, sugary heat and hot cinnamon-spice flavor exploded across his senses. Tangled with the taste of her fear.

  Morgan began to kiss him tentatively. Unfurling to him, softening. Soon, she uttered a soft moan and matched his rhythm, her tongue seeking his when he retreated. She clasped his shoulders and clung, slanting her head until their mouths fit perfectly. Gripping her tightly, he sank deeper into her. The flavor of fear on her tongue receded. She trembled—but now her reaction didn’t have a damn thing to do with fright.

  Morgan gasped . . . then surrendered, opening completely.

  Crushing his delight at her lush response, Jack promised himself there would be plenty of time to fuck her, screw Brandon out of a bride, and enjoy every moment of her soft, shy responses. Later.

  Ending the kiss with a nip of his teeth on her plush lower lip, Jack opened his eyes in time to see the slick in the suit talking to some of the regulars around him. Jack made sure he blocked Morgan from the view of guys who hung out here at least once a week. He hoped like hell none of them would remember that they’d never seen him kiss Alyssa like that.

  Mr. Suit listened, then nodded his thanks. Disappointment shadowed his face. The guy in the jeans and sweater had disappeared.

  “I think we’re good to go,” he murmured to Morgan. “Let’s get out of here.”

  Again, he took her hand. He led her right out the front door. The crowd on the street swallowed them up quickly, and Jack smile
d.

  Once the danger had passed, once he knew they hadn’t been followed, he could concentrate on Morgan—and every delicious way he could think of to make her surrender.

  WITHIN minutes, Jack led her to his truck, parked on a dark side street. Morgan hesitated. Brandon wouldn’t be happy that she’d left his car behind, but what were her other options? She couldn’t argue with Jack’s logic that her stalker would be looking for it on the roads since he’d followed her here.

  That settled, Jack tucked her into the passenger’s seat of his sleek black truck. She’d have to be blind not to see his gaze lingering on the length of her exposed thigh and cleavage offered up by Alyssa’s purple leather slut garb. The miles of skin it exposed made her want to find the nearest tent and throw it on quickly. Another part of her, though, heated at his look. The arrow of need that shot straight to her still-aching clit encouraged her to inch up her skirt a bit more and flash Jack a come-hither glance. She resisted the dangerous temptation.

  The familiar dark desire, coupled with the stress and uncertainty, crashed in on her. How had her life gone downhill so quickly? How had she found herself at the mercy of a stranger who made her ache with a longing that shamed her?

  “Don’t leer,” she snapped.

  Jack looked away in his own good time. “Why not? You look good.”

  “I look like a whore.”

  Faster than lightning, he leaned across the cab and crowded her personal space. He smelled like midnight and elemental male. Like danger.

  “You look available and willing. You don’t look for sale.”

  “It’s the same thing.”

  “Non, it is not.”

  Jack said nothing more for long moments. He eased away and started the truck, then pulled away from the tree-lined street and took off into the dusk. Then they headed southeast, toward the heart of the bayou.

  With another hot glance at her, Jack finally explained, “When a woman looks for sale, a man checks his wallet before looking twice. Available and willing just makes a man hot. Available and willing for him alone makes a man boil with need. Right now, I’m hard as hell.”