Frisky Business (Kinky Chronicles, #5)

by Jodi Redford

  Truthfully, she cared donkey balls about his size. But if he was willing to send her his dick pic for confirmation who the hell was she to complain? Even better than a profile picture. This way he could be exactly what she wanted him to be in her mind.

  Which would not be Jack Brewster, damn it. Not anymore.

  A pic popped up in a new bubble and her irritable thoughts immediately evaporated. The thumbnail image was too small to get a proper scope of what she’d be dealing with tomorrow night, though what she could make out...holy hell.

  She clicked the picture to enlarge it—and nearly swallowed her tongue.

  He hadn’t been lying. If anything, she questioned if he might not have shortchanged himself. Angling her head sideways, she took in the vertical view.

  A new message appeared on the screen. MK: Pass inspection?

  She chuffed a laugh. “Welcome to the understatement of the century.” It wasn’t only his length—though it was impressive as hell—he was also the perfect girth. Not too thick to leave a gal questioning whether or not she’d just been molested by a chub of bologna, but she’d feel pleasantly sore in all the right places. Perhaps best and most important of all, his crown was curved at the ideal angle. He definitely wouldn’t have any trouble finding her G-spot, seeing how he was ergonomically designed for the task at hand.

  Realizing she’d spent the last minute mentally composing sonnets starring his erection, she quickly entered her reply. JC: Your cock is a glorious work of art.

  MK: Glad it meets your exacting standards. Your turn.

  Yeah, she’d pretty much seen that request coming from a mile away. Didn’t mean she couldn’t have a little fun with him first. JC: Hold on a sec.

  She clicked the camera icon and hopped over to her downloaded pic folders. A fast scroll located the ideal candidate. She double-clicked the image and whistled tunelessly while it loaded. And BOOM, there it was.

  His response materialized an instant later. MK: Not the kind of wet pussy I was hoping for.

  She could practically hear the dryness in his tone. Snickering, she surveyed the photo of the suds-covered hairless cat. JC: What? Don't you like a bald pussy?

  MK: Is yours?

  JC: Currently? Yes. Certainly not for any exciting reason other than her aversion to owning an out of control bush that’d qualify her as a stand in for an eighties porn starlet.

  MK: Let me see it.

  JC: I’m too shy. She sent a look skyward, fully expecting a bolt of lightning to crash through the roof.

  MK: Liar. For all I know, you’re BSing me about your shaved pussy too.

  He would have to beat her at her own dirty game. Truthfully, although she was a card-carrying bad girl she’d never sent a naked photo to a man she’d not met in the flesh.

  Then again, not like he wouldn’t see her pussy up close and personal tomorrow night. Sighing, she stood and removed her jacket. She stared at the computer screen, imagining him watching her on the other end. The prospect prickled her nerve endings and she shivered at the hedonistic sensation. Slowing her pace, she worked the buttons from her white silk blouse and strolled her fingers sensuously over the fabric. She let the garment slip to the carpet and gave her shoulders a sassy little roll before hooking her bra straps with her thumbs. Fully investing herself in the virtual strip tease, she belted out an off-key rendition of Joe Cocker’s You Can Leave Your Hat On.

  A new bubble arrived from Master Kink. MK: Hello? Are you still alive? What’s the hold up?

  Some people had no appreciation for a fine striptease. Huffing out a breath, she quickly shimmied from the rest of her clothes and darted buck naked into the living room for her cell phone. She returned to her office and resumed her seat.

  Now came the awkward part of this evening’s events. Trying to find the least unflattering angle. “Aw, the hell with it.” She propped her feet up on the desk’s edge, wedged her phone between her legs, and fired off a shot. She gave the photo an in-depth looksie. Any hideous stray pubes she missed earlier in the shower? Nope, coast clear.

  She sent the image to her inbox and uploaded it to their chat session. Her nerves jangled. Hopefully he liked what he saw. Not exactly like she could trade her pussy in for another model.

  Why was she even indulging in these stupid thoughts? She’d never had an issue with her confidence. Is this what missing mojo did to a woman? Make her doubt her pussy power? Aw hell. Say it isn’t so.

  Endless seconds ticked by. She gnawed her lip, paranoia setting in.

  Why the hell wasn’t he typing anything? He’d gotten the pic, right? She double checked. The message seen confirmation verified that he had indeed. Glaring at the screen, she folded her arms over her breasts. An instant later she jerked out of her rigid hold and dropped her fingers to the keyboard.

  His message bubbled in place, cutting her short in mid-tirade.

  MK: Holy fuck.

  Okay, she assumed that meant something positive.

  MK: I’m going to spend hours eating and fucking your sweet cunt, Jane. You have no damn idea.

  His promise banished her irritable doubts and ignited a heat wave in its place. Moaning softly, she wiggled in her chair. She didn’t even realize her hand had snuck between her legs again until she encountered the slickness glazing her pussy.

  MK: You’re dripping wet.

  How did he know she was touching herself? Again, no less.

  MK: I can see it so clearly in the picture.

  Oh, he was referring to that. And here she’d begun to think he had an insider track to her perverted mind. Although, she’d certainly given him plenty of insight with her emails. Not to mention their chat.

  MK: I want you to fuck that sopping wet pussy with my dick stand-in while I jerk off staring at your cunt.

  She shuddered at his words. Truthfully, there weren’t many men who could get away with using the C word without it sounding harsh or ugly. Even without the benefit of his voice, she had a feeling Master Kink was one of those rare individuals who made the word sound sexy beyond belief.

  Hitting the backspace button, she quickly erased the angry diatribe he’d fortunately interrupted her from sending and replaced it with something more fitting for their present conversation. JC: I want that too.

  MK: Then do it. Now.

  Even without the benefit of his voice, his sensual command chased goosebumps across her skin. The decadent rush of sensation threatening to take her under, she sucked in a deep breath and grabbed the vibrator.

  MK: I want you to tell me every single thing you’re doing with those ten inches of dick.

  Oh, he did, did he? JC: Likewise, buster.

  MK: You want me to tell you how I’m stroking my big fat cock, getting it harder and harder while I imagine working it into your snug pussy? Is that what you want to know?

  Holy hell, yes. She swallowed past the dryness in her throat. JC: You started without me? How rude.

  MK: My fist hasn’t left my cock since you sent me your picture.

  Well, that explained why it took him forever to reply. Kinda difficult to type one-handed. Which would only make the rest of this conversation interesting. And no doubt typo-filled.

  MK: Are you fucking yourself yet?

  Yeesh. JC: Give me a chance. Some of us aren’t quite up to speed.

  Speaking of speed...

  She positioned the Orgasmenator between her legs and dialed the contraption on. The device purred and hummed, eliciting similar noises from her as the vibrations rumbled across her drenched flesh. She teased herself with the dildo for several moments, gliding it over her pussy and buzzing her clit. JC: I’m doing it. Feels soooooo good. I need to come like you wouldn’t believe.

  MK: Don’t you dare. I want you desperate for that orgasm. Is the vibrator inside you?

  She shook her head before recalling the mute response wouldn’t suffice. JC: Not yet.

  MK: Work it in slowly. Pretend it’s me stretching you.

  Affixing the visual of his breath-
stealing cock forefront in her mind, she did as requested. She bit her lip, the fullness of the vibrator and the fantasy in her head overtaking her entire being.

  MK: Are you impaled on my cock, Jane?

  She whimpered. JC: Yes.

  MK: Good. Now turn the vibe to the max setting and pound that delicious pussy. But don’t come until I tell you to.

  He was killing her. It’d be a miracle if she didn’t have to be carried out on a stretcher after their rendezvous tomorrow. Gripping the base of the Orgasmenator, she increased the speed until she swore the dildo revved at a million RPMs. A strangled sound shot from her mouth.

  MK: You better not be coming.

  Gritting her teeth, she punched out a response with shaking fingers that could barely stay on the correct keys. JC: Are you a mind reader?

  MK: Only when it comes to yours.

  Great. No chance of sneaking a fast one on him. Bracing her feet on the table edge, she tilted her hips up slightly, improving the angle. So much so, stars floated in her vision. The ceaseless throb of the vibrator weaving its spell, she moaned and started a lazy pump of the Orgasmenator. She let her vivid fantasies take over. It wasn’t silicone driving her closer and closer to the edge. It was the steely rigidness of his cock. He teased her mercilessly. Plunging deeper and deeper.

  MK: You’re close, aren’t you, Jane? You want it so badly, you can taste it.

  There he went again with the mind reading. She licked her lips, his taunting words egging her nearer to the beckoning precipice.

  MK: How soaked is your pussy right now?

  JC: Wetter than it’s ever been. No need to ensure by looking or touching. The succulent sounds were enough testimony.

  MK: Mm. Bathing my cock, just like I love it. I think you’re ready to come for me.

  She nearly cried in relief at his words. JC: Yes, please. She’d never begged for an orgasm before in her life. Oddly enough, it only excited her more.

  MK: Do it. Come all over my cock, you dirty girl.

  And with that demand, the fuse lit on her climax. She cried out, clamping her legs shut as the first shattering wave hit. The increased pressure between her thighs intensified the sensations. Relentlessly the pulsations pounded her, robbing her of breath. If the orgasm didn’t kill her, it’d be a damn miracle.

  MK: I’m coming for you, Jane. Fuuuuuuck.

  Aw, hell. He would have to tell her that. She pictured his fingers clenched around his thick dick, come spurting over his knuckles while he milked every last drop from the tip. His head was thrown back, strained features etched with rapture, the familiar smirk absent from his mouth as her name passed his lips.

  She shuddered through another tidal wave of sensation. “Jack.”

  Resurfacing from the glow a moment later, she groaned and clicked off the vibrator. Digging the heel of her palm into her forehead, she let loose a stream of swear words. She’d just experienced one of the best orgasms of her life. Why did she have to go and ruin it by bringing Jackass into the picture? Worse still, she had a bad feeling his presence in her fantasy helped spike her climax into the stratosphere.

  Glumness settling over her, she dropped her arm and stared at the computer screen. Master Kink had left a new message while she’d been castigating herself.

  MK: I’m looking forward to tomorrow night.

  She leaned forward and typed her response. JC: Me too.

  More than he would ever know. Tomorrow night he’d be the only one giving her earthshaking orgasms. And Jack Brewster would be a distant memory.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Jack tuned out everything but the sound of his own ragged breaths as the incline raised on the treadmill’s running belt, ruthlessly putting him through his paces. It was supposed to be his off day from the gym. With his date tonight, he couldn’t afford to miss the cardio workout. Hell knew he needed the conditioning for the other workout he’d have with Jane. That was evidently clear after the mind-blowing results of their sex chat yesterday.

  The reminder of their sexy exchange added an extra layer of sweat to his already drenched body. Last night was one of the most insanely erotic experiences of his life. It said a lot, considering he used to make his living giving plenty of women their most erotic experience. The missing element from those past experiences?

  Jane.

  He was getting in way over his head. He knew it with every fiber of his being. Just like he knew there was no damn way he’d heed the warning bells clanging in his blockheaded noggin. It was impossible to walk away from this opportunity to savor her. To finally quench the consuming need she brought out of him. The million dollar question remained though. Would it be enough to permanently satisfy him?

  It fucking had to be.

  He freed the water bottle from its caddy and took a hefty swig just as a familiar face claimed the neighboring machine. Surprise shooting through him, he returned Trig’s smile. “What are you doing here?” He immediately winced at the dumbass question. Trig wasn’t there to do his grocery shopping, clearly. Yesterday’s nuclear orgasm must have decimated more brain cells than he’d originally guesstimated.

  Trig turned on his treadmill and began warming up with a slow jog. “Getting ready for the performance tonight.”

  It took a moment to register Trig’s meaning. He was obviously referring to his stripper gig.

  Jack mopped his brow, his mind preoccupied with his own performance tonight. Having these thoughts about Jane while her brother was right there next to him? Fucking awkward.

  Trig slid him a sideways glance. “I also wanted to ask you about something.”

  Blinking against the sweat in his eyes, Jack returned his water bottle to the caddy. “Shoot.”

  “Are you Master Kink?”

  He stumbled, losing his pace. Grabbing the machine’s handrail, he saved himself from enacting a Youtube-worthy ass tumble. He slashed his attention to Trig and found his buddy eyeing him.

  “I take it from that reaction you are.” Shaking his head, Trig upped his speed a notch. “Guess Marissa wins that bet.”

  Jack stopped his treadmill and stepped down off the belt. “Marissa knows?”

  “Yeah, Jane told her.”

  “Jane knows?” Holy fuck. This couldn’t be good. Was he walking into a trap? He conjured a picture of him arriving at their date and her immediately launching into what a despicable cretin he was. Which may or may not be an apt title.

  “Relax. My sister has no idea it’s you.”

  The tension immediately eased from his body. Short lived, no doubt, considering what he had in store for him once Jane did find out he was Master Kink. He swiped his hand over his mouth and stared at Trig’s profile. “We should probably talk about this.”

  “I’m not sure I want to know.”

  Fair enough. Shit knows he’d feel the same way if he were in Trig’s shoes. “This whole thing is...complicated.”

  Trig grunted. “I’d say that’s been the constant theme of you and my sister.”

  Another appropriate conclusion. “I intend to come clean with her. I want you to know that.” Yes, Jane wanted anonymous sex with a stranger. Maybe revealing his identity afterward would ruin it for her. It’d certainly be easier on him if he snuck out without saying a word. But that wouldn’t be right.

  “Before or after?” Trig met his gaze again and chuffed before shutting off his own machine. “Do you have a death wish?”

  “One wonders.”

  Trig scratched his nape. “At least pack a protective cup. You’re gonna need it.”

  Truer words had never been spoken. He eyed Trig, worry gnawing at him. “Does this make things weird between us? I mean, I’ll understand if you no longer want me to be your best man.” Suggesting it carved a hollow out of his stomach.

  “You’re not getting out of the role—or our friendship—that easily.”

  Relief bum-rushed him. The last thing he’d wanted to do was destroy their friendship. Bad enough he’d fucked things up with Jane.


  Trig cracked a grin. “Besides, a part of me wants to take bets on whether or not you’ll be wearing a big ole shiner when you escort my sister down the aisle.”

  He grunted. “That’s a wager I’m bound to lose.”

  On the bright side? At least the damn black eye would match his tux.

  ~*~

  Cherrie squinted at him as he strode through the door. “What in the world is that on your face?”

  He frowned. “What?”

  She shoved up from her seat and circled her desk before crowding right up into his personal space. “Alert the presses, I do believe that was an actual smile I saw moments ago.”

  “What are you talking about? I do plenty of smiling.”

  “Not at nine o’clock in the morning before your first cup of coffee.”

  “I stopped at Tim Horton’s on the way over.”

  “Uh huh.” Cherrie tossed him a wink. “Let me guess, was it a steamy cup of Jane?” She chortled at his undoubtedly stupefied expression. “She sent you an email. Sounds like you two have been having a really good time.”

  “Sonofabitch. You’ve been reading my emails? How long have you been doing that, you damn snoop?”

  “Don’t flatter yourself. I get enough porn spam on my own without having to dig through yours.” She offered a shrug. “Occasionally your private emails get bounced to our main inbox.”

  “And you’re telling me this now?”

  Cherrie appeared unfazed by the question. “Guess it kept slipping my mind.”

  He growled. “Remind me again why I keep you around?”

  “Because no one else would put up with you and make sure you keep your nose clean. Secondly, you’d be deprived of my homemade cinnamon rolls.” She jutted her chin toward the adjacent small kitchenette. “Made some fresh this morning. Though you don’t deserve any after accusing me of all kinds of despicable things. Snooping. Pffft.”

  “Sorry, you’re right. Your cinnamon rolls make you worth keeping around.” Ready to make a quick getaway, he pivoted.

  “So...apparently you have a thing for Janes.”

  Shit. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He slipped into his office and shut the door, effectively shutting out Cherrie’s snickering. Loosening his tie, he claimed his chair. He wasted a few minutes pretending to be interested in the Sports Illustrated sitting on his desk. Whatever it took to fool himself that he wasn’t dying to get to Jane’s email.