My heart pounded behind my breasts and I couldn’t get enough air. I don’t know what I’d actually expected. I wasn’t trying to do anything, exactly, but… I’d let my hands do what they wanted, and I knew they wanted something.
“It’s my job,” I said. It came out a whisper.
Jack chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that was different than before. It was full of promises, and demands. “I been laid up longer than this. I know about atrophy, Naomi. Not worried.” He pulled my hand, and I was almost shocked that I let him. My fingers were under the edge of his boxers now, and close to something fiery and hot, maybe inches away.
Whatever he had hidden away under that thin cotton was waking up, getting bigger.
“Jack… I shouldn’t…”
“Shouldn’t isn’t ‘can’t’,” Jack said. “It isn’t ‘no’ either.”
I couldn’t quite speak. I looked up at him.
He was watching me, the hunger in his eyes plain, his lust unmasked. It made my stomach go into a free fall. I shouldn’t do this, some part of me said. I should stop it now. If someone walked in, if someone needed me, if, if, if… There were too many reason not to than I could have counted, not the least of which was that it might cost my job.
The list of reasons to let him keep going, to let him push me, to let him take what he’d been hinting at—no, not hinting; outright saying he wanted—was short but in blindingly large print.
My regular day? My every single day? Was soul sucking. Nothing happened. I hadn’t been on a date in six months, and before that it was one date with a guy Nic had set me up with who turned out to be another clean-cut douche bag with nothing interesting to say. Before that? Mike and his clockwork sex.
Maybe, if I just broke the rules once…
Jack could have been reading my mind. Somehow, I couldn’t quite convince myself he hadn’t because on every other count he’d seen into me, picked up on things I usually hid so well. Whether he did or not, he grunted as he sat up, slipped his free hand around the back of my neck, and slowly pulled us together.
My chest was heaving. Just that feeling of his hand there broke down some other layer of the wall inside me. I can give you excitement, it said. I can give you what you’re missing. Heady promises that made some long sleeping part of my nervous system wake up and take notice, and start working overtime to light up neglected parts of me that were suddenly hyper-aware of what was happening. I felt my nipples tighten against the inside of my bra as Jack’s lips hovered an inch from mine.
One more chance. I put whatever was left of my will power into it, tried to resuscitate the Me that I knew I was supposed to be. “This is a bad idea, Jack,” I said. Damnit, that’s not what I’d meant to say.
“You want me to stop, say so,” Jack growled; not angry. But predatory. A lion with a gazelle in its jaws already, offering it a way out.
If I said I wanted him, that I wanted to feel that coiled aggression inside him to come out, to loose itself into me, then I was something I couldn’t be; wasn’t allowed to be. If I said nothing, though…
Jack pulled me closer. I didn’t stop him; I didn’t let him. I just rode along, watching it from the backseat and wondering what would happen next.
His kiss pulled me front and center, back into myself. His lips were still swollen, a little, and rough from where the two or three splits he’d had were healing up. But they were a soft spot in the middle of his rough stubble that scratched my lips and made it all feel suddenly dangerous and forbidden. His tongue pressed through my closed lips, and the lightning it sparked in my mouth shot down through my body, burned me from the inside and brought a quiet moan from the depths of my throat.
I sucked his tongue, and bit his lower lip gently when he took it back, careful not to reopen the cuts but suddenly growing bolder, wondering what would happen if I did.
I didn’t find out. My hand moved under Jack’s as he guided it to his cock. He was hard, and it throbbed quietly with his heartbeat that seemed like it was beating as fast as mine. “You taste sweet,” he murmured in my mouth. “Soft hands. You like what I got there?”
Answering was out of the question. “Don’t talk,” I whispered instead. If anyone heard us…
Up until then, I hadn’t realized I’d made the decision.
My fingers curled around Jack’s rigid tool, filling my hand. God, it was big; bigger than Lance had been. How long since I’d had something like that inside me? What kind of life was I living that I couldn’t remember? I tugged at it, drawing the surprisingly smooth skin up around the head and twisting. He grunted in pleasure and surprise, and pulled back a bit to look at me.
“Get up here,” he said.
I did, drawn by some magnetic force that compelled my limbs. I glanced at the closed door to the room. No one had interrupted us before. What were the chances…?
Before I could properly weigh the risks, or convince myself to stop, I was straddling Jack’s hips. He slipped his hand down the front of my scrub pants at the same time he pulled me into another kiss, and at the moment he pressed his tongue between my lips again his fingers found my clit and did something, pinching and swirling, and I quaked inside, my thighs tensing against him. I gasped into his mouth and then cried out quietly.
“Keep quiet,” he said, his voice gruff, his breath hot on my mouth. “You’ll get us caught.”
“Jack,” I whispered, but couldn’t finish and forgot what I was going to say, fingers slipped inside me as his thumb started working the wet nub of me, and he silenced me with his mouth, pulling my head tight against his.
I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t think. I couldn’t stop. God, he knew his way around a clit. All I could do was pant against him, grinding my hips to drive his fingers deeper, and try to excite the rod under his boxers. He laughed at me, face to face, while he drove me wild, amused by the loss of control, or at winning. He’d told me before, hadn’t he? He always won.
“Don’t scream,” he told me, a cruel challenge laced with that cocky shit-eating smile as he drove his fingers up into the tender spot hardly any man even knew existed and worked it in time with his teasing thumb. “You gonna come for me?” he growled.
I started to tell him, No, asshole, you think this’ll do it? Even though it would. Instead when I tried to talk he pulled my head to one side and buried his teeth in my neck, and tugged his hand up, some digit—I’d lost track—manipulating me with quick, circling flicks until I was breathless and speechless, my brain shut down and reeling and I was close, so close, and clawing at his shoulders with one hand while the other reached down to find his dick and squeeze and pull and beg him silently to fuck me already, for God’s sake.
My body tensed. Jack’s mouth found mine again, and then he slipped a hand around the back of my head and pressed my face to his chest so that I could barely breathe but I understood why. I had started moaning, lost in this feeling, in the thunder he was releasing inside me. I gasped, and pressed my face to his muscled chest, and he held me close as he worked me with his hand until my body tensed, and jerked, and that sweet, honeyed lightning spread from Jack’s hand to the rest of my hips, up through my spine, and curled over my head with the blissful promise of oblivion and release.
And then, like a light switching off, it stopped.
“No,” I whispered, “no please, keep going… so close, Jack.”
He growled into my hair. “Think it’s that easy, Darlin’?”
Knowing that he’d stopped because he knew; he could feel that I was close, nearly drove me out of my mind. I bit his collarbone, his neck, his ear, and tried to work myself against his hand that had gone still. “Jack, please…”
In response, he drew his hand out of my scrub bottoms and slipped both hands around my ass. With a grunt of pained effort, he pulled me forward, and slid down on the bed. His rough fingers found the band of my pants and jerked them down. A second later they pulled my hips forward, and Jack’s mouth clamped down on my clit, sucking and lapping, his stubb
le grazing my lips. I fell forward at the hips, bracing myself against the head of the hospital bed, and bit down on the mattress’ edge to keep from howling.
Jack’s tongue played over my swollen, sensitive button, swirling and digging and flickering until every brush of his wet muscle had me twitching in response. I slipped a hand down behind his head and clutched at his hair, desperate to somehow push him further, make him consume me, destroy me. “Oh, God, Jack,” I chanted, over and over again while he dug his fingers into my hips, and rumbled that avalanche growl into my pussy, urging me closer to oblivion.
When I gasped, and let out a high pitched, plaintive whine of need, he slapped my ass cheek. “Quiet,” he ordered.
It was like asking the Sun not to burn. I pulled the pillow that smelled like him up to my face and wailed into it. He went at me like an animal; I felt his teeth graze me, the barest scratch that made my hips jerk back before he chased me and sucked my clit, hard, and slipped fingers inside me to work that tender spot again, and then I was screaming into the pillow and clawing at his hair and maybe losing consciousness.
My body tried to curl on itself. My thighs cramped, and my toes curled and liquid heaven exploded while I convulsed. Jack’s fingers dug into my ass and drove me against his mouth from inside me and his tongue assaulted me while I smothered myself in his pillow, lost in the tidal force of release.
He kept it up until I was flinching with every twitch of his tongue, and pushing at his scalp but I was trapped like this, bent over his face and helpless until I manage to push myself up and finally pull my hips away.
Jack smiled up at me, proud of himself and glowing with smug satisfaction. I slapped him. I don’t know why. It felt right. He licked his lips and winked. “Cherries,” he said. “Tastes like cherries.”
When I kissed him again, I didn’t taste cherries. I tasted me, but maybe for him it was different. His tongue wasn’t tired, though. I almost challenged him. Do it again then, tough guy. Asshole. But I couldn’t because whatever functions were left in my brain, they had nothing to do with words.
I reached down, and squeezed him again, still as hard as before. He grunted, bit my lips, and then as I slid down, he tangled his hand in my hair with one hand and freed himself with the other. He was thick, dark from some trick of genes, and the tip of him was moist from his own need, a dewdrop of clear fluid budding up.
I opened my mouth to let him in; he was salty, and musky, and he filled my mouth as he sighed, and stifled a groan. His fingers dug into my scalp, urging but not quite pushing.
I wrapped my fingers around his shaft and took as much as I could, swiping my tongue over the smooth skin of him, and his cock flexed and swelled and gushed a small shot of something salty into my mouth that I swallowed down. My free hand found his sac and squeezed what was inside, not too hard; enough to let him know I was there, and Jack laughed quietly and then gasped when I bobbed up, drawing my tongue along the length of him, and sank down again.
It wasn’t fair, what he’d done to me so easily. I wanted to counterattack, to make him beg, to prove to him he wasn’t the only one that knew his way around this arena. I squeezed, and sucked, my tongue already sore from pressing against him inside my mouth, and I milked another drop from the tip of him and swirled my tongue and fist around the ridge of his cock-head.
He pulled my hair. “Stop.”
I didn’t; I sped up, tugged his balls, tried to force him over.
“Naomi, stop,” he breathed.
I had him to rights, I had him close; I wanted to win, to finish him.
He pulled my head away. “I said stop, darlin’!” His voice was a quiet boom in the room. Both of us froze. I looked over my shoulder. I glanced at the clock. Fuck. Two minutes to my next appointment.
Our eyes met. I glanced at the clock again. That second hand seemed to be suddenly moving faster than it should have.
I’d seen Jack’s chart, all his blood work. I was on the pill. We had a minute and a half.
I pushed my scrub bottoms and panties to my ankles, and scootched up to straddle his hips again. He opened his mouth to say something, to protest, but before he got it out we both covered one another’s mouths with a hand as I slipped him inside me. He was thick; it stretched, and stung for a heartbeat, but I was so wet, and he was so hard that I had him inside me in a few short seconds and squeezed him. Jack gasped under my hand.
I rose, and fell, the slight curve of him driving into me, hitting that almost painfully sensitive spot inside. I rose and fell, putting more of my weight against his mouth, and his eyes burned up at me, glazed and full of lust and demand.
He let go of my mouth, and I had to bite my lips to keep from moaning when his fingers dug into my hips and with one grunt after another he thrust his hips up, slamming into me until he was into a rhythm that had to be getting him close again. When I felt him swell, he slipped a hand to the front of me and found my aching nub with his fingers and attacked it again. I thought I would taste blood from biting down on my own lip so hard, panting through my nose.
We were racing. The clock, one another. God, he filled me up, and he was sweating and I must have looked like hell but I was as determined to make him come as he was to hammer another orgasm into me, and I couldn’t tell who was going to win but I glared down at him and hated that he could do this to me but was already looking forward to next time and wanted to leave the kind of impression that would haunt him in his dreams when I was gone.
And then his eyes fluttered, and rolled, and his body tensed and he bit the palm of my hand that was still covering his mouth, and slammed into me hard enough to leave a bruise while his fingers pinched me, hard, and sent me flying.
I felt him explode inside of me, his cock swelling and throbbing once, twice, three or four more times, a counterpoint to the series of quiet explosions that hammered into my midsection and radiated out into the rest of me until I was falling forward and lost.
Jack held me tight, gasping breaths. “Shit,” he said. “Holy shit… fuck me… ow… Oh, fuck… god damnit…”
I had the sudden thought that he was still, somehow, coming inside me. When I moved, though, his hands shot up and gripped my arms and pushed me carefully, slowly away from him. “Ribs,” he grunted, barely able to suck in a breath.
“Oh,” I said, reality gradually seeping back into me. “Oh, God, Jack… I’m sorry; fuck…” I slid off of him—his body jerked from the stimulation—and managed to struggle off of the side of the hospital bed. In my panic I pulled my panties and scrubs back up.
We watched one another. Jacks’ cock was still out, hard and glistening, wet with me, and him, and he was clutching an arm to his wrapped chest I had leaned on his broken ribs. But he started to laugh. Quietly, at first, and then louder, and then he was coughing. It was infectious, and I started laughing too, and couldn’t figure out why except that I was dizzy and light and already I wanted him again and for the first time in months I felt like I had just had fun.
Jack’s head rolled, and he grinned at me with those broken teeth and winked. “I feel all better, darlin’,” he muttered, spent and on the brink of passing out—maybe from pain, maybe from getting off, I didn’t know. Either one, I supposed, or both.
Me? I felt… better, yes; some itch that had gotten scratched.
And worse. That itch, it was already back, already growing again and I hadn’t even realized it was there before. I knew it was, now, though.
“I, ah…” I breathed, and let out a long, slow breath. My knees were weak. I felt empty without him inside me, stills stretched, and slick. I need a bathroom. Fuck, what must I look like?
“Clock’s tickin’,” Jack said. He waved a finger at the clock.
“Jesus Christ,” I swore, and grabbed my clip board. I was so entirely fucked.
At the door I stopped, smoothed my hair, then pulled the hair tie out of it and redid the whole thing. At least I wasn’t expected to be entirely kempt; none of the nurses were. I looked every bit
as harried as they did, now.
Jack was watching me. My hands in my hair, a clipboard between my teeth, and I might as well have been the sexiest thing he’d seen. He winked again. “Go get ‘em, beautiful.”
“Fuck you, asshole,” I muttered, but I was smiling.
“Anytime,” Jack chuckled. “I’ll be here all week.”
I left, trying to sort through what had happened, and harboring a small smile that I couldn’t seem to shake.
All the way to Mrs. Johnston’s room, I got the sort of looks that said people knew. Or, maybe it was my own paranoia.
I couldn’t bring myself to give a fuck.
Chapter 8
Naomi
The end of my day came at seven pm, and I was still high off of my encounter with Jack. It seemed like a dream, intangible now but stuck in my mind like a surreal sequence of impossible events. Had I really done that?
I was still a little sore. I definitely had.
Thinking of it again on my way out the front door put a private smile on my face —people were going to think I was crazy, grinning like an idiot all the time—and gave me a pleasurable shiver of anticipation. Because I had a feeling that what had happened between Jack and I that afternoon wouldn’t be the last time.
God, but what was I thinking? Maybe after he was out of the hospital. After we were no longer in this professional relationship. But then, what was Jack thinking? He’d already said he didn’t want to get attached. Had it been a one-time thing? Maybe. It didn’t feel like it, though. Tomorrow I could talk to him about—
“Hey, Naomi,” Jason’s familiar voice called as I walked to my car.
I spun, looking around for the source and suddenly, irrationally, worried that he might somehow know; like he could read my thoughts and see what had happened. “Jason?”
He was walking toward me from the hospital entrance.
The Hitman's Baby - A Bad Boy Secret Baby Romance (With extra added bonus novel for a short time only!) Page 24