Fyre, Raven - Blind Man's Bluff (Siren Publishing Classic)

by Raven Fyre

  “Yes. Please, Master. Please, I need you to fuck me.” Boldly, she reached for his magnificently hard penis, wrapping her hand around the thick base. “I need this cock deep inside me.”

  Dear God, let me be able to take it. She’d never considered her ex as particularly lacking in the size department, and she’d only been with a couple of other men after the divorce. None of them came close to matching this man.

  His fingers tangled with hers, urgently rolling on the latex sheath. Then those fingers laced with hers as he lifted her hands above her head. She instinctively cradled his big body in hers and lifted her hips to the seeking tip of his erection. He began to push into her, rocking back and forth while using her abundant juices to coat the shocking girth and ease his possession.

  And possess her he did. No trick of the mind there, either. He stretched her as no one ever had, reached so deeply, filled her so completely, Chloe had to swallow the lump of emotion that rose in her throat and coated her burning lungs. Oh, God. Oh, God. She wrapped her legs more tightly around his hips, trying to force him impossibly closer.

  He sank to the hilt, setting off a series of tiny explosions in her hips as the engorged head of his cock bumped against the welcoming boundary of her womb.

  “Oh, baby,” he crooned. “Holy…Jesus, you feel so damn good. So responsive. This sweet pussy’s so tight. God, that’s amazing.”

  “Yes,” she chanted as he began to pump his hips. “Yes. Oh, yes.”

  Stars, bright and brilliantly intense, burst behind her eyes, and her body bowed and shook with the force of her orgasm. No one—no one had ever made her see stars.

  He picked up the pace, and the sound of flesh pounding flesh echoed in the room. His mouth came back to hers, crushing, devouring before plucking at one aching nipple then the other. She arched into the exquisite, torturous sensations, silently begging for more. The scent of desire, his and hers, spicy and sweet, infused the air. The skin beneath her hands was slick and taut as the muscles bunched and splayed.

  Unbelievable need began to build in her again, coiling, tightening.

  Finally, a deep growl erupted from his chest, and she felt the frantic jerk of his cock deep inside her. With three more long, deep thrusts, he shoved her over another blinding, jagged peak. Heat burst in her pussy as the coil of her desire, sparked by his release, sprang free, and the contractions of her inner muscles milked him dry.

  Slowly, he collapsed over her and buried his face in the hollow of her throat, pressing a kiss to the spot.

  In sync with her earlier statement, he told her, “That. Was. Fucking. Amazing.”

  Stunned, blissfully sated, Chloe couldn’t have crawled to the door if the room were on fire. She wasn’t totally convinced her breathing would ever return to normal—to say nothing of her racing heart. And she found it vitally reassuring that his was just as labored, just as frantic.

  Stroking her fingers through his damp hair, she smiled in spite of the awkwardly absurd situation. Lost to the idea of time or the outside world, Chloe was unaware of how long they lay there, pressed body to body. She could have stayed just this way…forever.

  He stamped a kiss on her lips and heaved himself up and off the bed. There was the rustling of clothes then his promise as he came back to run his fingertips along the center of her torso—“I’ll be hard and aching until we meet again, my beautiful slave.”

  Chloe waited patiently so as not to break the terms of the arrangement. When the click of the encrypted lock sounded, she shoved the damp necktie up and off her head and blinked at the glare of the bedside lamp’s glowing light.

  She sat up slowly, giving her system a few minutes to level out. “Oh, sweet mercy,” she whispered to herself, touching her raw, kiss-swollen lips with still-trembling fingers.

  The most amazing sex of her life and she hadn’t a clue what the man looked like. Or his name. But never in her life would she forget the feel of him, the taste of him, or the way he’d so completely filled her, the way they’d been so perfectly in sync, the rhythm of their bodies, their hearts, their raging pulses.

  Instead of the shame and disappointment she’d expected, Chloe couldn’t wait for their next encounter. Her pussy clenched, aching to have his massive cock thrusting into her again. Her creamy juices were practically weeping from her slit, crying out in loss.

  Had she no decency?

  She showered and changed back into her street clothes before finding Jocelyn.

  “Well,” the woman remarked, looking Chloe up and down with a narrowed, purposeful glare, “somebody’s engine got a hell of a tune-up.”

  “Purring like a kitten,” Chloe admitted.

  “Bitch,” Jocelyn snapped with no real bite. “Lucky, lucky bitch. For the record, he looked pretty damn pleased himself.”

  The thought had her insides revving up. She’d never known the power one could feel from the knowledge of pleasing another.

  “This is yours.”

  Chloe took the envelope, counted the bills, and shook her head. “It’s too much.”

  “Minus the thirty-five percent to the house. Plus tip.”

  “Dear God, Jocelyn. A five-hundred-dollar tip? The man must be loaded. And insane.”

  “He’s…something. And, apparently, you pleased the hell out of him, too. Revel in it, honey. Guys like him come along once in a lifetime.”

  Once in a lifetime, Chloe mused. Like Prince Charming. A fantasy.

  Tonight had been like a fantasy—except for not being allowed to see her prince of a lover. Maybe next time, she could persuade him to let her remove the blindfold.

  Chapter 5

  Chloe studied the list she’d made, double-checking the items before heading out to the party supply store. Nothing too fancy, the guest list less than twenty of Rachel’s closest friends from college or the club, just an informal gathering to commemorate her baby sister’s birthday.

  Life goes on, she thought, recalling Rachel’s words the day of Gram’s funeral. A celebration was exactly the lift this house and her spirits needed.

  She spotted a stack of mail near the phone, a forgotten, growing paper mountain. Rachel had sorted out the bills days earlier, and they’d tackled those first. Deciding she’d just finish her cup of tea while scanning the rest, Chloe sat. Junk, mostly, sale ads for the local supermarkets, credit card offers in Gram’s name, and one she worried might’ve been passed over too quickly.

  The envelope was clearly marked “This Is Not A Bill” but looked too important to ignore. Through the clear plastic window, she read the addressee as Thomas Hospital. She tore it open and read the five-page list of treatments, medications, and the roll call of doctors from the ER, cardiologists, surgical teams—the last hours of Gram’s life dictated and neatly arranged by fees and insurance allotments.

  It wasn’t meant to be callous, Chloe knew. But it hit her as just that—a cold, impersonal account of her grandmother’s death.

  She couldn’t explain it, but the document affected her in a way Gram’s death had not. Maybe because she’d forged on, from the instant she’d taken Rachel’s call. She’d busied her mind with packing, driving down from Birmingham, hurrying to be at her baby sister’s side. The days that followed had been filled with the funeral, friends and neighbors flittering in and out. Hunting down Gram’s pearls. Jackson. Sweet, sweet Jackson. The business with the bank loan, having to worry about losing the house and paying back the money. Taking the job with Jackson’s club.

  Jackson.

  Her mystery lover.

  Her sexy boss.

  Jackson, Jackson, Jackson.

  She’d been bottling it up, shoving it aside for weeks. Now, the tide was threatening to drown her. Looking down, she couldn’t see her tea for the tears that’d unwittingly slipped free.

  “I suppose the birthday girl’s already off to her class,” Jackson announced as he deposited what seemed to be a vase of flowers on the kitchen counter. To her, it was a blob of colors and sweet smells. “Still…I
thought I’d drop these off for now and then to—Chloe? Sweetheart, what’s wrong?”

  Without waiting for a response, Jackson picked her up and sat in the seat he’d emptied, settling her on his lap. He wrapped her in his arms, pulling her to his firm, warm chest, and held her while she sobbed. Murmuring soothing, indiscernible phrases, he stroked a hand over her hair, down her back in slow, gentle circles.

  Minutes later, when the embarrassment factor kicked in and Chloe could finally draw a shaky breath, she tried to wiggle out of his embrace. Jackson was having none of it. “Talk to me, sweetheart. Tell me what happened.”

  “I–I don’t know.” He glared at her. “It’s silly, really. It’s just a stupid piece of paper.”

  Glancing to the table, Jackson picked up the hospital report, frowning as he read it. He cursed low, under his breath. “It’s a goddamn heartless playbill of Gram’s pain, is what it is. No wonder it upset you.”

  That he understood made something inside of her unfurl. “It wasn’t just that, Jackson. I–it was everything. I’d pushed my feelings so far down, trying to do what needed to be done. I guess I never really let myself grieve over losing Gram, you know? I should have been here. For her. For Rachel.”

  “You can’t think that way. You’re here now. You’re going above and beyond for Rachel, if you ask me. But I’d do the same for Ty or for my parents or anyone I cared about that deeply.”

  “Yes. Yes, you would.” She gave in and feathered her fingers in his hair, sliding her hand to the nape of his neck. “You’re a good man, Jackson Sawyer. One of the best I’ve ever known.”

  His eyes went dark with desire, and his gaze fell to her lips.

  “Kiss me, Jackson,” she whispered. “Please, just this once.”

  “Chloe.”

  “I don’t care about your stupid rules. Fire me,” she suggested, and a light, strangled laugh floated up as she nipped at the underside of his jaw. “Fire me and take me to bed.”

  “Chloe.” He groaned. “Oh, God, Chloe, there’s nothing I’d like more…”

  Her lips skimmed over his, and the screen door slammed, jolting them apart as though a bundle of TNT had exploded underneath their chair.

  “Shit,” Jackson murmured, raking a shaky hand through his hair.

  Paul strode into the kitchen, took one look at them, and grimaced. Gesturing to the bouquet of balloons attached to one arm and the bottle of champagne in the crook of the other, he stammered out, “Sorry, guys. I took my lunch break to pick these up, and I—sorry. So, so sorry.”

  “It’s okay,” Chloe soothed. “I was just having a little meltdown.”

  One of his brows rose as if to say, “That wasn’t what it looked like to me,” but he didn’t comment as he slid the bottle of bubbly into the fridge. Ignoring it, she grabbed a paper towel and swiped at the mascara smudges under her eyes. “Can I make you a sandwich?”

  “No, thanks. I’ll grab something on the way back to work.” Paul leaned in and brushed a quick kiss on her cheek. “I’ll, ah, I’ll see you both tonight. Call me if you need me to pick up anything on my way.”

  Chloe smiled thinly. “I will, Paul. Thanks.”

  Jackson, still sitting quietly at her table, picked up her cup of cold tea and drained it. “I should get back to the club.”

  The moment of surrender had passed. Tension filled the room. They’d almost stepped over that invisible line. If not for the untimely interruption…who knows what might’ve happened. But the spell was broken. Obviously, Jackson had returned to his senses.

  Chloe felt the loss all the way to her toes.

  “Tell Rachel to enjoy her night off,” Jackson said as he rose, “and the party.”

  “You aren’t coming.” She knew it sounded like more of an accusation than a question. She meant for it to.

  “I don’t think that would be wise.”

  So civilized. How could he always be so goddamn civilized? God, she wanted to show him exactly how uncivilized she was feeling right this moment.

  But she’d already thrown herself at him, begged him to toss his rules out the window just this once. He’d been tempted—that he could never deny. It wasn’t rejection she’d seen in his eyes, it wasn’t a rebuff she’d felt but his granite-hard erection separated from her bottom by several thin layers of fabric. Still, the flash of irrationality had passed, and the cool, collected Jackson Sawyer was once again in charge of his raging hormones.

  Would that she could say the same.

  Now that she wasn’t crying, she realized what a lovely spray of mixed flowers he’d delivered for Rachel. Fingering one of the velvety, white petals, Chloe fought past the emotion clogging her throat. “Thank you, Jackson, for always being here when I seem to need you most.”

  When he made a move toward her, Chloe held up her hand. “Don’t. Please, just don’t.”

  She left him standing in Gram’s kitchen. She was too itchy to want him this badly and not be able to connect with him. Too exhausted from her crying jag to care or suffer through the hypocrisy of going through the motions to show him out solely for the sake of good manners.

  He was a big boy, Chloe mused.

  He’d let himself in. He could damn well let himself out.

  * * * *

  Clint Rezner scowled at the wimpy little man with bloodshot eyes and a receding hairline who managed Chloe’s apartment building. “What do you mean, she cleared out?”

  Where could she have gone?

  “Look. I told you once already. Chloe came and packed up her things. Laurie couldn’t make the rent without her half, so she left to go live with her folks ’til she could find another roomie. Said she didn’t know when that might be. So, I rented the apartment out this morning.”

  Clint grumbled all the way back to his truck. He gunned the engine and headed to Roxy’s for a beer. Something to take the edge off his frustration. It wasn’t like Chloe to up and hightail it out of Dodge. They weren’t exactly thick as thieves anymore, but he liked to drop in every once in a while and make sure she was doing okay. And, yeah, maybe he tried to sweet talk her into letting him sleep over—which never happened. She was no longer the meek, eager-to-please-her-man woman he’d fallen for.

  One slip and Chloe had kicked him out on his naked ass.

  And for what? A so-so piece of tail…or two. She’d screamed and hissed and clawed at him like a woman possessed when she’d walked in and found him with the Nelson twins. Hell, he couldn’t even claim it had been worth it—banging two women at once. Every guy’s wet dream, two on one. Ha, if they only knew, Clint thought. It was nothing like they portrayed it on one of those porn DVDs, no, sir.

  Double the trouble, twice the cunt demanding satisfaction was what it was. And he only had the one sorry, limp dick. Drinking hadn’t been the smartest move. The alcohol had not only dulled his sense of morality, it had also impeded his ability to keep his prick standing at attention long enough to get the job done.

  Truth be told, the whole fucking episode had been a huge disappointment. The twins were a sorry substitution for Chloe. Most women were. He’d had a diamond, and he’d gone and screwed it up big-time, letting a few drinks and his randy dick get the best of him, settling for a couple of cheap cubic zirconias.

  Chloe had refused to forgive him. Refused to listen when he’d tried to plead his case. She was always too busy with school, studying, or too tired from rounds to be interested in sex. What was so terrible about being his wife or spitting out his brats that she’d put up a fuss to go back to college and get her degree instead of staying home where she belonged?

  She had never known her place.

  Her place…That got him thinking. If not Birmingham, she would surely skedaddle on down south to their old home sweet home near Orange Beach. To her Gram and her sister, Rachel. Maybe Grammy had taken ill and Chloe was going to use her newly acquired skills to nurse her back to health.

  The idea didn’t set well with Clint. What if the old bag got to talking? Maybe like when
the meds were making her loopy or the fever was in control of her aging tongue? Things could get dicey.

  He flipped out his cell and decided to give his dad a call. Hank Rezner might be retired, but he still had connections. If Chloe had gone home to roost, Clint might just have to pay her a visit. Maybe they could even rekindle the old flames, being so close to where their attraction had first sparked. They’d had some good times, once.

  One beer morphed into a second that Clint chased with a couple shots of tequila. The more he drank, the madder he got.

  How dare the bitch up and leave him? Throw him, the king, out of his castle? So what if he’d cheated? If she’d had her priorities straight, he wouldn’t have needed to look elsewhere for a warm, willing woman. She had some fucking nerve. Fuck…not a great word to bring up in relation to his pretty little wife.

  His dick swelled just thinking about Chloe’s tight little body, her lush curves, her perfectly shaped ass. Why the hell was it he could get it up—despite the liquor sloshing through his bloodstream—when he thought of her, but not when he’d had his chance with the Nelson twins?

  Fucking unruly prick.

  The woman was his, whether she wanted to admit it or not. No way was he going to let some judge and a stupid piece of paper tell him his marriage was over. They’d stood before God and made a vow.

  ‘Til death do us part…

  Well, as long as she was alive, Chloe had best get ready to get it through her stubborn, beautiful head—she belonged to him.

  * * * *

  In a quaint, cottage-style house near the outskirts of Loxley, Hank Rezner grimaced and rolled over. A curse slithered out under his breath as he reached for the phone by the bed. There was only one person he knew who possessed the audacity to call his house past eleven o’clock—his lazy-ass son.

  His second wife had given him a sweet baby girl, the true joy of his life. Karen had the good common sense to marry a doctor from Dothan, one of those kidney surgeons. He kept her in plenty of glitzy jewelry and a fancy house with shiny new cars. While she spent her days volunteering with the Junior League and other charitable causes or shuttling her boys to school and soccer practice and karate lessons, she was also presently carrying Hank’s third grandbaby.