by Raven Fyre
No denying it, she felt just that way—invincible. Phenomenal sex was a buzz unlike any other. She’d never done drugs, but she drank on occasion, and she still couldn’t imagine either vice ever coming close to delivering the same happy vibes of toe-curling, mind-bending orgasms. Okay, yeah, the plural part probably had a great deal to do with that happiness.
Hell, she’d never been so turned on in her life as when they’d had the little bondage session. She’d never have guessed how erotically wicked and satisfied she could feel by having him spank her. The idea of him dominating her again had her pussy clenching and dripping where she stood. And was she complaining?
Ab-so-freaking-lutely not!
Still…
How to make Jocelyn appreciate the depths of this well she’d stumbled into?
“This was always a temporary solution, Jocelyn. I’m just thankful I’ve been fortunate enough to have the same client for all these weeks. I’m not exactly sure I could have lived with myself if I’d screwed half of Orange Beach.”
“All good things…”
Chloe smiled wistfully and supplied, “Must come to an end.”
“Have you mentioned this to Mr. Sawyer?”
“No. Not yet. First thing tomorrow’s the plan, but it’s only delaying the inevitable.”
“Hmm. Suppose so.” Jocelyn gave her a quick, abrupt hug. “It’s been nice working with you, for what it’s worth.”
“Same here.”
“Word of advice? From one woman to another?”
“Sure,” Chloe encouraged, intrigued by the impromptu hug and the female bonding, as it were.
“Mr. Sawyer—Jackson,” she emphasized, “the day he brought you in? I’ve never seen him look at any woman the way he looks at you.”
Chloe’s heart leapt in her chest, slamming into her ribs. “Oh, Jocelyn, honey. I’ve been over it a million times in my mind. After this…after working for him and having him know what I’ve done, he’d never be able to look at me and not think of how I’d lowered myself to taking money for sex—with a stranger.”
This caused the sassy blonde to park a hand on her shapely hip. “Honey,” she snapped, “who do you think owns this place? When the house gets their cut, he is the house, or half of it, at least. The man knows what you’ve done because you’ve done it under his nose. Hell, he’s reaped the benefits right along with you. If you let something like this stand in your way…well, then you really don’t know the kind of man he is. And you really don’t deserve him.”
Jocelyn was partly to blame, Chloe decided, looking back on it.
If not for those challenging words, she would’ve gone into what was to be her final sensual session with a marginally clear head. But she hadn’t. She’d been totally wrapped up in thoughts of Jackson Sawyer. Could he really ever accept her, want her, after what she’d done—what she was, yet again, about to do?
And, okay, yes…backpedaling here because, hey, she was only human—the blame was no one’s but her own. Her thoughts had been tangled up in Jackson Sawyer from the day he’d walked into Gram’s kitchen.
So, here she was, sprawled beneath the sumptuous weight of a physically sculpted god of a man who was bringing her to her third climax in less than an hour. Tonight’s rendezvous had not included bondage or spankings, and still, he had her panting and begging for more, for everything.
He was whispering sexy, erotic suggestions in her ear—the things he wanted to do to her, all he wanted her to do to him—and telling her how beautiful she was and how perfectly delectable every inch of her body was. Raining kisses over her face, claiming her mouth in tongue-tangling kisses that mimicked the moves of their hips and promised the same unyielding fulfillment.
And Jackson was the only man on her mind.
His face loomed in the dark void created by the mask. It was his curving, sensual mouth she envisioned, hot and hungry, roaming over her body, followed by his strong, tanned fingers, intent on claiming her, pleasuring her. His mesmerizing hazel eyes she imagined shaded and glazed with passion as he surged into her. His magnificent body shuddering and roaring through his release while she held him and caressed him.
It was Jackson she wanted, him she silently begged not just to fuck her, but to make love to her as no man ever had.
Was it any wonder, then, when her phantom lover made her body soar and shatter through another devastating climax, that she lost all capacity for rational thought, for control, and whimpered the name of her secret obsession?
“Jackson.”
Oh, God. Oh, holy hell. No…no…no!
Mortified, speechless due to the air backing up in her lungs, Chloe could only lie mute and spent as her bones melted into the mattress and turmoil raged war in her belly.
Had he even heard her?
Had it even registered through the fog of his own climax, his primal growl during release?
His identity might be a mystery, but she could pick out her alpha male’s voice in the dark as he was no shy, quiet lover. Also, there was the way her body sang at the deep timbre of his voice. She was blindfolded, turned upside down and inside out, and still, she instinctively knew her Master.
Thinking the storm might’ve passed, she felt a sliver of relief when he collapsed over her and kissed the hollow of her throat—a gesture she’d come to expect, to yearn for. A silent compliment to the chef, as it were, as if she were the most exquisite meal upon which he’d ever had the pleasure to feast.
She could’ve said the same if her big mouth weren’t already stuffed with her size-seven foot.
Another minute or two of plastering his sweaty body to hers and then he’d roll off of her and…Well, okay, this was new. His lips journeyed to her ear. His teeth nipped, tugging lightly on the lobe and spiking the arousal that simmered just under her skin whenever he was within reach. His palm covered her breast and kneaded oh-so softly.
And his words, stunning and low, stopped her heart.
“I love you.”
Though the storm kicked to life in her belly, her body went rigid. Clearly, he’d allowed himself to become as delusional about their situation as she.
“Chloe? Sweetheart?”
What the fuck?
She tore off the stifling blindfold and blinked in awe at the man who lay over her, who was still intimately joined with her.
“Jackson?”
Shaking her head as if she might be able to clear it, like an Etch A Sketch, and start over with a clean slate, Chloe pressed a trembling hand to his chest. Was he real?
Maybe she was dreaming.
He felt real. In fact, he felt like the best thing she’d ever had her hands on. Ever. The heart under her hand matched her own, beat for erratic beat. That glazed, sated look was in eyes. But his beautiful lips were drawn thin, unsmiling. All hint of amusement erased from his features.
It started to roll in, like high tide. Chloe felt the fear of drowning.
Jocelyn’s words came back to her. Hell, he’s been reaping the benefits right along with you.
Jackson had set her up.
Jackson was paying her. For sex.
Jackson had been having his way with her, making damn sure she took his money because she’d damn sure insisted on earning it.
Oh, but she had, hadn’t she?
On her back. On her knees. Legs spread wide. With her mouth. Bound and at his mercy. She’d been the ardent slave to his fervent Master, enthusiastically giving and receiving the most astounding pleasures humanly conceivable. And he’d been exploiting her the whole time, using her, maneuvering her as if she were his puppet. She, on the other hand, had been ignorant of his true identity and slowly, diabolically losing her mind, envisioning Jackson as her lover, craving a man she’d thought beyond her reach.
How fucked up was that?
“What in the hell is going on?” The pitch of her voice rose with each word. “Let. Me. Up.”
“Chloe, baby. Let me explain.”
She wiggled out from under him—no sma
ll feat, considering he probably outweighed her by a solid eighty pounds of pure, magnificent muscle—snatched up her robe, and was outrageously grateful when her legs didn’t buckle.
“Why? That’s all I need to know, Jackson. Why was it necessary to humiliate me this way?”
He sat up in all his naked splendor and scrubbed a hand over his face. God, even her wildest imagination hadn’t done him justice. The man was gorgeous. Finely sculpted, lightly tanned. And, dear sweet heaven, marvelously endowed. Her breasts tingled when his long, lean fingers lingered over the stubble of his chin, recalling how he’d chafed the sensitive skin by rubbing all over her like a kitten—and how she’d loved it.
“It wasn’t about humiliating you, Chloe. Can’t you see? There was no other way to be with you.” Snagging his pants from the pile of clothes near the end of the bed, he tugged them on.
“You wouldn’t let me loan you the money. And I couldn’t let you…” His eyes closed, and drew in a ragged breath before opening them again and centering them on her. “I couldn’t let you sell yourself to another man. Not when I’ve wanted you from the moment I laid eyes on you.”
Her mind was swimming. Okay, so she’d known, hoped, secretly prayed deep down that he wanted her. Hearing it from his lips was still no less amazing. He’d gone to an awful lot of trouble to be with her. But she’d savor the truth when she could make some sense of this mess…if that was possible.
Crossing to her, Jackson took her by the shoulders. “Tell me you feel something for me. Affection. Hatred. Anything. I’m hanging on by a thread here, sweetheart. I’ve never said those words to another woman—family notwithstanding. I’ve never wanted—no, I’ve never needed to because I’ve never felt this way about anyone. But with you…There’s no rhyme or reason to how you stir me up. That day we met, in your Gram’s kitchen, I wanted to hold you. Just hold you. And the thought of another man’s hands on you made me furious. Jealousy is also an emotion I’ve never experienced until you.”
“But I wouldn’t take a handout,” she mused aloud, feeling a bit like her brain was working on autopilot. “And you couldn’t break your own rules about dating staff.”
“Two for two.”
“So, this charade, with the blindfold and you altering your voice, using the anonymous role-play of Master and slave, paying me for each encounter…This was your answer?”
“What would you have done?” he countered. “This was the only way for us to be together and for you to earn the money you needed.”
“The tips,” she said when it hit her. “Yet another way of speeding up the process. When were you going to let me in on the secret?” His shrug. The sheepish look. “Ah, I see. You weren’t.”
“I never expected to fall in love with you, Chloe. I thought you’d get the money you needed, pay back the loan, and then you’d go back to your life in Birmingham. Or maybe we’d pick up where we left off when we almost crossed the line those times before, and then we’d see where it went. If you weren’t interested in the long haul, I’d have the memory of you, of our nights together, and that would have to hold me.
“But that theory’s blown to hell. I love you, and I want you sleeping in my bed, waking in my arms. I want to be able to walk down the beach with you and hold your hand or kiss you whenever I damn well feel like it instead of hiding away from the world and my own damn rules.”
So, he believed himself in love with her, and he wanted her at his beck and call. Hadn’t she told him she’d been there, done that before? She had the divorce papers to prove it, and she wasn’t going back.
That wasn’t the smothering sort of love she needed.
“I’m sorry, Jackson. I can’t do this. Not now. Maybe not ever.” Leaving the rest of her lingerie scattered over the bedroom floor, Chloe grabbed her robe and walked out.
Out of the Red Room. Out of the club, after changing into her street clothes, of course. And out from under Jackson Sawyer’s controlling thumb.
Chapter 7
Chloe had no choice left but to spill her guts to Rachel. Poor thing, she walked around for the majority of the next week looking as downright shell-shocked and lost as Chloe.
“So, he planned this whole elaborate way for you two to be together since you wouldn’t just take the money and he didn’t want to break his rules about dating the staff?”
Chloe nodded. Was it absolutely necessary to rehash it, yet again?
Rachel’s voice went all melty. “That’s…It’s just…so romantic.”
“Romantic? Romantic! Are you kidding me? Rache, honey, he had me dying inside. Tied up in knots and sick with myself because I believed I was screwing some stranger for money. To top it off, all I could think of was how badly I wished it was him.”
“I know you’re upset, but think about the lengths he must’ve gone to to make sure you didn’t put it together. You’ve been more than close enough for you to recognize the scent of his shampoo or his shaving cream. Certainly you’d have recognized his voice. So, he must’ve lowered it, right? Tried to change it, maybe lose some of the drawl.” She sent her a pointed look. “And you got your wish.”
“Yes, but that isn’t the issue.”
“Then what is?”
“Damn it, Rachel.” The volcano of her patience finally blew. She stood up and paced the short length of the kitchen. “He said it. The it it. And now he thinks I’ll just curl up in his bed and do whatever the hell he gets it in his head for me to do, when he wants it done. Snap, snap. He’s no better than Clint.”
Rachel set her mug in the sink and turned, her brow knitted in confusion. “Wait. He said it. Like the big it? The ‘I Love You’ it? Jackson Sawyer said he loves you, and you’re standing here pacing like a caged tiger and wringing your hands over it, debating it with me? He’s nothing like Clint, and we both damn well know it.”
“Still…I’m not doing it again, Rachel. I’m not setting aside my goals to make some man happy.”
“Did he ask you to?”
“Well…no.” She tried to recall his exact words, and they came back to her in a hazy ribbon. “Not exactly.”
“Then what did he do that has you so upset? Besides the whole charade thing where you still got to have the best sex of your life with the man you’ve been dreaming of. And the declaring his love part. Oh, and let’s not forget the saving us from the pit of debt. Personally, that’s my favorite, but then, I wasn’t the one who got to have sex with him, so…”
Chloe’s mouth opened, but nothing came out. She shut it again.
Rachel just stood there, arms crossed over her chest, one brow arched, and waiting for common sense to literally smack Chloe upside the head.
Finally, Chloe realized the flaws in her fury. All he’d asked of her was to be with him. More than once, he’d gone out of his way to help her. His method was skewed, granted, but he’d given them a way to be together—even if she’d suffered as a sideline. He hadn’t demanded anything, really.
Not yet, the snarky, jaded side of Chloe’s conscious reminded.
Okay, so it was glaringly obvious. Her ex and Jackson Sawyer were both males, but that was where the similarities ended.
Clint was a prick.
Jackson was a gentleman. A gentleman with the sexual appetites of an animal, but he was, after all, a raw, rugged male.
She wouldn’t have him any other way.
So, pondering Rachel’s question, why was she troubled?
Maybe it had something to do with all the things he hadn’t said. Those variables as yet to be defined, like after she’d sealed her wedding vows and Clint’s true nature had surfaced. He’d waited until he had her trapped, a moth in his matrimonial web, before making his ludicrous, selfish demands.
“Chloe, honey, how do you feel about Jackson?” Rachel prodded. “You love him, too. Right?”
Well, of course she did. But could this time really be different?
Unquestionably, she was a different person now because of the harsh lessons she’d learned duri
ng her trial by fire with Clint and their failed marriage. And the episodes of uninhibited sex with her phantom lover had opened up her world on a grand scale.
Enlightened, empowered, the new Chloe Rezner was a mature, independent, sexually responsive woman, as opposed to the doe-eyed, virginal innocent who’d run off with her high school sweetheart. She, too, had demands when it came to what she desired in a relationship. This time around, she refused to settle for anything less than equality, a voice, a true partnership. If Jackson could get on board with that, then…
Yes, she wanted a relationship with Jackson.
Yes, she loved him.
Did he still want her? Would he be able to accept her on her terms?
Only one way to find out.
Grabbing her keys, Chloe took off for the club.
* * * *
Mick called up to the office and asked him to come down to the bar after unsuccessfully staving off a confrontation with a guest. So unlike the big guy, Jackson mused. There were few people the former bouncer and ex-Navy SEAL couldn’t handle with either a quick quip or a surly snarl and the flex of his brawny biceps. This guy must really be a piece of work.
Too bad Jackson was in no mood to play Mr. Nice Club Owner. Not with the headache brewing in his skull, the pity party going on in his pants, and the lousy state of his wounded heart.
Chloe refused to see him. Refused to return his phone calls. Hell, she’d even embarrassed the stew out of him by refusing an obscenely expensive delivery of flowers. The expense was pittance. His pride? Priceless. The florist had been sympathetic and compassionate, and he fucking hated it.
Hate-ed-it!
But he didn’t blame Chloe. Unfortunately, he was the designated asshole. He’d recognized an opportunity and seized it with no other thought than how it would benefit him. Not that she hadn’t benefited as well, he mused. She was the most sexually responsive woman he’d ever been with. Her night of submission had blown him away. They’d happily screwed each other six ways from Sunday, and he’d give his proverbial left nut to do it again.