He smiled at the thought. Some might consider it an example of the pot calling the kettle black.
But he wasn’t going to see Rich tonight or get a look at the apartment, either, because Caro brought him to a definite stop on the front porch.
“Good night, Matthew.”
It was a good try.
“Good night, Caro. I’m going to kiss you.”
He both spoke and acted quickly, stopping her objection with his lips.
He took her mouth roughly initially, preventing her from actually saying that word that would make him have to stop. He held her head, cupping her jaw and securing her with his fingers behind her neck.
She got over that first, instinctive protest. He gentled a little, rubbing her full lips with his, softer now, enticing. She relaxed into it, sighing, and opened her mouth just a bit.
But when he tried to take advantage, she seemed to realize what was happening and balked.
“No, Matt—”
“Shh. Shh,” he whispered, touching gently again, wooing. “Shh.”
She moaned and let him have her. She leaned into him, and he took her, owning her mouth with his, drawing her into his arms and against his body.
He couldn’t, wouldn’t do any more than kiss and hold her.
But that was enough to open heaven’s gate.
“Caro,” he murmured.
“I can’t do this,” she said softly, between his kisses. “We can’t.”
“No,” he agreed, tasting her. “We can’t. We aren’t.”
She accepted his tongue then, opening, taking him in.
He didn’t know when he would have stopped, whether he could have stopped, if one of her neighbors hadn’t broken it up, inconveniently striding up the steps to the door.
Caroline nearly bolted then, but he held her, hands securing her head again, forcing her to meet his gaze.
“Matthew.”
“Caro.”
The inflection to the two names could not have been more different. She spoke with chagrin and regret, leaning toward mortification. He was all determination, resolution.
“I—” Apparently, she couldn’t find a way to finish that thought.
He was still breathing hard, still wanting, when he let her go.
* * * *
Caroline was very nervous about Friday night.
Jackson had called almost the minute she’d left Matthew on the front porch and closed the door on him. Unfortunately, she hadn’t been able to close the door on what she’d done out there.
She couldn’t believe she’d let Matthew kiss her. No, it was worse than that. She couldn’t believe she had kissed him.
That was so not the kind of person she was. She’d leaned back against the door, eyes closed, breath hard. And in that moment, she had Jack on the line.
She’d opened the phone without even looking to see who’d called. It had been almost a reflex, a need to ground herself.
Jackson must have heard the agitation, the dismay, in the single word when she said hello. He’d immediately asked if she was all right.
No. She had not been all right and still wasn’t.
She’d bungled her way through that call, barely processing Jack’s instructions to her for the weekend. Casual on Friday night, he said. He’d be at the lab until eight or so. He’d pick her up. They’d grab a pizza and eat it at his place. Bring a couple changes of clothes, he said. They’d go to the aquarium on Saturday. And something hot for Saturday night—he had a plan.
She’d been in a state all day, scattered at work and jittery as she packed an overnight bag, feeling barely able to remember a toothbrush.
Her closet was not exactly filled with “hot” clothes. She had a single dress she wore on the very rare occasions she went clubbing with Sheila and Megan. It was a tight—very tight—fitting sheath of slinky green, with ruching up and down both the front and back. It showed a lot of breast and clung to her ass, outlining it to a nearly scandalous extent. The ruching had the effect of forming inviting little upside-down vees dead center, in the front between her thighs and in back just below her ass.
She wore it with her single pair of four-inch heels.
She’d noticed it caused male heads to turn.
When the doorbell rang, she jumped, realizing she’d been sitting, staring at her packed bag for she didn’t know how long. But it was dark outside—it must be eight already.
The trepidation she felt when she opened the door was short-lived. Jack looked at her warmly, stepped in, and took her in his arms.
“Hello, I’ve missed you,” and other sweet words were interspersed with soft kisses. He was patient, seeming to savor the gentle touch of lips, content in the moment. It was sweet Jack, and he was mouthwateringly seductive.
She relaxed into it, sliding her arms around him. She was so very relieved—this felt right. Her feelings for Jack were there, warm in her heart, strong and sure.
She realized that was what had worried her the most—that her uncharacteristic lapse with Matt really meant she just wasn’t that into Jack.
But she remembered now how much she liked the sweetness and the aggressiveness, too, as he opened her mouth and took her harder. He pulled her tight, scrubbing his hands over her and exploring her mouth with his tongue.
It was all good with him, all so good. Her nipples tightened when he massaged her breasts, and she felt the heat he generated deep inside. He put a hand on her butt and held her against him while he rutted into her a bit. He was hard and big.
But he lifted his head, and they smiled at each other. Rich was home, and the sounds of Carlie and him having dinner in the kitchen were all too audible. This wasn’t going any further just now.
Happy, reassured, she rocked back into him once. “I guess you did miss me.”
“I did.” He kissed her once more, brisk but thorough. “Let’s go to my place, and I’ll show you just how much.”
Caro called good-bye to Rich and Carlie. Rich came to the kitchen door and tried to engage Jack a bit. Caroline heard Jack’s sigh and was aware of the care he took to keep her body blocking Rich’s view of his. Almost curt, he did his best to hurry her along. When she grinned at him and dawdled a bit, he pinched her ass.
They were both grinning when he finally got her out the door.
He took her bag, and they walked quickly the mile or so to Jack and Matt’s house. Along the way he asked about her week and talked about his work in the lab, but it was clear that his sole focus was on getting her home. He kept a firm grasp on her arm, keeping their pace hurried. At intersections he checked for traffic and took them across against the light when he could.
As promised, they picked up a pizza, though they didn’t eat it before he had her in bed. He dropped it on the kitchen table as they passed by, but he didn’t stop, herding her along to his bedroom. She had only a moment to glance around. The living room was empty. Matthew’s door was open, the room dark. Presumably, they were alone in the apartment though Jack didn’t bother to say so.
He had her mouth the second he closed the door behind them. He held her close, walking her backward to the bed.
“Caro, Caro,” he murmured into her mouth. “I’ve missed you.” He pressed more kisses against her lips, and his hand slid under her jacket, pulling her silk shirt out from the waistband of her jeans to find skin. He groaned when he did, sliding his cold hand along her side, up her ribs. “I want you. Now. Need you.”
His words were rough, urgent. His hands on her were the same, unbuttoning and unzipping, peeling clothes off to get to her.
In moments they were both naked. He took her into the center of the bed and with one thrust he buried himself deep inside her. She was excited and wanted him, but that one swift taking was so abrupt, so forceful, that she gave a little cry.
He stayed still inside her and lifted up on one elbow to look at her. He slid his fingers into her hair alongside her face and held her to him.
“I told you I needed you,” he said
bluntly. No apology, he meant. Here was aggressive Jack.
He thrust once, hard. She whimpered a little and bit her lower lip.
His eyes flared, and she knew he’d interpreted her response correctly. He’d taken her roughly, filled her, stretched her almost to the point of pain.
And she liked it. She wanted more, needed it.
He thrust again. That one was easier, slicker. But still he filled her so hard, with that exquisite stretch.
She moaned. She tried to hold it back. She knew what he’d make of it, and she was right.
Victory. She saw it in his eyes, that triumphant gleam.
He bore down on her then, leaning over her, his face held just above hers, his eyes still watching.
And then he fucked her, relentless. He pistoned into her, impaling, slamming her into the mattress.
In moments they were both groaning, their breaths harsh.
He drove her up, wrapping himself around her, digging his knees into the bed for greater purchase. When she closed her eyes to it, he tugged on her hair, forcing her to open them again, to meet his gaze as he thrust into her.
“You wanted this, didn’t you?”
His words were harsh, insistent.
“Yes,” she said, keening. “Yes.”
“You wanted me to fuck you.”
“Yes.”
He became her whole world, lifted over her, covering her. She could see only his face, and his strong shoulders, flexing as he took her, her hands there, fingers gripping his hot, taut skin.
She could feel only his cock inside her, penetrating, possessing.
“Come,” he bade, and it was more of the same. More of him owning her, controlling her.
She didn’t resist it, didn’t even try. She gave over, falling into her climax, letting him send her to pieces.
He growled out his satisfaction, not in his own orgasm but in hers. He watched her, she knew, even though her own eyes had fallen helplessly closed. He watched and drove her harder, prolonging her peak, not letting her come down.
Her body spasmed, convulsing around him. Her fingers clenched, digging into the hard muscle of his shoulders.
She began to collapse, her head turning, her hands falling.
He grunted a denial and gripped her harder. “More,” he snarled. “More.”
He took his hand from her face and went to her breast. He palmed her once, brusquely, then gripped her nipple and tugged.
Impossibly, he fucked her harder, driving his knees up under her ass, splaying her thighs open.
He dropped his head onto the bed beside her, burrowing his forehead into the mattress. Each breath was a rough huff, hot and harsh in her ear.
She did what he wanted, what he commanded. She climaxed again, crying out, thrashing beneath his hard, thrusting, controlling body.
This time he joined her, roaring out his orgasm, spurting into her, a flood of hot cum filling her.
They shook with it, brutal tremors wracking their bodies, hoarse cries tearing from their throats.
Slowly they settled, aftershocks, almost painful, still shuddering through them, hoarse gasps gradually subsiding to gentle, worn breaths. Jack let his weight fall onto her and even that felt good, that sense of being consumed, taken over by him.
It was a long time before they moved other than the rise and fall of their breathing. He was still inside her, still semi-rigid, still possessing. She could feel his pulse there, a subtle reminder that her body wasn’t her own.
Finally, still long before she was ready to move, Jack lifted his head. He looked at her quietly.
Again, he offered no apology. The message was clear. He’d take her, fuck her, any way he wanted.
If she wasn’t agreeable to it, it was up to her to object.
She met his gaze, looking back at him.
After a moment, he took it as consent. He nodded and gave her a quick kiss, satisfied. He lifted up, sliding out of her with a deliberate, long, provocative withdrawal. He got up and gave her foot a little tug.
“Food. Come on.”
* * * *
Caroline was in his shirt again and nothing else. Jack was clearly pleased by both those conditions. He obviously liked seeing her in his shirt, that goofy, primal mark of ownership. Liked he’d hunted down and clubbed the furs to cover her himself.
And the other—the nothing else she wore—well, he took hot pleasure in that, as well. They sat at the kitchen table, eating cold pizza and drinking beer. She was in Jack’s lap—he’d pulled her to him before she’d taken a chair. He’d unbuttoned all but one of the shirt buttons she’d fastened.
That had seemed to satisfy him. He’d eaten three slices to her one and washed them down with most of his beer.
Apparently, that had taken the edge off one appetite.
Her naked ass nudged up against him appeared to stir another.
While she nibbled at a second piece, Jack decided it was time to play. He sat back, loosely holding her with one arm. He took a last swallow of beer then slid the bottle into the opening of the flannel shirt. He rubbed it over her nipple, the cold immediately making it hard.
Pizza forgotten, she turned her head to look at him. He didn’t meet her gaze, though. He was intently watching the motion of the bottle. He used the lip of it, drawing the smooth ridges up and down to stimulate her.
She watched, too, mesmerized by that slow movement of the bottle. He paused when she sucked in an uneven breath, and she knew he noticed, all proud of himself.
After another moment, he caught the shirt edge with his bottle and tugged it open to expose her other breast. He gave that one the same treatment, rubbing harder so the bottle pulled at her skin, chafing.
A shudder went through her, arching her back, thrusting her breasts out to shamelessly bask in his attention.
He chuckled, plenty satisfied.
“Here, babe,” he said, lifting her up a bit off his lap. “Straddle me.”
Putting herself at his mercy, she followed his bidding.
She sat, facing him. He nudged her back a bit further and spread his thighs, opening her, baring her pussy. He took a good long look, then ran his gaze slowly up. He stopped to unfasten that last button and smooth the shirt out so it hung at her shoulders. Her breasts were exposed, on display, right in front of his face.
He took a long time looking her up and down. That alone had her body quickening. Her breath came fast. Her pussy slicked with moisture.
Finally, his gaze came back to hers. “Christ. You are so fucking hot. And so easy. It turns you on just to have me look at you, doesn’t it?”
She didn’t admit to it, but he’d see the answer in her eyes.
“Caro, do you want me to touch you?”
She moaned and somehow knew he wouldn’t until she responded. “Yes,” she whimpered. “Yes.”
“Where?”
“Anywhere. Everywhere.”
He grabbed her waist with both hands and slanted her toward him. The movement bowed her spine, spreading her thighs more open over his, causing a stimulating little strain at her pussy. It brought her breasts forward, and he took one in his mouth. He pulled hard at the nipple then abruptly broke suction to seek the other one.
“Put your hands on your tits,” he said, urgent. “Feed them to me. Both of them.”
She knew what he wanted. She grasped her breasts and pushed them together. Almost, she got them close enough that he could get both nipples in his mouth at once. He certainly tried, sucking hard on one, then the other. He used his teeth and tongue and good, hard suction that had her crying out in need.
“Fuck, that’s good, babe. Now lean back a little.”
He kept hold of one nipple, rolling and squeezing it with his fingers. With his other hand, he picked up his beer bottle again.
Intently watching what he was doing, he upended it right over her pussy. The last dribbles of beer slid over her clit, cool and tingling at the same time. Then he touched her with the bottle, taking a long stroke ove
r her clit with the length of its neck. Watching her now, still stimulating her nipple, he stroked her with it, up and down, a gentle pressure. He read her so well, knowingly aware of her breathing, sensitive to the subtle tremors that quaked through her. He increased the speed and pressure of the bottle just as she needed.
“Jack,” she moaned, gripping his bare shoulders to keep herself from flying apart. “Jack.”
“That’s it, baby. That’s my girl.”
She started humping then, rubbing herself against the pressure of the bottle, groaning out each breath. “More, Jack. More.”
He spread his legs far apart so she collapsed down, grinding into the pressure of the bottle. He tightened his grasp on her nipple, jerking fast and hard, so her whole breast shook with it.
He urged her on, describing what he saw, what he was doing to her, in graphic, erotic words. He directed her to come, more inflammatory four-letter commands.
She convulsed when it happened, powerful spasms that rocked her, made her cry out. She collapsed onto him, nestled hard into his shoulder, teeth scraping as she grated out her last ripples of pleasure.
“That’s good, baby. That’s good. I’ve got you.”
He soothed her, softly stroking her sensitized body.
In a bit, he lifted her and carried her to his bed.
She was barely aware of what was happening. But she was not so far gone that she could suppress the knowledge of her thoughts while Jack had played with her that way.
It had crossed her mind more than once, tantalizing, titillating. Matthew lived there, too. At any moment, he could have walked in the door. He could have seen her naked there, shamelessly letting Jack handle her, letting him use a beer bottle to pleasure her. He could have seen her come, lost in wicked passion.
Those thoughts had not inhibited her.
They’d aroused her.
* * * *
Jack laid her on the bed, facedown, with pillows propping her pelvis up.
It was a position she already knew he favored, one that emphasized his control, demonstrated his dominance.
For Caroline, it seemed to suit the moment.
Three Men and a Woman: Caroline (Siren Publishing Ménage Amour) Page 5