Skin Deep

by Evans, Anna J.

  “Plenty of hot water?” She laughed, a short, abrupt sound that wasn’t the least bit amused. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

  “No, I assumed you’d be wanting a shower and prepared ahead of time. There’s girly soap and shampoo and conditioner in the cabinet and a new toothbrush and toothpaste in the drawer.” He zipped the suitcase shut and picked it up, deciding it would be best if he didn’t give Nicky access to the winter clothes he’d brought in case she decided to run. Of course, in her present state of mind, she might decide it was a good idea to run out into the snow in nothing but her nightshirt and bare feet. “We’re about ten miles from the nearest cabin, so I wouldn’t try to make a run for it if I were you.”

  “You’re not going to just . . . leave me like this,” she said, ges turing down at herself, as if her state of arousal should be abundantly obvious.

  And it was. Damn, but it wasn’t easy to resist crossing the room, kneeling down beside her to take her nipples in his mouth. He could almost feel how perfectly they would stiffen against his tongue, hear how she’d moan as he coaxed her into a state of even more powerful lust. They probably wouldn’t even make it to the bed. He’d end up taking her there on the floor, her long legs wrapped around his hips, his cock buried to the hilt in—

  Thankfully, Nicky spoke before the weakness of his mind could become weakness of the body. “Jackson, I swear to god, I—”

  “I warned you to stop. Surely you realized there would be consequences for disobeying.”

  “Fuck your consequences,” she said, but even with the angry look on her face, he could tell the idea of being disciplined excited her.

  “I’ll take care of you in the morning. Sleep well,” he said, toting the suitcase with him to the door, where he stopped to look back at Nicky one more time. “And don’t think about using that detachable nozzle in the shower, or your hand, or anything else. I’ll know if you don’t wait for me and I won’t be happy.”

  “I don’t care if you’re happy,” she mumbled under her breath, but he heard every word, just like she’d wanted him to.

  In a matter of seconds, he’d dropped the suitcase and was by her side, pushing her back onto the carpet. Her lips met his with a soft cry and her hands shook as she looped them around his neck. He kissed her, softly, insistently, thoroughly, until she squirmed beneath him. Only then did he pull away to watch her eyes as he spoke.

  “If you really don’t care if I’m happy, or at least pleased with you, then we should stop this right now,” he said, his voice low and firm. “A submissive takes pleasure from serving his or her dominant, it’s the very definition of the word. So if pleasing me doesn’t give you pleasure, if obeying my command isn’t a gratifying thing in its own right, then you—”

  “I’m sorry,” she said, with a vulnerability in her voice that made his heart ache a bit. “Pleasing you does give me pleasure. I just . . . want you so much. It will be hard to wait.”

  “I know. Believe me, babe, it’s not going to be easy for me, either. I’ve been wanting to get my mouth between your legs since the second I saw you tonight.” He leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to the tip of her nose. “But I swear to you, you can trust me. I’ll make it worth your while.”

  She took a deep breath, letting it out slowly as she dropped her arms to her sides. “Okay, go. But first thing tomorrow morning?”

  “I’ll have your pussy for breakfast. I swear.” He kissed her one last time, relishing the feel of her moan of anticipation buzzing against his lips before he pulled himself back to his feet.

  Jackson was at the door, grabbing the suitcase, and heading downstairs seconds later, without turning to look over his shoulder. If he had, and been forced to see Nicky sprawled nude on the carpet, that come-hither look in her eyes, he knew he never would have had the strength to leave.

  Some dom he was.

  But then, he hadn’t exactly been prepared to exert the kind of control it took to top a girl like Nicky. He’d never dreamed she’d summon not only the feelings associated with what they’d shared as teenagers but also stimulate the very adult desires he’d acquired since then. He’d finally met his match, the kind of woman he could see himself playing with for the next twenty or thirty years, the strong yet entirely submissive partner he hadn’t dreamed he’d find.

  Too bad she was also the only woman who had broken his heart and a person who could not be trusted. He’d never guessed she would leave Carson City the very morning after they swore to spend their futures together and sealed the promise with a pair of matching tattoos. There hadn’t been the slightest sign.

  Hell, they’d made love right after he’d finished the work on her shoulder, sneaking into the camper behind their friend Kev in’s house to do it in a bed instead of the car for a change. Even at eighteen, Jackson had known he’d never forget that night, how beautiful Nicky had looked, how excited he’d felt knowing he was going to be in control of his own life.

  He’d already had a job lined up as a bouncer at a local bar and was going to be working part-time with the best tattoo artist in town. In a few months, he’d expected to have the portfolio and the money he needed to make the move to Reno, and from there to Vegas. And Nicky was going to get her GED and go with him. They’d had it all planned out.

  But then she’d run away, without leaving so much as a note to tell him why. Jackson had shown up at Casa de la Hell and Phil had tried to kick his ass. He’d thought Nicky was with Jack. He’d been wrong, but that didn’t stop him from giving his former foster son a black eye before Jackson landed a few punches to the older man’s ribs and leveled him.

  The sound of the water turning on upstairs pulled Jack back to the present, making him wonder how long he’d been standing at the bottom of the stairs with a death grip on the handle of the suitcase and bad memories souring the taste of Nicky’s kiss.

  “Too long,” he mumbled aloud. Any time spent dwelling on those old memories was too much time. He’d already learned the lessons he needed from those days. He’d learned not to trust Nicky, no matter how much he’d loved her.

  No matter how much he was beginning to think he still loved her.

  Chapter Seven

  I’ll take care of you in the morning,” Nicky said, mimicking Jackson’s ridiculously bossy voice as she scrubbed her skin with the loofah until it stung.

  Gah! She’d never felt so dissatisfied, not even after what he’d made her do in the truck. Every nerve ending in her body screamed for relief from the unfulfilled desire still coursing through her veins, making her breath come in angry little pants. Dom or not, Jackson had no right to do this to her, especially not twice in one night. She hadn’t been that defiant, and had sucked him off like the best little slave in the world.

  Sucked him off . . . god help her, but even the memory of it was enough to make her pussy even wetter. Jackson had the most gorgeous cock she’d ever seen in her life—long and thick, with a bulbous head that filled her mouth like a perfectly shaped plum. And it wasn’t just pretty, but made for pleasure, a woman’s pleasure. The thick ridge between head and shaft rubbed all the right places as he shoved in and out of her body, stretching her, filling every empty, aching place inside of her until there was nothing but Jackson. Nothing but pure pleasure.

  “Grr,” Nicky growled, throwing the loofah to the shower floor in frustration.

  Take care of her in the morning, her ass. She’d take care of herself. Right now.

  Nicky pulled the shower nozzle from its place on the wall, a thrill of excitement shooting through her as she used it to wash the last of the soap from her body. It wasn’t just the fact that she was getting ready to come that thrilled her, it was the knowledge that she was defying Jackson, disobeying a direct order. Maybe he was right, and she was a naughty little submissive who needed to be punished, but that wasn’t going to stop her. She needed to take the edge off if she was going to have any hope of getting some sleep before morning.

  She stuck her head out of the shower
curtain for a moment, listening carefully. Thankfully, she could still hear the water running downstairs. Jackson wasn’t finished with his shower, which meant he wouldn’t be coming to check up on her for at least the next few minutes.

  “A few minutes is all it will take,” Nicky said, smiling as she lay down in the tub, propping one foot on the side, baring the needy place between her legs.

  Moving one hand to her breast, she began plucking at her already erect nipples, building the simmering passion within her to near the breaking point. Then, with a sigh of anticipation, she moved the nozzle of the shower between her legs. Nicky gasped as the water streamed over her clit. God, she was so close . . . so fucking close. Just a few more seconds, just a little more pressure and then . . . then . . .

  “Shit!” Her hands shook as she pinched her nipples and squirmed beneath the nozzle between her legs.

  What was wrong? She’d never had a problem bringing herself pleasure. Usually in less than sixty seconds. When you lived under the thumb of a domineering man who refused to have sex with you, but had forbidden you to pleasure yourself, you learned to get the job done as quickly as possible. If she hadn’t been adept at getting herself off, she probably would have lost her mind during the past two years.

  So why was her body failing her now?

  And don’t think about using that detachable nozzle in the shower, or your hand, or anything else. I’ll know if you don’t wait for me and I won’t be happy.

  “No. God, no.” Nicky’s eyes slid closed as she let the shower-head slide down to pelt water against her thigh.

  No matter what the rational part of her had to say, it seemed her body had decided Jackson’s happiness was essential. It wasn’t going to let her come, because it didn’t want to displease the man downstairs, didn’t want to anger its master. God. Dammit. Her good little submissive act hadn’t been an act, after all. She was going to have to do exactly as he’d told her, no matter what she wanted. Her stupid, freaking, twisted mind wouldn’t allow her to do anything else.

  It wasn’t the first time she’d wished she’d never started exploring this side of herself, never admitted she craved the act of submission. The highs were admittedly very high, but the lows of the past two years should have taught her the danger in walking this path. She needed to be in control of herself right now. She had to concentrate on getting her life back on track, not on servicing another man. Even if it was only for a weekend, this wasn’t smart. Hell, if her head had already decided obeying Jackson was necessary in order to claim her own pleasure, this could be downright dangerous.

  Tears of fear and frustration filled Nicky’s eyes as she hurriedly finished her shower and dried off. She pulled on the panties and nightshirt Jackson had brought for her, but even the soft fabric felt abrasive against her sensitized skin. She brushed her hair with swift, angry strokes, and after a little searching found the toothbrush and toothpaste Jackson had purchased for her. Seconds later, footsteps sounded on the stair, making her hurry to finish brushing her teeth and escape to the relative safety of her bedroom.

  If she had to see Jackson again, smell that addictive scent that was the man she loved again, she’d—

  “No. No, no, no, no.” Nicky chanted the mantra under her breath as she dashed to the bed, snapped off the bedside lamp, and curled into a ball beneath the covers.

  She wasn’t falling in love with Jackson again. It was impossible. They’d been together less than twenty-four hours and no amount of hot sex could make up for time spent together, getting to know each other, learning to care for each other again.

  Unless, of course, she hadn’t ever stopped loving him in the first place.

  “Dammit,” Nicky whispered into the ridiculously luxurious sheets Jackson’s decorator had ordered for this room. Then she started to cry, though the exact reason for her tears wasn’t completely clear.

  Was she crying for herself, for Jackson? For what they’d lost, or for what they’d never have again? She certainly didn’t know. There were many things in her life that confused her, but love had always been the biggest and most confusing thing of all.

  When she woke up, the entire room was aglow with light and an only slightly rumpled Jackson was lying beside her, propped on one elbow, watching her sleep with a tender expression on his face. Even before she’d had the chance to shake off the sleep cobwebs, that look brought all her fears from the night before rushing back with a vengeance. The anxiety was strong enough to make her scoot a few inches away, despite the fact that the heat rolling from his body made her long to snuggle against his chest and go right back to sleep.

  Great, now she craved snuggling instead of sex. What a perfect example of the deep shit she was getting herself into with every second she spent with this man.

  “Good morning. Did you sleep well?”

  “Pretty well, considering the epic sexual frustration.”

  “But you still behaved yourself. I’m glad. I’d hate to have to neglect your pussy any longer,” he said, ignoring her continued migration to the other side of the queen-sized bed. Maybe he thought she was worried about morning breath.

  Hmm . . . should she be worried about morning breath? A quick run of her tongue along her teeth revealed not a shred of fuzziness. Of course, she probably hadn’t been asleep more than a few hours. It was doubtful her breath had been given the time to get funky.

  “What are you thinking?” A smile pulled at the corners of his full lips, making her want to smile along with him. Jackson could be a scary-looking motherfucker when he wanted to be, but when he smiled he looked like a big teddy bear.

  “I was thinking about morning breath,” she said with a little laugh.

  “Don’t worry. You’re good. I kissed you before you woke up. You looked so damned sweet I couldn’t help myself.”

  “Sweet?”

  “Yeah, I was surprised, too. Amazing what being unconscious will do for a brat’s looks.” He grinned again as he reached out, twisting a strand of her hair around his finger. “I’d forgotten it was curly when you didn’t do that thing to it.”

  “It’s called a flattening iron. You must come into the twenty-first century.” Nicky told herself she should move away from that gentle touch and the scary look in Jackson’s eyes, but she couldn’t. It had been too long since anyone had looked at her with such affection. Terrifying and stupid or not, she craved the warmth in his expression as much as she’d craved his body last night.

  “Give me a break. I haven’t lived with a girl since high school. And then you know we never spent much time getting ready at home.”

  “Yeah, six or more people and one bathroom was always fun.” Nicky shuddered as she remembered the nasty little Pepto-Bismol-colored toilet and the tub with the cracks up the side.

  She’d shared the festering little lav with Jackson; Phil and his wife, Naomi; and an endlessly shifting group of younger foster kids. Nicky had tried not to remember their names or their faces. It was easier that way. If she didn’t get attached, she didn’t have to freak out when they went to school with bruises on their arms or without breakfast in their bellies because Phil had gone on a bender and they didn’t have money left over to buy cereal or milk.

  “It was easier to get ready at school,” she said, digging her fingers into her eyes, as if she could rub away the visions of the sad little faces conjured by her thoughts.

  “Or in Kevin’s camper.”

  Nicky’s eyes flew open, wondering if he remembered that’s where they’d spent their last night together, but he didn’t seem to make the connection. Of course, Jackson hadn’t known it would be their last night. She hadn’t wanted to ruin it for him by telling him she couldn’t wait until he raised enough money for them to move to Reno.

  There was no way she could have kept living in Casa de la Hell without Jackson there, and no way Phil would have let a minor in his “care” move out to live with her boyfriend. As long as her foster father knew where she was, there was no way she’d have any pe
ace. She’d had to get out of town, way out of town.

  “So, you hungry?” he asked, releasing the curl he’d wrapped around his finger. “I’ve got the stuff to make waffles downstairs. And some bacon and eggs, or diet yogurt if you’re watching your figure.”

  “You know me. I can take down two times my body weight a day and not gain a pound. Even when I was—” Nicky broke off, biting her lip. “Even when I stopped growing taller, I kept eating like a horse.”

  Shit! She’d nearly said “when I was pregnant.” The last thing she wanted to talk about with Jackson was her fight for her daughter. He’d either hate her for being dumb and weak enough to let Derrick take Abby—they’d always sworn they would protect their kids if they ever had any of their own—or he’d decide to wring Derrick’s neck with his own hands. As appealing as that image was, Nicky didn’t want to be responsible for getting Jackson put in jail for beating another man to a pulp or be indebted to him for rushing to “rescue her.”

  She was going to rescue herself, thank you very much. She had an appointment with the marketing head of Good and Trashy Lingerie next Friday. Kelsey Greer had always been a big Angel fan. He’d hire her on for the spring line photo shoot for sure. Maybe not in her former position as the “it girl,” but the job would earn her a few grand, easy. Then she’d be in a much better place to fight Derrick in court.

  Or you could take that fifteen grand Jackson’s offering and be in an even better place, even sooner.

  No way. She didn’t want Jackson’s money, especially not for something as creepy as letting him alter her tattoo. Even if she could be convinced that a slightly different fallen angel would serve her modeling career as well as the one she had now, she didn’t want to look over her shoulder in the mirror and see anything but what she saw now. It would be like losing a piece of herself to lose that tat.

  “So I guess that’s a yes for breakfast?” Jackson asked, the look in his eyes making Nicky wonder if he’d been reading her mind. He looked so smug and satisfied with himself, like he knew she’d just realized the damned tattoo was so much more to her than a marketing device for her modeling career. The ink had kept her connected to Jackson no matter how much time and distance separated them. But where that had given her comfort, it had obviously driven Jack crazy, made him willing to do anything to sever that connection.