More Than Physical (The Physical Series Book Book 2)

by Hill, Sierra

Sasha sighed, lost in her thoughts about how Mitch and Rylie met and became a couple. A little over a year before, Rylie had complained and blathered on about one of her patients, a man who was so arrogant she wanted to slap the living daylights out of him.

  And now? Rylie was preparing for the biggest day of her life, ready to marry that very same man who once drove her nuts. The only man that drove Sasha bonkers was Jackson – and he was not someone she saw spending her life with. Far from it.

  “Now that you so obviously found the dress of your dreams, let’s go look at those Vera Wang bridesmaid dresses I saw earlier. The shorter the dress, the better, I say.” Sasha winked, marking a spot above her knees where she thought the appropriate hem of her dress should be. Rylie shook her head, rolling her eyes in a look of fake disgust.

  “Why did I even assume today would be about me?” Rylie mused. “I should have known you’d find a way to turn this around to be about you and your own fashion requirements.”

  Sasha waved her hand dismissively, giving her a shrug of her shoulders.

  “I have no idea, you silly thing. But don’t you worry, my little WASP friend. You will have your moment in the spotlight when the day arrives and all eyes will be on you. But that doesn’t mean I have to look like a frump. You might have a sure thing on your wedding night, but I’ll have to work it to ensure I get some cake, too, if you know what I mean.” She gave a suggestive wink, plumping her breasts with her hands and shaking her shoulders.

  Rylie turned so Sasha could unzip and unbutton the dress from behind, her body bouncing in laughter.

  “Puleez…when have you ever looked like a frump? You’ve never looked less than model-perfect. In fact, if you ever get bored with orthopedics, you could probably get signed as a model. Everyone always says you’re the doppelgänger of that actress from Entourage. What was her name? Emmanuelle something?”

  Sasha threw her head back with a laugh. Yes, she did hear that a lot from people, although she wasn’t nearly as tall and thin as the actress who played Sloan. Sasha had been blessed with an ample bosom and generous curves to her small frame, which wasn’t the model norm.

  “Hardee-har-har. I don’t think there are many five-foot-two, Jewish-Italian models out there on the catwalks. I think I’ll stick to what I know best.”

  She winked again before bending down to grasp one of Rylie’s ankles, divesting her of her shoes. Rylie plopped down with a flourish on the red velvet bench that sat in the beautifully decorated fitting room, surrounded by gossamer and candelabras.

  Rylie groaned, leaning back on the bench, dropping her head to the cushion. “God, my feet are already killing me in these shoes. How the hell am I going to make it all day on my wedding day? Just kill me now.”

  Sasha smacked the side of Rylie’s bent knees and stood up, placing her hands on her hips.

  “I’m sure it will all be worth it. Plus, you’ll have your new husband to massage your feet on your wedding night…and maybe something else, if you’re lucky.” She wiggled her eyebrows suggestively.

  Sasha was still in awe that her best friend Rylie was going to be married in a matter of months. She was a little in awe at the commitment Rylie was going to make, feeling a burst of pride that she had a little something to do with how Rylie and Mitch got together in the first place.

  Sasha was ecstatic that her friend had met her match, and found a love in a guy like Mitch, who was impossibly handsome, smart and, oh yeah, unbelievably wealthy.

  It wasn’t as if Sasha lacked in that department. She’d dated a plethora of potential marriage material in the past – from doctors, to architects, politicians, professors, and even a local news anchor – but had found no interest in settling down. Of course she had an insatiable appetite for men and was an equal opportunity lover, but she didn’t need or want one permanently. She was just fine on her own, thank you very much.

  Men were just her vice – a hobby, so to speak. Sasha loved hard, and loved often. And then she left them.

  Yet Sasha was thrilled beyond belief that Rylie had found her Mr. Right, and would be headed down the aisle into her happily-ever-after. She couldn’t help but smile knowing how much her friend had changed since she stopped running from love.

  “Why the hell do you have that cheesy grin on your face?” Rylie questioned, turning her back to Sasha so she could unzip her from behind.

  “Get used to it, sista. This fucking perma-grin is going to be a constant because I’m so freaking happy for you. You are going to be a married woman soon!”

  Chapter Two

  “Are you coming over for the game and barbeque on Monday?” Mitch asked, closing a file on his desk and looking up at Jackson, his corporate attorney and best friend.

  “Of course, I’ll be there. But I may be a little late. I have plans to head into New York tonight to catch a new band play. I’m taking the train back Monday morning.”

  Mitch cocked his head to the side, his brows furrowed in question.

  “You hiding something, or someone, from me, Jax?”

  Jackson scoffed at Mitch’s inference that it was a woman he was going to see. Sure, it was fairly usual that he’d hook-up with a woman after a night out in New York, but his trip wasn’t for the purposes of getting laid. It was honestly about the music. Amazing, live, heart pumping music that could only be found in the city that never sleeps.

  Jackson Koda was a music enthusiast to say the very least. His true happiness and sense of fulfillment came not when he was in a board room or court room, but when he was surrounded by live music from obscure and unsigned bands. It didn’t matter the genre. He liked them all. From bluegrass, to soul, to alt-rock, to punk. While Boston, the city in which he lived and worked, had its own growing and eclectic music scene, New York was the heart of it all.

  “No, that’s not the reason for my trip. I’m checking out a few new bands while I’m there.”

  “Whatever happened with Vanessa? Wasn’t she some fashion runway model you met in New York? You seemed pretty into her. I was hoping you’d be bringing her as your date to the wedding.”

  Jackson had to think back, trying to remember who Mitch was referring to. He’d dated a few models over the last six months, most he’d met on his various trips to NYC. All of them beautiful and sexy, but nothing extraordinarily notable about any of them. Vanessa he’d only hooked-up with twice. She traveled all over the world, never in a city more than a few days at a time. It wasn’t something he wanted to work very hard at with her, either. She was hot. Down to fuck. No strings, no complications, no drama.

  He wasn’t going to waste time trying to schedule things around a woman. Jackson enjoyed his freedom with no obligations and no need to express emotion. That’s exactly how he liked it

  “For being a boring corporate lawyer, you sure do get your share of models, bro,” Mitch snickered, giving him a mocking head shake and eye roll. “Why you didn’t become an entertainment lawyer is beyond me. Or a musician. You certainly like to live the lifestyle.”

  Jackson grinned, his friend hitting the nail on the head about his childhood dreams. Unfortunately for Jackson, he was missing that one all-important element in the rock-and-roll lifestyle. That little thing called talent. Jackson had no musical ability whatsoever.

  He’d learned to play the trombone in high school marching band but soon realized that the instrument itself was not sexy enough to entice the girls. But what he learned to do with his lips as an outcome, now that talent alone got him laid, beginning his junior year leading up to present day. Call it his natural talent, but his skills in cunnilingus had women calling out his name when those lips did their thing.

  Jackson stood up from the desk chair, gathering the files in his hands, turning toward the door of Mitch’s office.

  “What can I say? Your ass needed my fucking phenomenal legal skills to keep you out of trouble,” he joked, shrugging with emphasis. “And I don’t need to be a rock star to get laid. I just need my extraordinarily large dick and my charm
ing personality.” He laughed, walking through the doorway, his friend’s deep rumble of laughter following him as he reached the door to his own office next door.

  He and Mitch had started Camden Ventures together their senior year at Yale, with Mitch’s father providing the financial backing to begin their business. Mitch was the risk-taker in everything they did, growing the company and their client-base over the last ten years so that they were now a multi-million dollar company, with over fifty employees.

  Jackson was the sensible, risk-adverse, voice-of-reason business partner. The Yin to Mitch’s Yang when it came to business affairs and deals. Where Mitch would run in guns a-blazing, Jackson’s natural inclination was to scour through all the fine details, ensuring the contracts and negotiations garnered the returns on investment that would continue to make them profitable. And profitable it was.

  Mitch was always giving him shit about his serious and overly shrewd personality traits, but Jackson knew Mitch appreciated that side of him. It kept their business growing, keeping them in the black on every business deal, and out of legal hot water.

  Sitting down at his laptop, Jackson scanned his inbox, the unread emails growing exponentially over the hour he was in his meeting in Mitch’s office. A few marked Important by his assistant, Casey, who had access to his email, regularly sorting through the priorities to keep him on track and aware of urgent matters. Reading down the list of new mail, his eyes scanning through the names one by one, he came to the name of Sasha Lee, MD.

  Initially scanning past it, Jackson halted his progress, his eyes returning to the subject line of Sasha’s email.

  Just seeing her name in print had him squirming in his chair – in both exasperated frustration and untapped desire.

  His mind wondered back to their very brief, but very hot one night together in Cabo earlier in the year. Mitch and his now fiancée, Rylie, had rented a three bedroom condo on the beach right after the holidays, inviting Jackson and Sasha to accompany them. It was likely that Mitch and Rylie were trying to play matchmaker with their two best friends, hoping Sasha and Jackson would be compatible. More like combustible – in both their extremely opposing personalities, as well as their sexual chemistry.

  After a few too many tequila shots, a naughty drinking game, and a very naked dip in the ocean, where Jackson’s hands couldn’t be contained, roaming across Sasha’s banging body, he’d had one of the best nights of sex he’d ever had in his life. They literally devoured each other. Hands, mouths, bodies. They were insatiable, bringing each other to so many orgasms he’d lost count. The sex was hot, filthy, and fucking porn-worthy.

  But it all came to a screeching halt the next morning when Sasha ending any further notions he may have had about it going any further. In that respect, he and Sasha were in perfect agreement, as neither were looking for a relationship or interested in trying for anything more than a one-night stand. A part of him appreciated Sasha’s firm handle on the one-night and one-night only approach. And she was right to ask for his agreement on no further nookie, because while their sex was off-the-charts, they were not relationship material.

  In everything else that mattered, they butted heads, were complete opposites, and argued incessantly about anything and everything.

  Case in point. Sasha liked her Margaritas extra salty. Jackson hated Margaritas.

  She was a wild-child, and loved the party scene. He was a loner in his downtime, enjoying the comforts of small bars with their live music over a techno-dance club.

  She was loud, brash and opinionated about politics, art, music and even which sunscreen products were better for you than others.

  He was soft-spoken, chill and enjoyed a Corona on the beach with a good book. No sunscreen required.

  She was expected to marry a nice, well-to-do man from an up-standing Jewish family someday in the future. He had vowed to never get married.

  To they were opposite in every way that mattered was an understatement.

  They argued.

  They clashed.

  They drove each other crazy.

  But that one night, when they’d been the only two left on the beach, finishing off the bottle of Tequila they shared, laying on the soft, cool sand looking up at the stars, talking and laughing over dirty jokes, their inhibitions lost – well, things happened that still made his dick stir just thinking about it.

  Jackson cleared his throat, adjusting himself in his pants, which suddenly tented against his zipper at the memories, and returned his attention to the email sitting in his inbox. The subject line had his interest piqued, an innuendo that only Sasha could deliver.

  To: Jackson Koda, ESQ.

  From: Sasha M. Lee, MD, Lee & Associates

  Date: August 28, 2015

  RE: Let’s Get the Party Started

  Hey Rowdy,

  How’s it hanging? Oh wait, I already know the answer to that question. Silly me. No need to dredge up old memories. Anyway, on to the purpose of this email.

  As you know, you’ve been selected as Best Man to my Maid of Honor status (God, how I hate that term. I’d prefer Best Woman, because as you already know, I am the fucking best). So as such, it is our duty to plan the co-ed bachelor and bachelorette parties. In other words, we have been tapped to ensure a wild, crazy night of drinking and cavorting where Mitch and Rylie will totally forget everything about the night in their drunken states, only to remember that they had the best fucking time ever!

  While I think it’s abso-fucking-lutely lame that they want a combined party, I figure we can still make it strippers, pole dancing and a sex-themed carnival of sorts with lots and lots of dildos. You in?

  Let’s do lunch next week so we can make plans. Give me a holler. Oh, I guess there’s a good chance I might see you at Mitch and Rylie’s on Monday for their inaugural Labor Day BBQ. We can talk then, too.

  Cheers,

  Sasha

  Jackson groaned loudly as he reread the email. Did he mention that Sasha was brash and had the biggest potty-mouth of any woman he’d ever met? She could even make a sailor blush over the number of F-bombs she dropped on a regular basis. And the email in front of him was nothing out of the ordinary for her.

  He shook his head thinking of some of the women he’d dated over the years. All refined, elegant, uptight, and far too sophisticated to utter such a degrading word. Sasha was nothing like those women. And he liked her all the more for it, which pissed him off.

  Returning his attention to the email, his eyes ran over the subject matter again, his jaw flexing at the obvious digs she’d gotten in, alluding to their night together. He knew his assistant Casey had likely read through it already. If he were easily embarrassed, he’d be blushing beet red at the moment.

  The fact that she even addressed him as Rowdy, the nickname she’d given him because according to her, he was anything but rowdy, had him fisting his hands on the desk. It pissed him off because she knew so little about him. Sasha made an immediate judgment about him because of his profession, yet knew very little about who he truly was or what he liked. After their night together, he’d hoped she’d come to realize he was anything but dull and ordinary. He’d shown her a dirty, wicked time in Cabo and gave her anything but boring, vanilla-sex.

  In light of her chosen nickname for him, Jackson thought it only fair to reciprocate with the label of Shorty the first time he met her. Sometimes he’d even call her Shrimp, just to get her blood boiling. The woman barely stood five foot two with heels, and was still a full foot shorter than him. Despite her short stature, Sasha’s ego and personality were ten feet tall, which made it so worth it when it rankled her so much when he called her by her nicknames. Yeah, he dished it out just as good as he got.

  The unflattering terms of endearment they used toward each other were just a necessary part of their continued antagonistic relationship. They talked trash, called each other names and pushed each other’s limits. They certainly made for strange bedfellows. An error in judgment that he regretted af
ter a night of drinking.

  Regrets aside, the images of her naked and writhing body still seared in his brain, held in a private reserve spank bank, brought out when necessity called.

  But when let go of the irritation he felt over her and was completely honest with himself, he knew he didn’t really regret it. That night, they had off-the-hook, balls-to-the-wall, kinky, sweaty, intense, hard-and-fast fucking. She was a hellion in bed. Sasha Lee was a massive ball of C-4 explosives. And for some unknown reason, he was the fuse.

  His initial reaction to her email was to respond with a one worded reply, saying “Fine.” But his need to push her buttons got the best of him, and the little devil talking over his shoulder had him typing out an email that he knew would absolutely, without a doubt, rattle her cage.

  Jackson bit back the devious grin that forced its way onto his face as he hit send. If only he could be a fly on the wall when she opened it up to read it. He’d pay good money to see her reaction.

  Knowing he’d see her on Monday at Mitch and Rylie’s party, he wouldn’t have to wait too long to see her again in person. And he was positive a fiery reaction he would get.

  Chapter Three

  “Are you fucking kidding me?” Sasha yelled at the computer in front of her, smacking her keyboard and mumbling other obscenities as she read, and reread, the email Jackson sent back earlier that afternoon.

  She seethed with indignation as the words practically slapped her across the face, igniting an anger so intense that she was white knuckling the edge of her desk, her nostrils flaring like a raging bull. Not very feminine, to say the least.

  To: Sasha M. Lee, MD.

  From: Jackson Koda, ESQ.

  Date: August 28, 2015

  RE: No need for dildos

  Dear Shorty,

  I don’t think I need to remind you how mine’s hanging. It’s as big and thick as I’m sure you remember it. In fact, I’m pretty certain you said something to the effect that it was, and I quote, “the biggest mother fucking cock I’ve ever seen.” My guess is that your jaw is still sore.