by Davis, Jo
Tempt him into seven kinds of delicious sin.
Jason Strickland prowled the vast, empty tomb his uncle had called home, forcing down the debilitating self-doubt that haunted every second of his days and nights. Jumping at shadows, staring into dark corners, heart pounding. Waiting. Taking comfort only in knowing that the agony of suspense would be mercifully brief.
He’ll find me.
The sick thing was, part of him wanted to be found. Wanted to be punished.
Jason took no joy in his opulent surroundings or newfound wealth. He didn’t dare. Nothing lasted. Happiness was an illusion, an oasis always just out of reach for a dying man.
For a man who was no longer sure where he belonged.
Oh, God. He paused in the monstrous marble foyer, hands clenched into fists. “It’s not over,” he told no one. “You got out, but he’ll track you here, hundreds of miles from Los Angeles. He’ll learn who and what you really are, and when he does, you’re a dead man.”
Cocky, stupid little sonofabitch, look at you now.
“Stop it, Jase.” He had to, or he’d drive himself insane. He had a job to do.
As if to underscore his turbulent thoughts, the phone rang. He didn’t have to wonder who was on the other end—no one else knew where he was. He crossed to the bar and picked up the receiver, gritting his teeth.
“Yeah?”
“Line secure?”
“What do you think?” He held the phone in a death grip, thankful Reginald couldn’t see him sweat. “Figured I’d have heard from you already. Must be getting slow in your old age.”
“Thought I’d give you time to settle in, given your bereavement and all.” The man sounded anything but sympathetic.
“Why, that’s mighty white of you, boss.” His boss was as ebony as the ace of spades and huge enough to pound Jason into the dirt without straining a muscle.
“Fuck you, kid.”
“Take a number.”
A short, humorless laugh. “That’s what I like about you, Jason. Impulsive to the last. Then again, that little flaw is how we’re asshole-deep in this fucking pile of goat shit, isn’t it.” A statement, not a question.
His colossal failure. He didn’t need a reminder. “You’re the one who pulled me. I know I fucked up, but I was handling—”
“Kid, I’ve been hearing that crap from my men since you were watching the Powerpuff Girls and eating SpaghettiOs, what, about three years ago?”
“Goddammit, Reginald—”
“Focus on our subject. I want to know every move he makes. If he breaks wind, I wanna smell it. Can you handle that?”
“He’s covered,” he said tightly, rubbing his temple. “I’m tailing him every chance I get.” He ought to be doing more, and hoped Reginald would let it go for now.
“Don’t fuck this up.”
“And to think I forgot to get you a card for Boss’s Day.”
“You want hearts and flowers, model for Victoria’s Secret.”
“Eat sh—”
The bastard hung up.
Slamming down the phone, he paced the living room, dying to wreck something. Lose control.
Thank God for the lunch plans with his new neighbor.
He should have told Reginald about it. About living next door to Alexander Quinn, his subject’s hotshot defense attorney . . . and therefore, a man who bore watching closely.
Surprise, surprise. Ain’t it a small fucking world?
Getting involved with the Quinns was not a good idea. But he needed a distraction to calm his nerves, and God, what a distraction. A gorgeous, black-haired wet dream with a killer body and perfect breasts peaked by rose-tipped nipples. Wide, electric blue eyes brimming with sultry invitation.
He’d never been much into women, though he suspected this was due to lack of opportunity and experience. He’d serviced a couple, on his master’s orders, propelled by duty, not by choice. How would it feel to explore his desires freely, to find out what he—Jason, not the sex slave—wanted?
Christ, he was a head case. She’d only asked him to lunch, not to be lunch. Smiling at himself, mood somewhat lightened, he went upstairs to dress. Meeting Olivia yesterday had brought him out of his funk enough to go out and buy some decent clothes. After lugging his bags home from the mall, he’d spent a long time removing each item and caressing the fabric, getting reacquainted with having things that belonged to him. Readjusting to his former world of relative normalcy.
In his walk-in closet, he stood debating. He settled on a pair of dark jeans and a stretchy black ribbed T-shirt. The shirt hugged his chest and abs, showing his hard work at keeping fit. Last, he pulled on a new pair of Red Wings. His old, ratty tennis shoes had hit the garbage.
Leaving the closet, he glanced at his SIG lying on the corner of the dresser. He picked up the hand cannon, hoping to take comfort in handling it again, but after the past year, he knew better.
More often than not, the real enemy lay within.
Placing it back on the dresser, he ran a hand through his hair. He realized it could use a trim, but his former master had hated it long, and so Jason had decided to let it grow.
At least he no longer looked like what he’d been a year ago—a naive boy with his head up his ass. An idealist with dreams of glory.
Shaking off the thought, he jogged downstairs, wondering whether to ring Olivia’s front doorbell or go to the back where they’d met yesterday. A quick glance out his patio door answered the question. His knockout neighbor was by her pool, setting a canopied table for two. Watching her, a weight lifted from his heart. No one had ever gone to any trouble to welcome him in friendship, see to his pleasure.
No one.
He hurried to meet her, crossing his deck and pushing through his gate. Unlatching hers, he stepped into the Quinns’ sculpted yard and shut it behind him. She looked up, her warm smile matching his.
“Jason. I’m so glad you came.” Her blue gaze swept him from head to toe, heating every spot it touched. “You look wonderful, and I swear you’re a different man wearing that big smile.”
“Well, you put it there,” he said, closing the space between them. Taking her hand, he chanced a light kiss on her cheek. “Thank you for having me over.”
“My pleasure.”
The low, husky statement, rife with double meaning, trailed an invisible fingernail straight down his spine. Olivia hadn’t objected to the slight contact. Wouldn’t object to more, if his guess was correct. The idea snaked around his balls, stiffened his cock.
Pulling away, she gestured to the chair next to him. “Have a seat. I hope you like white wine and Caesar salad topped with grilled chicken. I don’t normally eat a heavy lunch.”
Slaves don’t normally eat lunch at all.
Squashing the stray thought, he allowed himself to enjoy the moment. “The salad looks almost as delicious as my hostess.” Jesus, he couldn’t believe he’d said something so lame. He’d just compared a gorgeous woman to lettuce. Fucking idiot.
But she beamed at him, unaware of his fumbling. “Thanks, you’re too sweet. Shall we?”
Sweet? No, he’d never been innocent in any way. Full of himself, carrying a load of misplaced confidence for which he was paying dearly? Oh yes. Undone, he poured the wine while she served their salads in ceramic bowls, and belatedly wished he’d thought to bring something for Olivia. A small token, like flowers. His social graces were lacking, since he’d been out of circulation for a while.
He speared some lettuce and chicken, took a bite. The flavors burst on his taste buds, a succulent delight. Would Liv taste even better?
“This is fantastic,” he said, waving his fork at her. “You’re quite a cook.”
She took a sip of wine and nodded. “I appreciate the compliment, but the kudos really go to my head chef.”
His brows shot up. “You employ a personal chef?”
“At my restaurant. I own Giancarlo’s, on The Hill.”
“Wow. Sexy and a savvy entrepreneur.
Guess I won the neighbor lottery.” He drank some of his wine, studying her with open curiosity. “I can tell by your voice how much pride you take in your restaurant. Must be nice to have something that’s all yours, nurtured and thriving because of your efforts.”
Now her smile was sad. “Sacrifice causes other things to fall by the wayside. People get left behind.”
“One person in particular?”
“My husband, Alex,” she said, confirming his suspicion.
Jason set aside his wineglass, laid his hand over hers. “Your work took over your life, and he became lonely.” He was careful to keep accusation out of his tone.
“Yes. We’ve grown apart.”
“Has he . . . cheated on you, Olivia?”
“He has now.”
His chest ached for her. Empathy for another person was new to him, and he didn’t like the way it hurt. But nothing could’ve prepared him for the shocker she delivered next.
“Alex only did what I urged him to do.”
He blinked, unsure he’d heard right. “What?”
“My husband was on the verge of turning from me, so I took matters into my own hands. I made him a proposition he couldn’t refuse. A high-stakes game in which we win or lose everything.”
“How does it work?” Jason leaned forward, intrigued.
“Alex gets seven encounters with any lover he desires, but after each one he must confess to me in detail and accept whatever punishment I choose.”
“My God, Olivia,” he gasped. “But you get nothing from that arrangement!”
“Not true.” Her blue eyes pinned his, and she hesitated. Speculating. Perhaps sizing up his reaction. “In return, I’ll take any lover I wish. What’s more, my lover and I can use Alex in every way, punish him together if we like.”
Jesus Christ! His cock was hard and straining behind his zipper. He couldn’t keep the hunger off his face if he tried. “And your husband agreed to all of this?”
“In a heartbeat.” She sent him a sly grin, sadness replaced by determination. “He received his first punishment last night.”
Olivia’s frankness, the heat of her arousal, startled him. No small feat for a man who’d believed nothing else could surprise him. “You’re not angry with him?”
“I was fully prepared to be,” she admitted. “But when he began to describe the things they did . . . I got so caught up in imagining them together. Picturing my beautiful Alex sinking his cock into another lover. God, it turned me on like never before. By including me, we shared the experience together. There’s no longer any reason to deny what we only used to fantasize about in bed.”
Jason’s own cock throbbed painfully. Before he could find his voice, she pulled her hand from his and slapped it against her cheek, eyes round.
“Listen to me. I can’t believe I told you all of that. You must think we’re both crazy. Or worse, sleazy pervs.”
“Olivia, I know all about sleazy,” he said quietly. “And trust me, two people trying to rekindle the spark to save their marriage by sharing mutual pleasure isn’t it.”
No, Olivia’s bargain with her husband was incredibly erotic. Designed for pure, sensual bliss. This lovely lady had no idea what sleazy perverts really existed, and Jason hoped she never met any.
She reached out, ran a finger over his lower lip, studying him for a long moment. He held his breath, his body electrified by her delicate touch. He’d never known such a caress. Then she withdrew, retrieving her fork.
“Thank you,” she said.
“Any time.”
They finished their meal as Jason listened to his new friend describe Alex. His mouth watered as she painted a picture of a tall, blond Adonis with dancing green eyes. He’d known Alex was a smart defense lawyer with his own successful firm, but her accolades about the man’s warm and caring personality, his charming magnetism, made him sound like a dream.
They’d been so happy once. Could be again. Jason found himself wishing to be a part of . . . what? What did he know of relationships, or happiness in any form?
“Want to take a dip in the pool?”
Warm and relaxed from the wine, he waggled his brows at her. “Your pool or mine?”
She laughed. “Mine. Race you.”
She stood, untying the fringed wrap around her waist to reveal skimpy black bikini bottoms. In fact, the scrap of material hardly qualified as a bikini. More like a rectangular patch in front. As she turned to walk to the pool, he sucked in an appreciative breath at the thin string separating the perfect globes of her ass.
He shot to his feet, ready to follow, then frowned at himself. “Hey, I don’t have a bathing suit.”
“You certainly didn’t need one last night,” she reminded him with a grin, wading into the water. “I’ve already seen the package.”
So she had. His erection wanted free. “That’s not fair. You’re covered. Mostly.”
“Wear your underwear if you want.”
He was wearing boxers, but those would look pretty ridiculous. Once they got wet, he might as well be naked. Nudity had never been one of his hang-ups, so whatever.
Shrugging, he undressed, leaving his shoes and clothing in a pile on his chair. Slowly, he strode to the pool’s steps, aware of her hungry eyes devouring him. Letting her look at leisure. Serving the pleasure of others was a skill he’d learned well.
He joined her, the cool water swirling about his hips. Kept his hands at his sides, his submissive sexual nature so ingrained in his bone marrow that he was helpless to fight it.
Lips curving upward, she reached behind her back, untied the strings of the bikini top. Repeated the process at the nape of her neck. Peeling the wet fabric away, she revealed a pair of lush breasts, just full enough to fill his palms. Her rosy nipples were taut, begging for his hands. His mouth. He stared, unable to speak.
“You may touch me, Jason,” she said hoarsely, tossing the top onto the pool’s edge. “If you’d like.”
It was the second part that shook him. He’d rarely been given the option of doing what he’ d enjoy, and certainly not in the past year. She welcomed his attentions, but wouldn’t force him.
Desire coursed through his blood, hot and thick. But caution stayed his hand. “Only if you’re sure I won’t open my door to find myself looking down the barrel of Alex’s gun.”
“If you’re suddenly staring down the barrel of anything belonging to Alex, I assure you it won’t be his gun.”
Oh, shit!
Olivia clasped her arms around his neck, toyed with his hair. Her nipples brushed his chest, branding him. With a groan, he cupped her face in his hands and brought his mouth down on hers. Kissed her with all the pent-up hunger he normally held in reserve.
His tongue twined with hers as she pressed against him, slick and wet. He licked the roof of her mouth, behind her teeth. Sucked her tongue, holding her closer, backing her toward the side of the pool until she was against the wall.
His hands slid below the water to her waist and on to her slick, bare ass cheeks. He palmed them, lifting her, nestling her sex against his aching cock. Even through the thin fabric of her thong, he could feel her heat enveloping his dick. Making a sweet whimpering sound, she wrapped her legs around his waist, grinding into his cock.
He broke the kiss, panting, and slid his right hand between them. His fingers rubbed her tight little nub through the suit and she arched toward him, gasping.
“Please, Jason! I need . . . ”
“Tell me,” he rasped. Many had wanted him. Had taken him.
But nobody had ever needed him, much less said it as though he were their lifeline.
“I need you to fuck me! Please.”
“Ah, God.”
Jason pushed aside the material, unable to wait even the few seconds it would take to remove her bottoms. Deftly, he parted her slit, bringing the head of his cock to her opening. Still, he paused. Gave her the opportunity to regain her senses. “Olivia, are you sure?”
“Fuck me, Jas
e,” she whispered.
Grabbing her hips, he impaled her on his cock. Began to move in her scorching heat, marveling in the joy of being with someone who wanted him. Whom he wanted in return. The freedom to act on his desires, to please her—both of them—because he chose to do so.
“Ahh, God, yes! Liv . . . so goddamned good. So hot and tight.”
He fucked her hard and deep, angling his thrusts so his cock brushed her clit with every stroke. Never, ever anything like this. A completion, like coming home. She had no idea what a great gift she’d given him, and the least he could do was make sure she received the best he had to give at the moment.
Faster, faster he pumped. Pounded into her until she tightened her legs around him, clutched at his hair. She cried out, her channel convulsing around his cock. The rippling sensation, proof of her wild pleasure, sent him over the edge. He stiffened, and with a shout released himself inside her. Pulsed on and on until they were both spent, clinging to one another, dripping wet.
Jason stayed buried inside her as they came down to earth again. Placed gentle kisses on her lips, her nose. Christ, what a lady. Why did he feel so whole with her? Who knew he could enjoy sex with a woman so much?
Maybe it was just this woman.
“I’ve never been with anyone except my husband, until now.”
Jason’s heart plummeted to his toes. “I-I’m sorry. I didn’t use protection, but I’m clean, I swear. I shouldn’t have—”
Shaking her head, she pressed her fingers over his lips. “No. I’m just saying this is a special occasion to me, that’s all. I don’t believe I could’ve taken the plunge with just anyone, Jason. But when we met yesterday, I felt this . . . connection to you. That probably sounds stupid.”
“No, it doesn’t,” he said, thrilling to her words. “I felt it, too.” Didn’t make sense, but there was the truth all the same.
She let out a deep breath, untangling her legs from his waist. Reluctantly, he withdrew, but didn’t let her go.
Gazing at him in question, she ran her fingers down his cheek. “All of that stuff about my problems with Alex and our bargain . . . you’re under no obligation to involve yourself with anything. This ends here if you want, no strings.”