The Jack & Jill Series

by Ann, Jewel E

  “How emasculating of you to my manhood and my profession.”

  “How sexist of you to assume only men can listen when by nature your gender practices selective hearing ninety percent of the time. And if you’re wanting to flash your doctor badge, I suggest you first do some inner reflection as to why you’re on your third beer before noon in less than an hour after finding out your ex-fiancée needs a heart transplant.”

  The impromptu speech filled with valid points did not deter Luke as he popped the top to another beer.

  “Take care of my puppy. I’m going for a ride.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Knight

  The list of things that could top being fucked by Jackson Knight against a refrigerator was short. The birth of Maddie held the number one spot, refrigerator sex sat at number two. The fact that there were only two events on Ryn’s Life’s Best Moment’s List seemed pathetic. Dwelling over the sleepy details of her life was a waste of time. As she sat in her car, checking her makeup one last time, the past didn’t matter. It only took forty years to be that girl—the one who got the guy that everyone else wanted.

  Maddie needed help moving to her new apartment, closer to campus. Ryn had not seen Jackson since the infamous sex night. He wanted to stay for a do-over, which was ridiculous because perfection was perfection. Period. More than that, she needed a shower and time to think about his lips, tongue, teeth, ten skilled fingers, and one gifted cock.

  With twenty minutes before Greta’s party, Ryn couldn’t keep herself from saying hi to Jackson before heading across the street. She knocked on the door anticipating his sexy smile and a mind-numbing kiss to get her in the mood for the party. Instead, Jackson greeted her with rivulets of water racing down his body and a white towel tied low on his waist.

  “Jillian is already over there.”

  Sexy smile. Check.

  “You look amazing, by the way.”

  Twenty six letters and infinite ways to assemble them into words, yet she couldn’t conjure a single one let alone remember what she had on that looked so amazing. A short wrap skirt and a sleeveless blouse felt about right, but really she couldn’t remember.

  “If you keep looking at me like that you’re going to be late to the party.”

  With wide eyes, she nodded yes to … something. Yes to being on time or yes to being late … or just simply yes to him.

  “Do you want to step inside for a few minutes?” He chuckled, which brought her attention back to his face after her ogling started to feel like a hallucination.

  “Maybe for a minute…” she stepped inside coming to an abrupt halt as she closed her eyes “…or two.”

  Another chuckle. “Are you okay?”

  “You smell like sandalwood and … patchouli.” Her eyes opened with her head still spinning from the intoxicating fragrance.

  “I call it bar soap and shampoo, but I’m glad you like it.”

  His eyes were unquestionably beautiful, even mesmerizing, but they didn’t demand her attention like his bare, tatted chest or the towel that looked like it could come loose at any moment.

  “You seem distracted.”

  She nodded.

  “Maybe I should put on some clothes.”

  Worst idea ever, in Ryn’s honest opinion.

  Pressing his hands against the wall above her head, trapping her under a bridge of muscled flesh, he leaned forward until his lips grazed her ear. “Is that what you want?”

  The question was absurd. Barely worthy of an answer. “No.” She swallowed.

  He sucked her earlobe, teasing it with his teeth. “Remove the towel, Ryn.”

  The strain of her nipples against the lace of her bra and the slide of her new thong between her legs when she shifted her weight had her ready to orgasm from just the words: remove the towel, Ryn.

  Jackson moaned with his lips pressed to her neck as she feathered her fingers over the peaks and valleys of his abs, down to the towel. His dizzying scent intensified with each ragged breath she drew into her lungs. She wanted to taste him … devour him.

  “Stop!”

  Ryn jumped, pressing her palms to the wall behind her as Jillian flew through the front door. Jackson grumbled a few expletives while keeping Ryn caged beneath his arms.

  “Back away from the girl and go put some clothes on.”

  “This coming from my sister who is basically a nudist?”

  “I told you to send her straight over if she knocked on the door.”

  Ryn felt like a teenager getting caught with a guy. Ten years their senior, yet she shrank beneath the awkwardness of the Knight twins’ arguing over her.

  “Come on, Ryn. Chicks before dicks.”

  Of course Ryn had no idea what that meant, but she let Jillian pull her toward the door anyway.

  “She still has a few minutes before the party starts. I’ll send her right over.”

  It was impossible to look at Jackson after that comment. Ryn’s whole body flushed with embarrassment.

  Jillian pointed a finger at him. “Knock that shit off. This is Greta’s night. Do you remember when Mom used to go grocery shopping after dinner and she’d come home with twenty dollars’ worth of groceries because after eating nothing tempted her?”

  Jackson rolled his eyes to the ceiling.

  “Well Ryn needs to show up to Greta’s hungry. Got it?”

  Before the door shut, Jackson yelled, “Then you’re welcome. I think she’s starving right now.”

  Ryn whipped her head back, mouth agape, as Jillian dragged her toward the street. Jackson winked through the glass storm door with a cocky-bastard smirk. Then he removed his towel, turned, and sauntered away from the door.

  “He just flashed you, didn’t he?” Jillian asked without ever turning back.

  “Um …”

  She laughed. “I apologize on behalf of the Knight family. We have no self-control.”

  *

  “Oh my goodness! You are just adorable,” Greta said as she gently touched the ends of Ryn’s hair before resting her palms on her cheeks. “Oh … and your eyes, and these freckles, and you have the cutest little button nose.”

  Ryn felt ten years old under Greta’s exaggerated, yet flattering assessment. “Thank you. So nice to meet you.”

  “Well…” Greta motioned for Ryn to follow her to the great room “…you’re just lucky Marvin is still breathing, otherwise I would have already snatched Jackson up.”

  Ryn equated Greta to warm chocolate cake: sweet, addictive, and sure to evoke a smile.

  After handing Ryn a glass of sangria, Greta brought two fingers to her mouth and catcall whistled. “Settle down, ladies, so Jillian can get started.”

  The small group of fifteen women, all over sixty years, turned the volume down to a few soft whispers as their eyes bugged out with each new item Jillian placed on the coffee table. Ryn bit back a smile. It was the most unusual group for a Lascivio party. Their fearless leader took them through everything, explaining how each personal pleasure device was to be used before passing it around for everyone to inspect up close.

  When the nipple clamps came around, Ryn took a quick picture and sent it to Jackson.

  Ryn: What do you think?

  Jackson: I think these work better.

  He attached a photo of his teeth biting the tip of his thumb. She giggled.

  Next she sent a photo of the edible lubricant.

  Ryn: ?

  Jackson: Let me save you some money.

  The photo attached showed him licking his lips. She squeezed her legs together.

  Ryn: Jillian said ‘nothing’ is better than this one.

  She sent a photo of a “top of the line” vibrator.

  Jackson: Your choice.

  Greta passed her a textured cock ring as Ryn looked at his text.

  “I’ve got it, sweetie.” Greta grabbed Ryn’s phone that fell in the crack between the cushions when she went to pass the vibrator to the next person.

  “No I’ve—
”

  Greta looked at the screen. “Oh my … what or who …” Her other hand covered her mouth.

  “What is it?” Lynette asked looking over Greta’s shoulder. “Oh my goodness!”

  “He’s just being—” Ryn grabbed her phone back, not realizing he sent a photo after his last remark. “Oh shit.”

  “Is that Jackson?” Every eye in the room landed on Ryn.

  She flipped the phone so the screen pressed against her leg. “N-no, it’s not what you think. It’s … just a friend playing a prank.” It was exactly what they thought: Jackson’s big, very erect cock.

  Jillian narrowed her eyes then stepped closer to Ryn. “Is what Jackson?”

  Ryn shook her head like an errant child in school. “Nothing.”

  Jillian snatched her phone. Ryn squeezed her eyes shut.

  “Eww … not cool, Bro … not cool,” Jillian whispered to herself.

  Ryn peeked open one eye. Jillian wore a wicked smile. “Get some more to eat and drink, ladies, then feel free to play with the toys and browse through the catalog.”

  Once everyone focused their attention back on all the other embarrassing things in the room, Jillian grabbed the strap-on penis from the coffee table and took a picture of it with Ryn’s phone.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Reciprocating.” Jillian smirked as she moved her thumbs across the screen.

  Ryn: How do you feel about anal play? I’ve always had a thing for m/m porn. Is your sexy ass as tight as the rest of your body?

  Jillian tossed Ryn’s phone to her. “No matter what, don’t text him again or answer any of his texts.

  Ryn stared at the message—horrified. “What if he takes it seriously?”

  “Oh … he’ll take it seriously.”

  “What if he’s…” she grimaced “…okay with the idea.”

  Jillian giggled. “Then I guess you’d better add a strap-on and a bottle of lube to your order tonight.”

  Ryn’s eyes remained glued to her phone. “He’s not responding.”

  “Ah … excellent. Just as I suspected, he thinks you’re serious. God, I’m good.”

  “Jillian?” Greta called. “Are butt plugs contraindicated if I have hemorrhoids?”

  “Oh my God,” Ryn mouthed. Jillian winked before excusing herself to help Greta.

  She stared at her phone, willing Jackson to reply, but he didn’t.

  An hour and three glasses of Sangria later, she placed her order and walked back across the street while Jillian and Greta finished up with the rest of the ladies and their orders.

  The alcohol almost erased the memory of Jillian’s prank—almost. Jackson opened the door with his body covered by a pair of jeans and an Eat Local T-Shirt.

  *

  The quiet ones were always the kinky ones. Jackson assumed with a fair amount of confidence that Ryn was the exception. Her skittish reactions to his sexual advances pointed in the opposite direction of kinky. The text, however, surprised him, and he wasn’t easily surprised. The tipsy, sexy, cock-hardening woman at his door was a partial explanation for the bold message. The still slightly disturbing part was drunk people didn’t get new ideas from alcohol. The alcohol just brought out thoughts that were already in their brain.

  Her eyes perused his body then a giggle escaped as she homed in on his shirt. “Eat Local.” She bit her lip, glassy eyes meeting his gaze. “I’m local.”

  Jackson found the deep, uninhibited tone of her voice to be quite sexy.

  “Miss Middleton, are you drunk?”

  Twisting her lips, she shook her head twice. After a few seconds she narrowed her eyes and nodded as if her thoughts couldn’t keep up with her body. “A bit, I’d say.”

  “Keys.” He held out his hand.

  “I love that you’re younger than me, yet more responsible.” She handed him her keys.

  Ryn lost her brother in a drunk driving accident. He knew she’d give him the keys without question. “Come on. I’ll drive you home.” He took her hand and led her to her car.

  “I love it when you hold my hand. People don’t do that much these days. Everyone’s too busy texting or holding their phones to their ears to pay attention to the people around them.”

  He helped her in then got in the driver’s side. “I agree,” he said.

  “You do? Aww … see you’re not too young for me after all. If I said the same thing to Maddie she’d tell me something like ‘holding hands is for old people.’ It seems like kids these days are either texting each other from across the table or practically screwing each other on the dance floor of some club.”

  Jackson chuckled as they pulled out of the development. He’d been on those dance floors many times, and they usually led to a bathroom, back alley, or backseat fuck before he went home alone. But Ryn was different, he was different. That Jude guy died and there was no reason to wake the dead.

  “Greta is hilarious and she has a huge crush on you. God, I hope I have half her spunkiness when I’m her age. She must have ordered one of everything from that catalog. I think she’s secretly trying to kill her husband so she can ride off into the sunset with you and your Woody.” Ryn giggled. “Did I mention that was the best Sangria I’ve ever had?”

  Jackson smiled. Ryn’s random chattiness made her a fun drunk, although she seemed just a bit tipsy as her words were not slurred enough for it to be considered drunken babble.

  “Did you buy anything?” Jackson asked as he pulled into her driveway.

  She turned, wearing a tightlipped grin and a playful sparkle in her eyes. “I did.” Her brow furrowed. “Hmm … the funny thing is I can’t remember for sure what I did get.” She shrugged then eased out of the car.

  Since she’d left him painfully turned-on after his shower earlier that night, his need to be with her felt urgent. However, her butt-clenching text had him second guessing where their relationship was headed.

  “I really appreciate you going to Greta’s party tonight.” He stopped at her door, hands in his back pockets as she stepped inside.

  Her eyes were all over him as she wet her lips. “Aren’t you coming inside?”

  A great question.

  A sly sexy grin pulled at her lips. “Are you still standing on my porch because of the text?”

  The confirmation that it wasn’t a drunken text didn’t help ease his apprehension.

  “I … I have an early lesson in the morning and I didn’t run today so I need to get that done first thing tomorrow.”

  She raised a single brow. “You drove my car. How are you going to get home?”

  Another great question.

  “Do you have to work in the morning?”

  She nodded.

  “I’ll walk. It’s not really that far.”

  Ryn sighed. “If I were like … twenty minutes more sober, I don’t think I’d say this, but I’m not there yet so I’m going to tell you. I bought new lingerie: a black lacy bra and a matching thong—the kind I don’t have to hide in my refrigerator.”

  A confident Ryn in black lingerie had a good chance of blocking out the vision of her kinky alter ego in a strap-on penis acting out some fucked-up m/m fantasy. He stepped inside and shut the door behind him.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Even under the lightly numbing veil of Sangria, Ryn felt something so different about the way Jackson looked at her. His eyes filled with desire and something else. That something else happened in the extra few seconds his gaze lingered before he touched her. It felt as though he disappeared and in the next breath when he returned, his face lit up with an emotion that looked like gratitude. But for what?

  Her nerves were a ticking clock so she took his hand and led him upstairs, commanding Gunner to stay downstairs. When she released his hand and turned, he leaned against the shut door, arms crossed over his chest. The heat in his eyes lit a fire in her belly and a bit lower too.

  “Let me see everywhere you don’t have a tattoo.”

  His words could not have
been more sobering, evaporating any residual alcohol from her bloodstream.

  “I-I don’t have any tattoos.”

  “Show me.”

  Her shirt had stayed on when he fucked her against the refrigerator. Maybe the lingerie statement had been misleading. She imagined them in her bed, under the covers, lights off.

  Motioning to the wall next to him, she nodded. “Shut the light off.”

  A clenching, nauseating feeling knotted in her stomach as he shook his head.

  “I’m … well … I’m ten years older than you and my body shows it. And you …” She wrung her hands together feeling an inch tall for being so self-conscious. Jackson Knight wasn’t just ten years younger, he represented the pinnacle of physical perfection at any age.

  “On our first date I told you someday I’d tell you what makes a man sexy. Remember?”

  She nodded. Her reference that day was to him. The point being that nothing made him that way … he just simply was sexy.

  “Take your clothes off and I’ll show you that what makes me sexy in your eyes is the desire you see in mine.”

  After a deep breath, she fought through her insecurities and unbuttoned her blouse with shaky hands. He just stood there, watching her undress, watching her fall apart from the inside out. One man made her feel like a hundred sets of eyes seeing her in her most vulnerable state.

  Shirt. Skirt. Borderline tears.

  But tears weren’t sexy. Never had a guy asked her to strip for him. She wanted to be sexy, confident, and worthy of that look in his eyes.

  “Keep going.”

  Even her lips quivered as she bit them together and nodded once.

  Thong. Knees ready to give out.

  Bra. Eyes cast downward, blinking back tears of fear.

  His feet came into view as she held her breath.

  “Look at me.”

  One agonizing inch at a time she lifted her chin. That look, that something, met her gaze.

  “That desire in my eyes … it’s you.”

  It was a dream. One she hoped to believe someday.

  “Now take off my clothes.”

  Standing, even just breathing, proved to be difficult. Undressing him felt impossible.