JAKE

by Juliette Jones

  Both of our phones are ringing. We ignore them. My pact with Alexander is going to need some new goddamn ground rules.

  I’m on top of Sugar, doing my best to hold my weight but I’m basically pinning her to the desk. Her dress is bunched up. Her bouncy breasts are straining at the silk of her dress. I want to rip her clothes to shreds. I want to tear them off her with my teeth. But I keep myself in check, barely. My fingers are slippery, snugly engaged in all kinds of debauchery, playing out the lingering ripples of her release. Her eyes are lust-drowsed and dreamy, gazing into mine with wonder. Almost like she’s looking at something she can’t believe, or that’s too good to be true.

  “I’m taking you out tonight,” I tell her.

  She blinks at me like it’s an effort to think about anything beyond this moment. “But … I have to work,” she gasps as my fingers curl and stroke.

  Right. She has to work and so do I, but I’ve already started making alternative plans. I can’t go too long without touching her and tasting her and making her come, I’ve already made that decision. I finally found what I never thought I would and I’m not about to share her with every goddamn idiot who wants to order a slice of pie.

  “That’s going to be a new detail of this arrangement,” I say, sliding my fingers in and out of her honeyed pussy, rubbing her clit with my thumb. With my other hand I rub and press the silky little pucker of her ass, wet from my tongue, until she moans and her inner muscles clamp around my fingers in a soft, succulent rhythm. Once she started coming I haven’t let her stop, not entirely. I’ll keep spinning out her orgasm until I get what I want.

  I kiss her and lick my tongue into her mouth. She’s moaning and I wait until she quiets.

  “I’m flying a few people in to interview with you. It’s already arranged. Bakers and chefs from the top culinary schools in France and a couple of young rising stars from around the U.S. They’ll be here tomorrow. You’re going to hire more staff and you’re going to start delegating. So you don’t have to work such long hours anymore. You’re the owner and the executive of this business. Which means you don’t have to work every hour of every day. That’s what staff is for.”

  My fingers stroke and slide, more insistent.

  “Jake,” she breathes, and her eyes are starry with the fresh waves of her non-stop climax.

  I know what it’s like to be a workaholic because I am one. Or at least I was one. Now I have other things to do that are more important. One other thing, more accurately: spending all my time with this wild little strawberry-blond goddess.

  “Oohhhjjeesuss,” she moans.

  “Is that a yes?”

  “I – ohhmygod,” Somewhere behind her pleasure, she’s still protesting.

  I press my fingers deeper, rubbing her g-spot with two fingertips. Very gently, I ease my thumb against her clit, swirling and pressing as I read every quiver of her body to take her higher. And higher.

  “Sugar, honey, will you go out with me tonight?”

  She’s on another brink, the highest summit yet, I can tell by the fluttering squeeze of her tight pussy and the strung tension of her body. One more low press against her clit will send her spiralling over the edge. But I wait. I keep my fingers still. I kiss her lips.

  “I’ll pick you up at eight. I’ll be here with you most of the day, but still, I want you ready by eight. If you want to go back to the apartment for anything, just let me know and I’ll take you.”

  I touch my tongue to hers. I slide my thumb against her little nub, but I keep my touch intentionally light. Too light. Teasing her. Tempting her. Making her come to me.

  She wants more. She presses her hips closer, seeking. But I deny her. I keep the magic touch elusive.

  “Jake,” she pleads. “Yes. Okay.”

  “Yes?” I swirl my thumb around her clit, avoiding the exact angle she needs. I slide my fingers out, then in, rubbing slowly. Then I stop.

  She’s clinging to me, desperate for more. “Yes, Jake. Please. Please. Do it.”

  “So you’ll go out with me?”

  “Yes. Yes.”

  That’s all I needed to hear. I play her like I’m a goddamn virtuoso playing a master’s instrument. I know exactly what she likes, where the pressure feels best, what touch and what glide will trigger the ultimate rise. I take her so high she’s crying out and her fingernails are drawing blood as she digs them into my back, trying to pull me closer, and deeper. I give her everything. She comes hard. Her eyes are dazed and she’s wriggling against my hands, swaying, riding the excesses of her pleasure.

  I stay with her, coaxing the long, rippling swell of her release until she’s fully spent.

  I hold her until she returns to herself. Her long eyelashes blink at me. She looks so beautiful all sated and peaceful it makes me crazy. I want to pick her up and carry her off into the sunset.

  “You,” she says, quietly accusing and at the same time adoring. “You are some kind of genius, Jake Wolfe. Raunchy as hell, but a genius. I don’t even want to know how you got so damn good at that.”

  “I’m only good at it with you, sweetheart. Because you’re mine.” I’ve forgotten everything else. Long-ago memories don’t interest me. My dark past is exactly where it belongs: in the past.

  She’s looking at me like that again: like she sees something in me no one else ever has. Like I’m gallant and strong and extraordinary. I’ve never felt like any of those things before. Until now. With her, I want to be those things. I want to be everything she deserves.

  I help her sit up. I pull her dress back down and try to smooth it into place.

  “Did you just say there are people flying in from France to interview with me?”

  “Yes. And Chicago. And L.A.”

  “But … how did you organize all that so fast? And everything else, too? The bakery. The restaurant. All of it.”

  “I woke up early.” I don’t need to go into particulars. She doesn’t need to know that most of my nights are plagued by nightmares and that I rarely get more than five hours’ sleep.

  “What am I going to do with you? You can’t keep buying me all these outrageous things and organizing everything in my life, Jake. You can’t.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because. You don’t need to.”

  “I want to.” I almost feel hurt, which is fucked. I didn’t even think I was capable of feeling hurt. It’s been a long time since an actual emotion has even shown up on my radar. My emotions basically flat lined around sixteen years ago, until Sugar walked in. So this rush of feeling … it jars me.

  She looks up at me with exasperation. Then her expression changes, and softens. “You are incorrigible. Completely over the top. And absolutely the sweetest thing ever.”

  I was expecting protests, so I’m relieved she’s not going to fight me this time. “So you’ll meet with them?”

  “I’ll meet with them. But you really don’t have to do all these outrageously kind things for me all the time, Jake. I’d go out with you anyway.”

  “You would?”

  “Of course I would. I want to spend time with you because I like you for who you are. Not because of your money. In fact I wish you’d stop throwing it around like you’re some kind of sugar daddy on steroids. I happen to be anti sugar daddy. I’ve had some bad experiences with sugar daddies, remember?”

  “I just want to make you happy,” I say. It sounds cheesy as fuck but it’s true.

  She holds my face in her gentle hands. She kisses me. Then she smiles. “You act all tough. You look all tough. But you’re gooey and sweet on the inside, like a big marshmallow. One that’s been roasted on the fire just a little too long but is all the sweeter for it. A tiny bit charred on the outside but warm and gooey all the way through.”

  “I’m not sure I like that analogy.”

  She laughs. “You will when I start eating you.”

  I stare at her. I’m so fucking hard for her I almost lose it right there. She’s smiling and giggling at me lik
e a mischievous little minx.

  I grab her and she laughs and squeals and squirms. She puts a finger to my lips and I keep still. I’ll listen to anything she says. I do anything she commands. “I’ll go out with you tonight. But if I have to be ready by eight then I’m going to work for a few hours and help out my staff. They’re being run off their feet and it’s not fair that I’m in here having multiple orgasms while they’re slaving away.”

  I lean my body hard onto hers so she can feel every hard inch of me. I kiss her lightly. “All right. But you should know one thing: I haven’t even gotten started.”

  Her blue eyes widen. Her sultry lips part. “Neither have I,” she whispers.

  “Oh yeah?” I whisper right back, taking her lower lip very lightly between my teeth. I need her.

  “Oh yeah. And later I’m going to show you exactly what I mean. But right now you need to let me go. I want you to let me get up and go out there and work for a while. Then tonight, I’m going out with you.”

  I obey. I ease myself off of her. I help her up and smooth her dress back into place. I don’t want to be apart from her for a single second but I’ll do anything she asks of me. So I let her go. We leave the office and she blows me a kiss as she disappears into the kitchen. Before the door closes I see her staff flock around her like birds. At first it takes me a second to identify the ache in my chest. Of longing. I’m jealous, that’s what this is. I want to be the one spending time with her. I feel lost having to share her.

  So I take up residency in the corner booth, trying to distract myself with work. I start checking my messages. Alexander’s left five. Jesus.

  I call him.

  He launches straight into a tirade. “Where the fuck have you been? I’ve been trying to get a hold of you all morning. I was about to call the goddamn cops.”

  “First of all, calm down. Second, you need to stop fucking going ballistic every time I don’t answer my phone for five minutes. I’m not a delinquent punk anymore so you can chill the fuck out. I was busy. End of story.”

  Silence. Like it’s finally occurring to him why I might have been busy. He can be incredibly fucking dense sometimes for a billionaire businessman. “How’s Sugar?”

  What to say? Ridiculously flawless. Off-the-charts sexy. So damn tasty it’ll blow your head off. And most definitely naturally strawberry-blond. “Fine.”

  “That’s good. I’m glad to see you went back for more pie.”

  “Why are you calling?”

  I can hear in his voice that he’s entertained by the fact that I’m not about to spill a single detail. I have a serious urge to punch him. “I’ve had our lawyers contact the woman who hacked your emails. Her name is Camille Ames and she works for an internet security company called Fireproof. We gave her an ultimatum. We told her to either turn herself in today or we’ll go to the cops and the press. We told her we’ve seen the video footage.”

  “What’d she say?”

  “She said she’ll clear your name and give you back the flashdrive on one condition. She says she hasn’t made any copies and the files on the flashdrive are unaltered.”

  “What’s the condition?”

  “You have to be the one to meet with her. She wants a one-on-one.”

  “No.”

  “No? What do you mean no?”

  “I mean I don’t want to meet with her one-on-one.”

  “Why not? You sit down with her. She gives you the flashdrive. You leave. Your name is then cleared and you can get on with your life with no criminal conviction hanging over your head. What’s the problem?”

  “I’ll take a lawyer or two with me. That’s the only way I’ll agree to it.”

  “Jake, she said if we don’t comply she’ll upload the files on the flashdrive to a public sharing site. And there’s a major catch. She encrypted the office surveillance videos. It’s some new technology called spiderware that attaches an expiry date to a video file, even if it’s copied.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “She wanted us to see that video. She wanted you to know it was her that framed you. But she’s already deleted the evidence. Which means it’ll no longer show up on your devices, or Finn’s. They’re gone. So it’s our word against hers.”

  “Spiderware? I’ve never heard of it.”

  “Neither had I. But apparently it’s real and the capabilities she’s described are accurate. If you don’t believe me, check your phone.”

  I put him on hold for a second and I check the link Finn sent me. There’s nothing there. “Fuck.”

  “Yeah. She says she’ll anonymously clear your name by providing proof that your account was hacked into. But she’ll only do it if you agree to meet with her. Alone.”

  I know exactly why she wants to meet with me alone.

  “Jake. You can handle it. Just meet with her.”

  “She’ll refuse to comply to any of it unless I give her what she wants, you realize that, right? And I’m not giving her what she wants.”

  He’s quiet. He gets it. I don’t need to spell it out for him. Camille will only agree to clear my name and return my files on one unspoken condition and it’s pretty fucking obvious what that is. She’s going to try to blackmail me into having sex with her and possibly even an ongoing relationship.

  “It’s not going to happen.”

  “Just meet with her, Jake. Refuse her, politely. I don’t know. You’ll have to figure it out, but it’s the only way she’ll agree to any of it. And unfortunately, there’s one other thing. She didn’t say it in so many words but she made it clear that she’ll do it again if you decline to meet with her. She’s prepared to nail you all the way to the wall.”

  We both know one more criminal conviction will land me behind bars. Where I’ll be unable to reach Sugar if she needs me. She might be threatened again by her stepfather and I won’t be able to protect her. She might be hurt. Or she might forget about me. She might find someone else, when she’s meant to be mine. I’m her soulmate. I’m the one she’s going to marry and have babies with and grow old with.

  “All right,” I say. “I’ll meet with this psycho bitch. I’ll just have to figure out how to convince her to leave me the fuck alone.”

  “Try not to piss her off, okay? Her skills are off-the-charts sophisticated. And devious as hell. She said to meet her at the Plaza, room 212, at seven o’clock sharp.”

  “I can’t. Not tonight. I have plans.”

  “Then change them. You don’t have a choice, Jake. Just get it done.”

  But I had plans. Beautiful plans. The most beautiful plans I’ve ever had.

  Maybe this is the universe trying to tell me I don’t deserve beauty. I deserve hell. I deserve pain. I don’t know why I thought things might ever change for me. I’m a fuck-up. Once a fuck-up, always a fucking goddamn fuck-up. “All right. All right.”

  “You’ll be okay. We’ll get you through this. Just meet with her and we’ll take it from there.”

  “Sure.” I feel tired. More jaded than I have since I started to understand what happiness actually feels like. “Before you hang up, can you give me the number for those bodyguards? I’m not leaving here unless someone’s in place.”

  “Already taken care of,” he says. “They’re parked both outside the front door and the back. They’ll shadow her at all times and she won’t even know it. They’ll be on duty until you tell me to pull the plug.”

  I glance out the window to see a white van parked there. Discrete, he’d said. And they are. But my thoughts turn dark and flare with the rage that shadows me. That fucker is out there somewhere. No doubt seething and scheming for revenge against me, and against Sugar. That’s what I should be focused on. Not some psycho who’s trying to frame me. Tomorrow, once I’ve dealt with Camille, I’ll start dealing with Butch. I need to make sure he has no plans to follow her or approach her again. “Thank you. I appreciate it.”

  “You won’t have to worry about security when you go out to the meeting. Everything�
�s taken care of. She’ll be safe.”

  Safe from Flint. Safe from me. Safe from whatever it is that happens tonight.

  “You’ll be okay, Jake,” Alexander says. I wonder about that. I feel a million miles from okay. I have no patience for any of this. My fury has taken on a new gleam: to get rid of these people who are interfering with us, at any cost. “Trust your instincts. I’m here to do whatever you need me to do, you know that. I’ll talk to you later.”

  I end the call.

  I look up to see Sugar setting down a cup of coffee and a dinner plate heaped with two huge slices of warm apple pie with homemade vanilla ice cream on top, starting to melt. She’s smiling at me. She’s changed into her little black work outfit and has put her hair up. Her skin is luminous. Coiling tendrils frame her face. Her eyes gleam blue. She looks surreal, she’s so pretty.

  It hurts. Her beauty hurts, it’s so potent, so pure.

  Fuck everything.

  My voice sounds rasped when I tell her: “It turns out I can’t take you out at eight tonight. Something’s come up. A meeting. It might take a while.”

  She’s watching me, like she’s tuning into my pain and my pre-emptive regret. She sits next to me and takes my hand. Most women I’ve known would feel jilted or angry, or find some reason to object or gripe or complain. She doesn’t do any of these things. She touches my hair. Her touch is soft and so sweet I just want to take her home and hide her away with me until the cops come after me and break down the door. “Is everything okay? Is there anything I can do?”

  “No, it’s fine.”

  “I’ll wait for you. I’ll be here when you get back.”

  I pull the key card to my apartment out of my pocket. And the number of my driver. “If I’m late, call my driver and get him to take you back to my apartment.”

  Someone from the kitchen comes out to ask Sugar about some order they want to put through to an organic vegetable supplier and it has to be in before five o’clock so can she hurry up and help with the list because they’re not sure what else they need for the week’s menu. And on it goes.