by Frost, Thea
Game, set, and match. I groan as his fingers slide into my hair. He kisses me deeply, taking what he wants from me. I let go of the last of my resolve. I lose myself in his embrace, the vibrating of the limo making me feel like we're lost in the dark, in a place outside time and space.
We kiss, tongues touching, and it's heaven. I can almost believe there's nothing beyond this. Nothing more to Jack then this caring, passionate, powerful man.
He pulls back. "I need to see your lips around my cock," he says. "Now."
I lower my hand to his crotch, and feel his rigid cock. My pulse is running at a thousand miles an hour. I glance toward the front of the limo where Francesca is driving. Can I? Can I suck Jack off with her up front?
Jack unzips his pants. I find myself unbuckling his belt. This isn't happening. Is it? I pull his cock free. It's large enough that I can close both hands around the shaft. His green eyes seem to almost glow in the gloom, burning like those of a tiger. I lower my head and take his cock head in my mouth.
Jack groans and leans back. I slowly massage one hand up and down his shaft as I roll my tongue around his crown, licking and tasting him. How is he hard for a third time in one night? And not just hard. Like corrugated rebar. I slide my other hand down and cup his balls, and then duck my head down all the way, sliding my lips down his shaft till his head hits the back of my throat.
Jack shifts his weight on the seat, and I move to kneel before him. I can't believe I'm doing this. Kneeling in his limo and sucking his cock with his driver up front. This isn't who I am. But then it hits me - this might be who Bryce Fischer is. A dangerous woman. A criminal. Somehow that gives me permission. This isn't me, I think, and take his whole length again in my mouth, pushing down harder as he hits the back of my throat, trying to take more of him.
Jack groans again. "Like that, Bryce. You're so fucking good. Fuck."
I work his shaft harder. Pumping him. Bobbing my head.
"Look at me," he says, voice soft but as hard as steel. "Look at me while you suck my cock."
I raise my eyes, and oh, I love the arousal in his face, the turbulent, stormy gleam in his eyes. I'm pushing him to the edge. I'm giving him what he wants.
"Touch yourself," he whispers.
I let go of his balls and move my hand between my knees. I have to pull my pencil skirt up to my hips. I move my panties aside. They're slick. I slide a finger inside myself, two, and begin to work them in and out of my pussy as I suck him harder.
"Yes," groans Jack. "Now give me your hand."
I slide three fingers inside me, and then lift my hand to him. Eyes locked on his. The tension between us is insane. He takes my hand and slides my fingers into his mouth. Sucks them.
It's as if my taste is too much for him. With a growl he surges forward. I rise to my knees, confused, but he spins me around and shoves me down. My hands hit the carpeted floor of the limo, as does my cheek. I go to rise up, but his hand shoves me back.
"I need you," he says, voice raw. "I need to fuck you right now."
He shoves my skirt up past my waist, and with a tremendous yank tears my panties apart. I cry out, and then he's in me, sliding all the way in, right down to the hilt.
It's too sudden, too shocking. My whole body goes rigid from the excess of pleasure. I dig my nails into the carpet, and he begins to fuck me, hands on my hips, fucking me hard, mercilessly plowing into me.
I push back against him. It feels so damn good. The thought of what's happening pushes me over the edge. I'm being fucked on the floor of his limo. Has he fucked other women here? I can't be the first. But I'm the one he wants now. My body. My cunt. He slaps my ass hard, and the sting blends with the pleasure and I whimper.
My body is nothing in his hands. He controls me, grunting again and again as he rams deep into my canal. There's nothing tender here. Nothing sweet. This is raw animal passion. This is pure physical need.
My body loves it. The pleasure is intense. I know this won't last long, but I don't need it to. Crying out, I push back against him, over and over, and then my orgasm shatters me, and I cry out, not caring about the driver, not caring about anything but the sharp intensity of pleasure that makes me scream.
Jack cries out at the same time, and I feel his cock jerk within me, feel him shoot his load into me again. For an amazing second we both strain against each other, and then the tension goes out of him and he pulls out, sitting back heavily on the seat.
I stay still. Shocked. Panting. My face still pressed to the floor, my ass bare, cum and my own juices running down my inner thighs. My body is shaking. Trembling. What just happened? What have I just done?
I rise to my knees. Jack's looking out the window, tucking himself away. Buckling his belt. I look down. Something doesn't feel right. I go to lower my skirt, and hesitate. Should I pull off my torn panties? And do what with them? Just hold them till he drops me off? Instead I push my skirt down. I don't have anything to clean myself with. I pull my hair back from my face and move up to the seat across from Jack.
He's still looking out the window. Face cold again, distant, as if with his orgasm he's expended his interest in me. I watch him. My body is hot, flushed, but inside I'm feeling cold. He's not even looking at me.
Finally he does. "Where can I drop you off?"
He doesn't even know where I live. He knows nothing about me. Not even my real name. I feel used. Dirty. He fucked me, and now he's done. He's going to drop me off.
I give him my address. I feel numb. Sick, almost.
"Did you catch that, Francesca?"
"Yes, sir."
Oh god. I almost whispered my address, and Francesca heard it. Any pretense I was going to make of the driver being oblivious to what just happened goes out the window. I want to laugh at myself. Francesca's probably used to this. Sees it all the time. How many girls has Jack fucked back here? How many whores has he pressed face-down to the carpet and ravaged from behind?
We sit in stony silence. We're close to my home. Five minutes later we pull up in front of my building. I won't cry in front of him. I won't break down. I just need to get into my apartment. I just need to lock my door. Then I can deal. Then I can start cursing myself and break down.
Jack goes to open the door, but I don't wait for him. I get out, almost stumbling, and begin striding toward my front door.
Jack calls my name. I ignore him. The tears are coming now, making it hard to see. I'm about to unlock the building's front door when I feel him grab my arm.
I tear it free.
"Bryce!" He follows me inside, grabs my arm again. I tear it free one more time, but this time turn to face him. "Bryce? What's wrong?"
"What's wrong?" I can't believe it. He looks genuinely confused. "I can't do this, Jack."
"Do what?"
"I can't keep letting you treat me like this." I wipe the tears away. "Not anymore."
He goes to step in close but I lift my hands, keeping him back.
"What are you talking about?"
"We've fucked three times tonight. And you still treat me like a stranger." I want my voice to be cold, cutting, but I can barely hold back the sobs. "You talk about wanting me, but you don't want me. You just want to fuck me and be done."
His face goes hard. "It's not like that."
"No?" I laugh. "Then tell me what it's like. Explain how fucking me on the floor of your limo then dropping me off like this is different."
"Bryce. This is who I am."
"And who is that, Jack?" I step right in to him, staring up into his face. "Who are you? What kind of man treats a woman like this?"
His expression is torn, and for the first time I see pain flicker across his gorgeous features. "You don't know the first thing about me."
"Then tell me! Show me!" I pound my fists against his chest, and it's like pounding a wall.
He catches my wrists. Holds them firm. "I can't."
I'm breathing wildly. "Why not?"
Again that flicker of pain. "I can't b
ring you into my world. I can't risk hurting you. Breaking you." His voice is pitched low, raw in a way I've only heard when we're fucking. His walls are down. I feel like I'm talking to the real Jack for the first time. "I thought I could. Use you. Take what I wanted. But I can't."
"Bring me in," I whisper. "Show me."
The pain in his eyes is almost too much for me. "You won't like what you see."
"You don't know that."
He lets go of my wrist. Touches my cheek. "You won't like who I am."
"You don't know that," I say again, heart racing.
"If I let you in, I have to trust you. Completely. Absolutely. There's no middle ground. It's either all or nothing."
I can't breathe. I nod. "I understand."
He smiles, a broken smile. "No, you don't. You can't. Not yet."
"Try me," I whisper. "Give me a chance."
I watch him struggle. Watch him fight his desire. Then his pain disappears. He's made up his mind. "All right. Come to my apartment tomorrow evening at eight. Wear something sexy."
And with that, he turns, and is gone. I open my mouth, reach out to him, but the door's already swinging closed. Exhaustion blankets me. I press the base of my palm to my temple. Time to rest. Time to process. Time to recover.
I head upstairs. Let myself into my apartment, and pour myself a tall glass of water. I hold out my hand. It's trembling. I'm suffering from adrenaline fatigue. This has to have been the wildest night of my life. I close my hand into a fist. I've survived, though. I'm in. Jack has agreed to share his secrets. I've made the connection. I'm going to deliver. Though whether I'm going to follow my heart or my career when I learn the truth, I don't know.
Moving to my couch, I set my briefcase down, and then pause. I never had a chance to look at Wilkinson's file. I snap open the briefcase and pull out the folder. I lean back and open it. I flip through the pages, and then stop.
I stare at the photograph. The shock is too much. I can't handle any more, and my mind shuts down. I close the folder and put it in my briefcase. Stand and move to my bedroom, where I strip and crawl under the covers. I curl up into a tight ball and lie there in the pre-dawn gloom, staring at the wall.
Trying to not think of that photograph.
Of Jackie Oleander, Jack's previous dealer. Handcuffed to a vertical bed frame. Blindfolded. Dead. And with a face that could have been my identical twin's. A body that was almost exactly like mine.
My heart pounds. It's too much. I have no idea what I'm getting involved in. No idea how dangerous this is. No idea whether I can trust Jack or not.
Whether he's still a good man.
Or a monster.
JACK
The next day passes slowly. I'm distracted. I go through the motions, giving orders, following up on business contracts, making sure people toe the line.
But my heart's not in it. All I can think of is tonight.
Of Bryce Fischer, coming to my apartment.
Of what I'm going to tell her. Show her.
Do to her.
As eight o'clock draws near I stand by my windows and gaze out over the city. In many ways, it's become my city. I know the forces that drive it. I control some of them. I can affect the others. In the past decade I've become more powerful than I ever imagined. Hoped. Even wished for.
I'm tense with anticipation. I check my wristwatch. Five to eight. I can't wait to see Bryce. Those eyes. They stir me up like nothing else. That mixture of strength and vulnerability. Her naive belief that she's fooling me. I want to break that innocence. I want to protect it.
I pace to my kitchen and pour myself a glass of wine. Drink it slowly, savoring the taste. Eight o'clock.
I glance at the door. Nothing.
Five past eight. I set my glass down. She's late. This displeases me. But even the most dedicated lover must bow to the vagaries of traffic.
I pace back to the window. I feel like a tiger, trapped in a cage. By my suit. My apartment. My identity. My life. I want to tear it all apart. Burn it to the ground. Free myself. Finally tell the truth. Reveal the real me.
I turn to the door. Ten past eight. My displeasure grows.
Silence but for the beating of my heart.
I know she's coming.
Like a moth to the flame, she'll get closer and closer to me till she burns.
And falls.
Eight fifteen.
I stare at the door.
She's not going to show, I realize.
Bitter disappointment floods through me.
She has to show.
I need her.
I want her.
Anger blossoms within me.
I try to control it. I have trouble keeping control when I'm angry. I take a deep breath.
She'll come.
I stare at the door, willing it to open.
Knock, I command. Don't disappoint me. Not like all the others.
<<<<>>>>
End of Book Two. Book Three is available here.