by A Parker
And I only got wetter.
“You’re a bad girl,” he growled.
For him? I could be any sort of girl he wanted.
Jackson twisted the door handle with his free hand and marched me forward. His other hand remained in my pants, and it was a bit of a struggle to make it to the bed. He threw me down onto my back and told me to stay while he went back to close and lock the door. As he came back to me, he pulled off his shirt, grabbed a condom out of his jeans, and stripped out of the rest of his clothes.
His body still bore bruises and burns from the other night. It would be some time before they disappeared entirely, but they looked better than they had just days ago. The gash in his eyebrow had closed nicely and the stitches would soon begin to dissolve. He no longer walked favoring his right side, and he didn’t have to wear bandages all the way around his hands anymore. His knuckles were still fiery red, but the blisters had already begun to heal, and he kept them covered.
Jackson ripped my pants off while I struggled on my stomach with my hands tied behind my back.
The whole T-shirt around my wrists thing seemed more cumbersome than sexy, but when I told him that, Jackson just laughed as he rolled on the condom.
“I’m not falling for your tricks. It stays on.”
Pouting, I tried another tactic. “But it’s hurting me.”
“Bullshit.”
Damn it.
Jackson knelt on the bed behind me. As promised, the bed did not squeak. He slapped my ass so hard it stung, and I buried my face in the blankets to stop from yelping too loud. He leaned over me, seized a fistful of my hair, and pulled my face up out of the blankets.
“Are you going to be a good girl?” he asked.
I smiled. “Depends.”
“Wrong answer.” He slapped my ass again.
I bucked and tried to wriggle away from him, but he trapped my hips between his thighs and straddled me. His cock fell between my ass cheeks and he rocked forward, teasing me. Then he pushed his hands down on my ass cheeks, spreading them apart, while he ran his cock up and down until he dipped between my thighs.
I lifted my hips from the bed until he slid into me.
“Yes,” I moaned.
Jackson took hold of the T-shirt around my wrists and pinned them to the middle of my back. Pressure built in my shoulders but I didn’t care. I strained against his weight as he pushed in deeper, filling me up until I didn’t think I could take any more of him.
But I would. I’d take all of him. Every inch, every kiss, every battle, every failure, every win, every single damn thing that he was, I wanted.
I could carry it. I could hold it inside me and carry it for him, too. On the days that were too heavy to go on, I could be the one to lighten his burden.
“More,” I breathed.
Jackson gave me everything. I cried out into the blankets and he leaned over me to kiss my neck and across my shoulders. His kisses were sweet, and his hips were furious. I cried out again as the pressure built inside me. Soon I couldn’t contain it, so I let it go, and everything broke free.
Jackson bowed his head and fucked me deeper and harder. We both fought to catch our breath and failed. He flipped me over and took me on my back, and when I came again, he brought me to my knees and took me from behind.
Finally, he tore the T-shirt from my wrists and let me hold him while we both finished together.
When we were done, our bodies were slick with sweat, but our hearts were lighter.
I nuzzled in close to him and listened to his heartbeat. “The T-shirt was a nice touch.”
His laughter rumbled beneath my ear, and I smiled, and for just this moment, I let myself believe that danger didn’t lurk in our future together.
Epilogue
Jackson
One Week Later
Walter Bates had been suspiciously quiet for over a week, but I wasn’t a fool.
Just because he was hibernating didn’t mean he was done with us.
Far from it.
Bates was simply taking advantage of this time to regroup. To plot. To scheme.
And so were we.
I’d been meeting with the MC every day and discussing how we wanted to proceed. Hogey and his men were still an option on the table, but we had to play things safer than before. The police had their eyes on us because of the fire, and the last thing we wanted was to poke that bear. They’d be looking for any reason to pull us over, write us tickets, or lock us up. We had no way of knowing which officers belonged to Bates and which were doing their jobs for the right reasons. So for the moment, lying low seemed to be the best plan.
And Hogey Hughes would not help us with that because he stuck out like a sore thumb. If you didn’t see his bare ass coming on his motorcycle, you’d smell him from a mile away.
We’d decided to send him back to his storage lockers under the premise that we would contact him when we were ready to move. He’d seemed more than happy with that arrangement, which suggested he’d been more fearful about taking Bates on than he showed.
I couldn’t blame him. I’d learned firsthand just what kind of foe Bates was—the evil kind.
He didn’t care who got caught in the crosshairs. Hell, he’d throw people into the crosshairs if he thought it would get him closer to what he wanted, just like he’d done with Sam. Her life meant nothing to him. She was worth sacrificing if it meant he had the chance to eliminate what threatened his enterprise.
Me.
Too bad he’d failed.
But today wasn’t about Walter Bates or his pack of Wolverines.
Today was all about Samantha.
It had been eleven days since the fire, and she still had yet to set foot on the property. She couldn’t even bring herself to drive by it.
Unfortunately, she couldn’t avoid it forever, and I’d finally convinced her to hop on the back of my bike and take a ride down there with me this afternoon to make her peace with what happened so she could move on.
Her arms wrapped around my waist reminded me what I had, and what I had was worth fighting for.
We pulled into the gravel lot and her grip on me tightened. I stopped near the lawn, and she got off first. She took off her helmet, shook out her black hair, and stared with longing eyes at the pile of charred rubble.
I got off the bike and moved up beside her to put a hand on her back.
She sighed. “It’s so ugly.”
“It’s a clean slate.”
“It’s a mess,” she said, turning her glistening eyes to me. “I don’t think I can look at this, Jack.”
All along the front of the rubble were collections of gifts from locals who’d come out to show their support for Samantha and her business. There were bouquets of flowers as well as framed pictures of friends and families having dinners at the bar. I was certain her father would be in several of those pictures.
“Come on,” I encouraged. “Let’s take a closer look.”
She resisted but let me take her hand.
“Sam, you can’t avoid this forever. It will hurt to face it, but it will hurt more to bury it and never get closer. Trust me. You can do this.”
Finally, she moved toward the rubble with me.
As soon as she saw the pictures she started to cry, but she smiled too as she crouched and picked them up, looking at them one at a time and telling me all about the people in each shot.
“This was my father’s forty-fourth birthday,” she said as she ran her thumb over his smiling face in the picture. He stood in front of the giant stone fireplace in the bar and wore a blue sash that said “birthday bitch” on it.
I chuckled. “What’s with the sash?”
“His sister bought it for him at the Dollar Store but didn’t realize it was for a woman.”
I laughed. “Sounds right. Ritch probably loved it.”
“My dad, loving attention? You got that right.” She smiled as she remembered him and put the picture back down. “I can’t believe people did this. I
t’s so thoughtful.”
“It wasn’t just your home, Sam. Other people have memories here, too. Good ones. Speaking of which, I want to show you something.” I pulled a folded-up piece of paper from the back pocket of my jeans and spread it open.
Sam got to her feet and tucked her hair behind her ears as she peered down at the large piece of paper. “Are these blueprints?”
I nodded. “Sure are.”
“Of what?”
“Of your new bar.”
“What?” Sam stepped back. “What do you mean?”
“I’ve talked with the MC, and we all want to help you rebuild. Now before you go ahead and tell me that’s too much or you can’t have us do that for you,” I said sternly as she opened her mouth to interrupt me, “we have conditions, and I want you to know right now that this isn’t only about you. Got it?”
She gave me a sly smile. “Continue.”
“First, it would send a perfect ‘go fuck yourself’ message to Bates if we rebuild.”
She nodded. “Agreed.”
“Second, we can’t let him take such a staple business from the people who live here. The Well has stood in this spot for decades and it is as much a part of this town as your father was. We won’t let Bates be the reason we lose that.”
Her eyes watered and tears fell. “I’m listening.”
“Lastly, we want to use it as our clubhouse.”
“Clubhouse?”
“You’ll receive club funding, of course,” I said, “and we’d have to rename the bar, but I think it’s a good option. It will give us more presence in town. Our meetings won’t be held in secret. Your regulars and half the damn town will know where we operate out of. If people need our help, they’ll know where to find us.”
“Won’t that just paint a big target on the bar again?”
“I highly doubt Bates would try to destroy it twice. He might have the law in his pocket, but two events targeting the same place? He’d get too much heat for it to be worth the risk.”
Sam pursed her lips. “I like everything you’re saying except one thing. I don’t want to rename it. My dad named this place. The Well has been the Well since, well, the beginning.” She shook her head at herself. “I know that doesn’t make sense. It’s just sentimental. It wouldn’t feel right to take that name away. It’s… it’s all I have left of him now.”
I’d had a name with more of an edge to it in the back of my mind, but perhaps I could save it for something else. Sam was right, after all. This was her father’s legacy. “I won’t take that away from you. The Well it is,” I said.
Sam’s eyes danced with tears and her bottom lip started to tremble. “Just like that? I thought you’d fight me on it.”
“Did I say the wrong thing?” I asked.
She shook her head furiously before throwing her arms around my neck. “No, you said the perfect thing.
I held her fiercely until she let go first, and I fanned the blueprints out for her again to see.
I explained how we could build around the stone fireplace, just like her father had. We’d keep it the main feature and we’d bring back all the staples the bar had, but we’d make some improvements, too. I told her there was plenty of room for her input, and nothing would be done without her approval. At the end of the day this was still her business. We might be fronting her the cash, but she’d be running the show.
I could never take this place away from her.
Sam took the blueprints from me and turned them over to see the sketch we’d done up of what the bar might look like from the outside. She grinned, turned the paper right-side up, and held it out in front of her as if she could visualize the bar standing right there.
“I think this will do just fine,” she said.
“We did good?”
“You did better than good.” She rolled the paper up and pulled me into her for an assault of kisses. “I am so in love with you, you crazy, motorcycle-riding hellion. You are going to be so spoiled tonight when I get you into bed.”
I gave her ass a squeeze. “Now look who’s saying all the right things.”
She threw her head back and laughed, and I marveled at the way the sun painted her skin bronze. She seemed to glow right there in my arms, and I knew I was holding the most precious thing that would ever come into my life.
I knew I didn’t deserve a woman like her. I’d spilled too much blood in my life to be worthy of someone who was good to her core. But I’d fight like hell to be her man because fighting was what I did best.
And the war wasn’t over.
Not even close.
***
Want more?
Check out My Last Love Affair!
Get Married. Have a child.
These are the only two rules to get my inheritance.
Neither of which I want. My billionaire life doesn’t play well with either idea.
But no one asked me. My father’s company is up for grabs, and whichever of my brothers makes it to the finish line first wins.
In no time, I’ve found the perfect woman to play my fake fiancée while I figure things out.
Beautiful. Smart. Strong.
Everything I crave in a relationship and more.
But there’s a problem. She’s got a past I can’t ignore.
Not with just anyone.
With my younger brother.
To top it all off, she gets pregnant.
And the one person she doesn’t tell?
Me.
Get your copy HERE!
Insider Group
Well hello again! Thank you so much for grabbing one of my books. I sure hope you loved it.
I’d hate to part ways now that you are through the book. How about we stay in touch? We have a great family of readers on my Insiders Newsletter Group that you just can’t miss out on.
We do exclusive giveaways, facebook parties, Christmas cards, event invites, and sneak previews for this amazing group.
And as a HUGE thank you for joining,
you’ll receive a free book on me!
Join the fam Here!
About the Author
Ali Parker is a full-time contemporary and new adult romance writer with more than a hundred and twenty books behind her. She loves coffee, watching a great movie and hanging out with her hubs. By hanging out, she means making out. The man is hot. Hello.
She’s a creative at heart and loves coming up with more ideas than any one person should be allowed to access. She lives in Tennessee with her hubs, teenage son, two grown daughters and two love-of-her-life grand babies! Telling a good story that revives hope, reminds us of love and gives a vacation from life is all she’s up to.
Questions, comments or concerns? You can always email her at [email protected].
Let’s connect…
Website ~ Insider’s Group ~ Facebook
Instagram ~ The Parker’s Playground
Black Jack
Copyright © 2021 by Ali Parker and A Parker
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
The novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and plot are all either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons – living or dead – is purely coincidental.
First Edition.
Editor: Eric Martinez
Cover Designer: Ryn Katryn Digital Art
-inline-share-buttons">share