“That’s him, yes. Said he knew your dad, or did some business with him.”
Steam practically spewed from Drake’s ears. “Listen, Rose. If you ever see that asshole lurking around again, don’t let him know you see, and tell me first. He’s a fucking corrupt blackmailer, making up some shit about my father to get me to pay him off.”
Rose’s hand went to her throat. “Oh, God.”
“That’s right. You, too, Jesse. You see that guy—he looks like Don Draper—anywhere around, you notify me first.”
“Aye-aye,” Jesse said obediently.
The men left then, and Rose eventually convinced her two helpers to finish cleaning the kitchen. Taking out her smart phone, she googled and discovered that BLM was the Bureau of Land Management, a federal division of the Department of the Interior. She saw that Burt Macklin was the Field Manager of the Palm Springs office over about thirty people, various technicians and wildlife biologists. What the hell could he be blackmailing Drake over—something to do with his cattle? Burt’s bureau managed land, and Drake had plenty of it. Must be something involving land.
Rose didn’t see Jesse again before she drove back into town. She knew that image of the two men kissing passionately would stay with her—forever, possibly. She couldn’t wait to discuss it with Jesse. What had gone on in his mind when Drake had grabbed him? What had gone on in his balls when the virile, built rancher had dry-humped like an alpha dog? If Jesse was attempting to get into her pants, it was definitely a novel way of wearing down her defenses.
But whose pants was Drake trying to get into?
Chapter Six
Sure, Rose was naked.
Sure, she had a body that could beat any of the models Jesse had ever worked with. In fact, Jesse preferred the meatier Rose to the skeletons he’d posed with. Rose had the more classic Marilyn figure, like Willow Paige, who he’d just finished painting. Willow had only been half-naked, covering her breasts with a chenille throw and looking coquettishly up under long, thick lashes like some sort of latter-day Ann-Margret.
Rose had chosen to go full-on Marilyn, though Jesse would paint her back as she arched it flirtatiously. Right now she posed on a sturdy coffee table he’d covered with a wildly flowered bedspread—he could change the background details later. Jesse was a photorealistic portrait painter, though not in the meticulously detailed Renaissance still life manner—Jesse’s portraits looked better if a viewer took off their glasses and stood back a ways. He was more painterly, and wouldn’t try to polish out all of his brushstrokes. This meant it wouldn’t take him weeks and weeks to complete, and Rose wouldn’t get a crick in her neck.
“Are you comfortable?” Jesse asked. He was getting the preliminary sketching done.
“For now. Jesse, where are you going to go when you’re done decorating Drake’s house?”
Jesse paused with his pencil in midair. Pain actually stabbed his heart because to him this meant Rose had no intention of continuing to know him at any point in the near future. “I hadn’t thought. A couple of his friends already expressed interest in hiring me to do their houses.”
They hadn’t spoken a word about the dinner party. Jesse was hugely conflicted about his feelings about those events. First, it seemed that it was Rose who had come onto him, and he had merely allowed it to happen. Jesse had enjoyed being swept away in her lush proximity, the silkiness of his fingers spearing her hair, the vanilla scent that wafted up from her bosom. He could not be accused of ruining her celibacy streak if she was the one who had initiated it. More than his ego was boosted by Rose’s actions, and who knows what might’ve happened if some moron hadn’t interrupted them.
When Drake had busted in like a Dominant house on fire, he had taken Jesse completely by surprise. He’d had such a wrestling hold on Jesse, Jesse had no choice but to submit. Submit to the fondling, to the kiss, everything, and after a few seconds, it had actually felt good submitting. He’d had many men’s hands on him in his time, and had lost many modeling jobs fending them off, but then again, no one had ever come on so strong. So insistent. So determined. So…Dominant.
That Rose was watching them turned Jesse on, in a perverse, depraved way. Jesse had been forcefully swept into a realm where he had no choice but to submit to Drake, and in a twisted way, this made it all right. Rose had certainly not argued. Maybe she was afraid of pissing off her boss, but Jesse doubted that. Rose didn’t seem the type to bend to a boss’s will. No, Rose must have been enjoying it, maybe as much as Jesse himself.
Jesse had spent much of the past two days pondering on his reaction to Drake’s manhandling of him. Jesse had fended off enough men in his time. He could’ve easily broken that full nelson Drake had had on him. Why had he suddenly reacted so subserviently to Drake? He realized it wasn’t just boredom that had drawn him to explore the Racquet Club. He’d been very aroused at the idea of bondage, at the idea of submission, of having no control over what was happening to him.
There was some admirable quality to Drake’s power. Drake was a skilled Dom, not just someone who blundered his way through. Drake had the power of persuasion. The fact that he was a virile, cultured stud and carved like a turkey only made his power more impressive. Drake smelled like a man, a combination of sweat and musk, and he tasted like a man, and the fact that Drake was mauling another man only added to his virility, if such a thing was possible. Jesse believed Drake that the Goa incident had been an aberration, an accident, and that turned Jesse on even more. Was he one of the only men Drake had ever fondled?
However, Jesse wanted Rose more than ever. “You can relax now.” He put his pencil and pad down and went to the lavish kitchen of his “cottage” to pour two more lemonades.
Rose exhaled. “Ah. Jesse, I never noticed how much I needed a break from work until I took a break from work.”
“Well, this is still work.” Jesse handed Rose her glass and took a seat on the coffee table next to her. “For both of us.”
“May I see the sketch?” Rose made no effort to cover herself up. It was eighty degrees outside, not quite hot enough to turn on the AC—and besides, it was in Jesse’s interests to keep Rose as warm as possible. She didn’t turn toward Jesse, but one of her areolas was revealed, pale, almost the same color as the rest of her breast.
“Of course not.” She’d asked that several times now. Jesse was refusing for no reason other than to irk her—in a teasing, devilish manner, of course. “You know how us artistes are.”
“Naturally. Like those California Cuisine chefs who give you one bite of each dish because it’s such a damned work of art.”
“Rose. About what happened a few nights ago.”
She sighed deeply and looked at the floor. “I was wondering when you were going to bring that up.”
Jesse knew he had to mention it. He wanted it to happen again—with Rose, anyway. “I know you didn’t want any one-night hookup. I was just wondering why you kissed me.”
Rose finally looked at Jesse, her eyes heavy with emotion. “I wanted to.” Her eyelashes flickered, and her shyness excited Jesse. “I wanted to, Jesse. I know you’re not one of those dickwads that left me sitting in a movie theater, or the blind date who e-mailed me a photo of his johnson.”
Jesse guffawed. “It’s safe to say I’d never do that. I don’t know your e-mail address, for one.”
Rose giggled, too. “And I don’t even have a computer. Maybe that’s why.” She became serious again, placing her hand lightly on his chest. “No, I really wanted to, Jesse. You’re sweet, and it sounds strange to say, but innocent. It’s like you haven’t been corrupted by the cold, cruel world, even though you were in that cutthroat modeling business. I can’t picture you doing any of the things that have turned me off about men in the past few years. You’re a gentleman.”
Jesse was buoyed by the things she was saying, but he didn’t want to appear too innocent. He’d get nowhere fast with that. He stroked her face with the back of his hand. “I can be a bit nasty,” he ad
mitted.
“Yes.” Rose’s eyes shined with excitement. “I saw that the other night in Drake’s kitchen. I’ve really, honestly, never witnessed anything so arousing, so…thrilling.”
Jesse’s erect prick was pinned in an uncomfortable position, but he didn’t want to draw attention to it at this crucial moment. “You were aroused by that? I just went with the flow. I really didn’t have any choice.”
“I liked that you didn’t have any choice, Jesse.” Rose faced him now and had scooted so close the tips of her nipples did brush his chest, covered only by a thin T-shirt. “It was exciting that Drake had you so totally in his control. It made me so wet I had to—ah, play with myself several times.”
Jesse threaded the fingers of both hands through her hair at the temples, holding her skull in his hands. “Did it? I’m so glad. I really could’ve fought him off, but I just sort of went with it.” A worry crossed Jesse’s mind. “Is it only when Drake mauls me that you get excited?”
Rose sat straight up, both little fists clutching Jesse’s shirtfront. “Of course not, Jesse! I like you for you. Do I have to spell out every single letter? You’re kind, Jesse. I know no man wants to be known as a nice guy for some reason, but that’s what I want. You don’t run around randomly hurting or using people. You’re not this ambitious sleazebag elbowing everyone else aside just to get ahead. I don’t need Drake busting in and mauling you to get me excited. I was already excited.”
Jesse was dizzy with her compliments. “Was it just the wine talking the other night? I respect your wish to stay celibate, if that’s what you really want.”
Rose looked shy again. “It’s what I did want.”
That was all Jesse needed. He pressed a tender, juicy kiss on her lips, running one hand down her arm to encircle her waist. Now he could get up on his knees, too, in order to loom above her. Drake wasn’t the only domineering top around here. Jesse deepened the kiss to demonstrate his mastery of the situation. He needed to walk a thin line between being “kind” yet overly wimpy, which obviously failed to impress Rose. He dared to cup one of her breasts and thumb the nipple until it stiffened.
This quickened her breath, and she got to her knees on the coffee table, too. She wound her arms around him and embraced him, pressing his torso to hers. Jesse dared to squeeze her, to smash her breasts to his chest while licking the backs of her teeth. His prick was still caught in that uncomfortable position, and now he dared to slide his palm down the front of his pants to straighten it out. He gasped with her lower lip between his teeth when she covered his hand with hers and squeezed. Such a surge of lust shot up the length of his cock at this unexpected pleasure, for a few seconds he thought he might spontaneously come.
Rose was so airy, so soft in his arms. Jesse instantly thought of the Sunset Palomino menu they had perused—what had Rose said? “I haven’t had that particular item in quite a while.” Yes. The Feast at the Y. Jesse boldly slid his hands down over the rise of her bare ass. Were women’s butts always this silky? Parting the cheeks slightly, he dipped one long middle finger into the cleft, skirting her little asshole until he slid over her swollen pussy lips.
She gasped and arched her back to assist him. Jesse parted her like a peach, dipping two fingertips across her slick labia. He knew he was skilled at giving a woman a Hand Relief Party, and with confidence he dove right in, diddling away as though he played a fancy allegro on a keyboard. He heard words of pure corn coming from his mouth, but the words felt right, not schmaltzy. “Rose, you’re beautiful. I want you to feel safe with me. I’m not one of those dipsticks you dated. I want you to trust me.”
“I trust you to make me come,” Rose gasped against his mouth.
Jesse supposed he’d have to be satisfied with that. Rose ground her pubic mound against his hard-on. It was as though she could feel the corona, the mushroom head of it against her mushy clit. She seemed to be angling and rotating it just so to hit the sweet spot she must enjoy the best. Jesse angled his fingertips for this spot, too, but every time she gyrated her pussy against his bursting cockhead, Jesse inched that much closer to an explosive orgasm himself.
That would be the ultimate embarrassment, to come inside his pants, but Rose was working herself up into such a thoroughly sexual lather he didn’t want to lose his momentum. Her adorable little gasps came faster and more furiously, and her eyeballs under the closed lids moved back and forth as though she was watching a ping-pong tournament. She grasped his shirt so tightly he heard a rip, but he kept diligently fingering away, her juices dripping over his wrist.
She started a mewling so high-pitched it sounded like newborn chicks. Jesse could barely make out her prayer. “Oh—God—oh—God—oh—God!”
The very last few syllables were so high only a dog could’ve heard, and that’s when Jesse knew he had her. He didn’t dare breathe, and she seemed to hold her breath, too.
She clutched at him with steel claws. She crunched her arms around his shoulders so tightly it hurt, and he could tell by the jiggling of her pelvis she was climaxing.
“That’s it,” he encouraged her, breathing steamy words into her ear. “Come for me, my sweet honey. Come all over me, Rose. Keep it up. Keep going.”
He knew she had reached the crescendo when she started panting with a loud gasp then chugged along like a steam train. She didn’t release her stranglehold around his neck, and he held her up off the wobbling coffee table like a hung over man with a medicine ball.
Jesse was bursting with pride. He’d done it. He’d persuaded the abstinent woman to surrender to him, not only sexually but emotionally as well. After this, she couldn’t pretend they were just friends. And she wasn’t shallow enough to make a light, casual hookup of it. Jesse’s heart flooded with a sudden gusher of love for Rose Britton. He literally felt a pain in his chest as he held Rose with one arm and diddled her with the other. Her vulnerability at that moment put him in control, like Drake Stinson had been in the kitchen the other night. Jesse liked this temporary sense of power. The dear woman who smelled of vanilla whimpered in his very hands, and Jesse was pumped with potency and supremacy.
For one moment. Until the cottage’s front door burst open, and once again, for the second time in a week, Drake Stinson stormed in.
Chapter Seven
Jesse had asked Drake to come to his cottage at exactly one o’clock and bring the toy Drake had mentioned at the dinner party. Why, then, when Drake squinted through the vertical blinds, did he spy Jesse fingering the bombshell on top of his Steve Reiner original desk?
Drake was shocked and angered that Jesse had started without him. Jesse had specified that at one o’clock they’d be done with their sitting for the painting, and that might be a good time to bring the celibate woman the toy Drake had described as “better riding than a mechanical bull.” Jesse had seemed intrigued, but in no way had he indicated he had any hopes he’d be fingering the suppressed sex kitten into an orgasmic frenzy. Drake nearly dropped the Sybian saddle, yet his cock hardened to see her clutching at Jesse’s shoulders, her mouth a perfect O of ecstatic silence.
Drake loved being a voyeur like the next guy, although of course he preferred to be the exhibitionist. He admired Jesse’s technique in his handling of the inexperienced, sensitive woman. And now, with his current phase or kick of heteroflexibility, he admired the muscular breadth of Jesse’s shoulders as he stroked the woman. Of course, having been a model, Jesse had probably worked out every day. Drake could invite him to use his home gym.
But it was too coincidental that Jesse had told Drake to come exactly at one. Was Jesse baiting him? Was Jesse hoping for a repeat of the kitchen experience? Was Jesse hoping Drake would catch them fooling around again and get his Irish up?
Well, luckily Drake had come prepared. Handing Rose the Sybian saddle wasn’t the only thing on his agenda.
So he burst into the door without warning, once he was certain he wouldn’t ruin the peak of Rose’s orgasm. He strode forward, tossing the Sybian onto
a tangerine-colored couch, while Rose quivered and trembled in Jesse’s arms. “You’re at it again,” Drake accused. He grabbed Rose by the elbows, yanking her off the coffee table and onto one of the fruity couches. Her tits bounced and she looked like a realistic blowup doll, her mouth still shaped into an O. “I thought you were so damned virginal.”
“I…”
“You have no damned excuse. Face it.” It was Jesse that Drake had to deal with first. With one long arm around the decorator’s waist, Drake drew him up and nearly into a kiss. But when their mouths were inches apart, Drake commanded, “Strip.”
Jesse sneered. Maybe he liked to play the innocent, the fighter, the victim. “Why do I have to? I’m not your plaything, here to do your bidding.”
This truly angered Drake, and he was glad. The scene always went more smoothly when he was truly pissed off. Whipping Jesse by one wrist, he slammed him back against a black lacquered sideboard. A few clear booze bottles teetered and one fell to the shag carpet, and Jesse looked truly stunned. Drake easily tore his T-shirt off in one clean sweep, and in a flash had the flat polyester tape twined expertly between Jesse’s wrists, holding them above his head.
Drake panted not only with the effort, but with the rush of lust that went through him at dominating such a muscular, beautiful man. It was one thing to boss women around, but another man, maybe ten years younger than him, was a new, exciting prospect. Drake’s cock was up like a hammer as he intertwined the flat tape through some cast iron candle holders bolted to the wall above Jesse’s head. Jesse looked angelic all strung up like this, the crotch of his jeans packed nicely with his plump erection, his brown nipples making Drake’s mouth water.
Jesse seemed truly concerned. His struggling seemed more than nominal. Although he could rest his butt on the narrow sideboard, he was truly and well bound. “Why are you doing this?” Jesse demanded. “I just asked you to bring Rose that vintage toy you said you discovered.”
The Subject Was Rose [The Sunset Palomino Ranch 2] (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting) Page 6