by Kira Bloom
“You’re a dick,” I say, but it doesn’t sound very menacing or convincing.
Running his tongue over his straight white teeth, he spreads my thighs apart to stroke my clit. “I’m a dick, huh?” he teases.
“Yes,” I moan.
He slaps my ass so hard I jerk forward and bang the top of my head against the white headboard. Stunned, I look back at him, so he does it again. “Close your mouth, Flick, or I’ll give you something to open it for.”
My green eyes lower to the massive bulge in his black pants, and my throat goes dry at the thought of it going into my mouth—and in my pussy. Ripping my gaze from his body, I face the headboard so he won’t see my flush.
“I could do this all night,” he says, flexing his fingertips around my clit. “I could tongue and finger-fuck you all night because I already love feeling you come.”
“I bet you do.” It sounds like a hiss and a moan, which only gives him more reason to chuckle. I have a million and one reasons to loathe him right now, but it’s hard to think of anything other than the sweet waves already rippling through my body as his hand spreads my folds to palm the opening of my sex.
“I meant what I said about this too,” he says softly. Before I have a chance to ask what he means, I feel his mouth on my ass cheek again. Like my neck, he draws the flesh between his teeth, only this time he sucks hard enough to leave a mark. I squirm against him, out of my mind with desire because two of his fingers are back inside my body. It’s a new sensation—it makes me feel deliciously full and on fire—and the fact I’m getting wetter by the second makes his speed increase.
“Jackson…” I moan when I feel a sharp tug in the pit of my stomach. “Oh god, Jackson.”
“You’re tight and soaked and this is just two of my fingers. Imagine how good this will feel when it’s my dick filling your sweet little cunt,” he rasps, nips at his love bite on my skin, then continues, “How the fuck a woman like you is still untouched, I’ll never know.”
I try to respond to him—really, I do—but an orgasm zings through me, chattering my teeth and turning my words useless. His fingers continue to plunge into me, spreading me apart to give and take, long after I’ve collapsed facedown. The firm pillows beneath me absorb my cries and my half-assed attempt to say his name. They don’t stop my hearing, though. And when I hear him growl, “I’m fucking lucky, Little Flick. So lucky,” the quivers start again.
Early the next morning, Jackson insists on personally taking me home. My legs are unsteady, more flimsy than rubber, as he guides me to the parking garage to a sexy white Jaguar coupe—the same car I’ve seen in all those Jaguar villain commercials. He’s not British, but he’s sure as hell villainous for not letting me get a wink of sleep, and my stomach flutters when he opens my door for me.
“This suits you,” I murmur. “The car, I mean.”
The corner of his mouth slinks up in a smirk before he lowers his lips to my ear. “I like to go fast and hard.”
Desire pools in my core but I ignore it to bob my head. While he had kept his word about not taking my virginity, he had made me come repeatedly last night. Before dinner, after dinner—it had all started to blur into a fuzzy, delicious haze that left me hating my hips for every gyration against his mouth and loathing my clit for throbbing beneath his fingertips. Yeah, I’ve gotten off before, but no vibrating clit toy or my own hand ever made me claw at the sheets and shriek for more.
Jackson Cade should be my enemy.
Yet sitting beside him, he’s my greatest source of confusion.
I give him the address to the coffee shop his driver picked me up from last night, but he rolls his eyes and drives right past it. My breath catches a few minutes later when he pulls up to the curb in front of my apartment. I twist slowly, my eyes big.
“What?” he drawls.
“You know where I live.”
His eyebrows shoot up over his beautiful turquoise eyes. “I know your favorite color is yellow, that you’re majoring in business, that your ex couldn’t give you what you need even if he had a five-hundred-page manual and a bucket of lube in front of him, that—”
“That’s enough,” I say hotly, crossing my arms over my chest. God, why are my nipples hard just listening to him say nasty things? “You’re a creep, Mr. Cade.”
He hauls me to him by the neckline of my dress. “You’re mine, Flick. You belong to me, so naturally, I wanted to know everything there was to know about you.” Our breaths mingle together—mine shallow and his long and labored. He kisses me softly, but the sense of urgency is there as his tongue parts my lips. My brain is jelly long after he pulls back. “I want to see you again. Soon. I’ll be in touch.”
“When?” I demand when he helps me out of the car. Mrs. O’Malley, the cat lady who lives on our hall, wanders out the building to get her usual morning coffee. She spots Jackson’s hand snake around to grip my ass and does a double take.
“Care to watch?” Jackson teases, challenging her gaze with a playful grin.
She shakes her head swiftly and scurries off. Dropping his stare to mine, he chuckles at the sour look on my face. “She’s going to think I’m an escort.”
“Or that you’re a very lucky little girl.” He jiggles my ass, groaning when my body acts on its own accord and arches into him. “You’re playing with fire, Flick. I suggest you go upstairs now before you find yourself bent over the hood of this car with ten inches of cock inside of you.”
“Ten inches. Inside of me,” I repeat in a detached voice, my breath diminishing with every word. Good god, is that even feasible? Playfully, he pecks my forehead and releases me toward the door to my building with another firm swat on the ass. Beneath my dress, it’s bare, because he swore up and down he couldn’t locate the white panties I wore last night.
I’ve got a feeling they’ll end up in some kinky drawer—panties of past conquests.
“I’ll be in touch soon, Little Flick.” When I glance back, he’s leaned against the passenger side of the Jaguar with his lips curved knowingly. “That is, if you don’t call me first.”
“Don’t count on it,” I retort, then duck into my building so he won’t see how badly I’m shaking.
6
Felicity
“Tell me everything,” Wendy squeals the moment I walk in our apartment. She’s on the couch with her knees drawn to her chest. “But keep it quiet, Erik’s asleep in the next room and you know how he likes to give Justin updates on how you’re doing.”
Exhausted, I fall into the arm chair and shut my eyes. Normally, I would offer her some sort of snarky remark about Erik spending the night—he and my ex are close friends and Erik is just as big of a douche canoe as Justin—but I don’t have it in me this morning. My body is sore and weak, and all I want is a few hours of sleep before I go in for my shift at York’s this afternoon.
“Was he—I don’t know—okay-looking at least?” Wendy demands.
If okay-looking equates to having the appearance of a Greek god. Jackson Cade is sinfully gorgeous, from his wicked smirk to his large hands and toned body. Cracking open an eye, I tell my friend, “He was very good-looking.”
She presses her hands to her mouth and squeals. “Then he must have had a really small—”
“No.” In the back of my mind, I hear the words “ten inches” playing on repeat. “I mean, we didn’t actually get down to the act last night, but it’s not small. I felt it.”
“How do you know he doesn’t have one of those dick extenders they use in porn and—” As if she’s just now understanding the rest of what I said, her brown eyes bulge.
“He didn’t sleep with you?” I shake my head. “Holy shit. Not even the tip?”
“I agreed to spend the month with him, remember?” She bobs her head, and I sigh. “He wants to take it slow. He wants me to be the one to beg for it.”
She wrinkles her nose. “Oh, he sounds like a dick.”
“You have no idea.” At her confusion, I droop my shoulder
s and confess everything. I hadn’t planned to tell her that Conquer&Please is Jackson Cade, but Wendy is my best friend—even if she did get me into this mess. If I can’t talk about this to someone, my head will explode. After I’m done, she spreads her fingers by the sides of her face, indicating that I’ve just blown her mind. “Yeah, mine too.”
“Only a filthy rich bastard would pay someone who owed them so much money,” she muses aloud. Before she has a chance to say anything else, though, Erik paces into the kitchen, an ill-fitting towel around his waist. I fight the urge to gag when I get a glimpse of his naked ass as he bends to fish something out of the refrigerator. “Babe, Flick’s here. Put on some fucking pants.”
He turns around and drinks orange juice right from the bottle. The dick. “Sorry, Flick,” he says with a sheepish grin.
“About tainting our juice or blinding me with hairy crack and balls?” I ask sweetly, gathering my purse and heading toward the hallway. “Apology accepted, though.”
“Speaking of apologies, Justin—” Erik begins, but I shake my head.
“Tell him no. I’m not interested in hooking up. Or seeing him again.”
Usually, when Erik brings up my ex, I spend hours lying awake, thinking about the man. Though I’m overjoyed Justin showed his true colors before I made a mistake, it still hurts. While he was promising to wait for me, swearing that he was patient because he wanted it to be special, he was off pounding any woman who smiled in his direction.
Today, though, my thoughts of my ex stop quicker than they began and I go to sleep with Jackson Cade on my mind instead.
When I wake up just in time to shower and get dressed for work, I’m wet yet again.
I rub my clit vigorously in the shower, letting the piping hot water swallow my quiet moans, but it does nothing for me. My fingers aren’t his fingers. My release isn’t inspired by his smirk and dirty-talking mouth. And when I come, I don’t feel the least bit satisfied.
Jackson doesn’t reach out to me for the next two days. I’m starting to think he forgot about our deal—and the disappointment leaves me confused—but then he makes his grand re-entry into my life.
At my job.
It’s fifteen minutes before the lunch rush begins, and I’m sitting at a table with Brooke when the bell on the door rattles. Brooke’s in the middle of telling me how relieved she is that Casey will be starting kindergarten in the fall because it will reduce her daycare costs when her mouth drops open.
“You know when I said I was swearing off men?” she asks, leaning forward and waggling her eyebrows. “I’m about five seconds from breaking that promise. Wow.”
Twisting around in my seat, I look back and my heart springs into my windpipe when I spot Jackson in the doorway. Oh, god, why does he have to be so gorgeous? With his black hair neatly combed and a dark blue business suit that hugs his tall, muscular frame in the best ways imaginable, he looks out of place in our tiny restaurant that smells like fry oil and grilled beef. My body’s reaction to him is powerful. Under my red apron and my snug white tank top, my nipples instantly harden and my sex…
My sex feels like his hands are already stroking me, urging me to come and to do it fast.
Brooke starts to clamber out of the booth, but I close my hand around her wrist and shoot her a look that’s probably darker than I intend. “I’ll grab this one,” I rasp. A grin splits her face, but I rush to shoot down her accusations—even if they are right. “He’s one of the men who invested in this place when my father opened it.”
He would have been twenty-one then. Plenty old enough for Brooke to buy my fib, right?
“Ah, I see.” Tilting her head curiously to one side, she gestures her hand toward him as he takes a seat close to the front door. “He’s all yours, then.”
Walking toward him, I tug at the hem of my tank top and force myself to take even breaths. It doesn’t really help, because the second I’m standing before him with my pen and pad in hand, my heartrate accelerates. “Welcome to York’s,” I say politely. “What can I get for you today?”
He shifts the salt shaker between his large hands. “So professional this afternoon, aren’t we?” he murmurs.
“I am at work. What can I get you to eat?”
I’m struck by the look in his eyes as he tilts his head back to look into mine. Jackson’s stare smolders, grasping me by my very core. “You know what I want to eat, Little Flick, and it’s not anything on this menu.” As if to prove his point, he raps his long fingers against the menu in front of him. “Sit.”
The bell on the door jangles again and a couple of our regular customers wander in. Helplessly, I glance behind me then back to him. “I’ve got other customers, Mr. Cade, I—”
“The blonde can handle them,” he says, nodding toward Brooke who’s already at their table wearing a flirtatious smile that’s bound to snag her a big tip. “And I’m a paying customer too. Sit.”
I don’t know whether he’s referring to paying to take my virginity or ordering food, but I slide into the booth across from him, grateful to rest my ass on a seat before my legs give out on me. The man is so nauseatingly desirable that he turns my knees to jelly with just a glance in my direction. “You know, I figured that getting in touch meant you’d give me a call.”
“And I expected you to call.” He slides the salt shaker back in place beside the ketchup and shrugs. “Guess we both assumed wrong.”
“I can’t take off to go with you … if that’s why you’re here.” Puffing out an anxious breath, I work my finger beneath the hair band on my wrist. He stops me, drawing my hand in his. Before Jackson, I’d never felt a jolt of pure energy from anyone’s touch, but now it’s palpable. It zings through my skin, warming every inch of my body. My fingers tense in his, so I look away when I tell him, “My dad’s not here this afternoon, so I’m covering for him while he’s out running errands.”
“Have you told him what you did for him yet?” he asks.
I gawk at him. Blinking several times, I shake my head. “How do you suggest I do that?”
“Oh, I don’t know.” He releases my hand and links his long fingers together behind his head. My fingers twitch from need. Need to feel his touch again. Need to wind my fingers through his dark hair just to tousle it like it was that first afternoon in his office and just the other night. I place my hands in my lap. “Maybe, ‘Hey, Dad. Remember that grimy motherfucker you’re in debt to? We’ve come together to figure out a way to help you out of this mess.’”
He says the word “come” so suggestively, I grip my thighs for support. “Grimy motherfucker,” I repeat. “Remember, those are your words, not mine.”
“The best kind of grime,” he drawls as the bell rings again. Ripping his gaze from mine, he flicks his turquoise eyes toward the door and curls his lips in distaste at the rowdy tourists stumbling in. Before I can point out I need to get to work, he says, “I’ll have whatever you suggest and a water.”
I sidle out of the booth, but he stops me before I can dart away. He slips a hand under my apron, his fingers plumping my sex through my jeans. My body rigid, I press my palm to the table but don’t meet what I can only guess is a grin that’s wicked enough to charm the devil. “I’ll have that out to you right away,” I pant.
“You do that, sweet.”
I drop the order by the kitchen and take a few seconds to compose myself in the hallway. When Brooke scoots past me, she fans her face. “He’s hot, Flick. Perfection. Do you think he’s—”
“I think he’s seeing someone.” I don’t expect to feel jealous at her innocent question, but it slices through me like a sharp blade. “Some uppity model.”
“Shame,” the blonde says with a frown, peeking around the corner to glance at the back of his head. “I’d climb all over that.”
“No men rule,” I point out, and she rolls her eyes.
“Yeah? Well, for some men you make an exception.” She bites her lips, gives him one last look, then jabs her finger over her shoul
der. “Do you mind covering the frat pack on table three? I’ve got to pee and they’re over there practically beating their fists on the table for service.”
“Got it.” I turn the corner, and the hair at the nape of my neck stands on end because I can feel Jackson’s gaze following the swish of my hips. I’m winded as I greet my customers—three college-aged guys all wearing raunchy shirts about getting drunk and high. “Hey guys, what are you having?”
“That depends,” the blond closest to me says in a thick southern drawl, leering as he roams his eyes over my body. “I tip real good, sweetheart.”
“I’ll remember that when I bring your check.” Casting a frosty smile around the table, I drum my pen on the top of my order book. “So what can I get you off the menu?”
They all order the Aloha Supreme—a popular burger with pineapple and teriyaki sauce that my mom came up with during my freshman year of high school. Before I take their order to Ziggy, the blond guy shifts his knee out to stop me and rests his hand on my ass. “Jesus, girl, you’re hiding everything under that apron.”
My nostrils flaring, I start to softly tell him we won’t serve their party if he can’t keep his hands to himself, but hard footsteps stalk toward the table. I flinch when the voice that’s haunted my filthiest dreams over the last several days angrily demands. “Is there a problem?”
I swallow hard, shaking my head at the man towering over my tiny frame and the guys at the table, but Jackson ignores my pleading look. He clenches his jaw and leans his face close to the man who’d grabbed my ass. “Why the fuck do you think it’s acceptable to touch her?”
“I—” the other man starts, but he can’t even finish the sentence because Jackson grabs his hand, squeezing hard. The blond wheezes and stutters, and when Jackson shoves him backward, he clutches red fingers to his chest.