Shayla Black - [Wicked Lovers 01]

by Wicked Ties

  She let out a raw scream as orgasm blasted through her. Her body shuddered as she gripped him, milked him. And the pleasure . . . It spiraled beyond anything she’d ever known, annihilating thought or control, the ability to speak. All she knew was the devastating ecstasy that made black spots dance in her vision, made her body taut, weightless, as Jack hurtled her into the kind of pleasure she had only imagined.

  His husky cry echoed hers as he came in a fevered rush.

  They collapsed together onto the bed. He dislodged the vibe but kept himself buried deep inside her, slowly stroking her skin, as if he wanted to possess her beyond the orgasm. As if he found her not only acceptable, but wonderful.

  As Jack curled around her, his panting breaths falling on her shoulder, Morgan’s body—worse, her heart—leapt in joy at those heady thoughts.

  Chapter Eight

  EYES closed, Morgan rolled over and stretched in the warm, rumpled sheets. Her muscles felt deliciously heavy and relaxed, if a tad sore in some unusual places. But wow, such hard, dreamless slumber had rejuvenated her. She couldn’t remember the last time she had felt this rested. Smiling, despite her lingering drowsiness, she drew in a deep breath. The scents of leather, male musk, midnight, swamp, and sex bombarded her.

  Scents that belonged to Jack.

  The events of the previous night rushed back. Every bit of it. In sudden, excruciating detail. Gasping, Morgan sat straight up in bed, gathering the sheet in her fists. Everything she’d done . . . not just done—reveled in. Lust boomed in her gut and her vagina clenched in fresh hunger as memories besieged her in vivid color.

  Her mind shook with a mix of shock and disbelief. Dismay wasn’t far behind.

  And she was still naked. She, who never slept bare, still lay in the bed of the man who’d instigated her downfall into the most forbidden sin and had found a way to make her pant for it. And now, she lay in his bed like she was waiting for him to do it all again.

  Frowning, Morgan remembered him sleeping beside her last night. No, not beside her; tangled with her. His solid warmth curled around her back, his hand splayed over her abdomen. The steady rhythm of his hard male breathing had drifted into her ear.

  She hadn’t slept well in weeks, not since the problems with her stalker had started in earnest. But even when she felt safe in her relatively secure apartment, she never slept that deeply. Next to Jack, she’d felt cherished, protected—totally able to fall into the black chasm of slumber.

  She’d also felt claimed, especially when he awakened her deep in the night. He positioned her flat on her back and fitted his hips between her wide-spread thighs, gasping at the silken thrust of his cock into her swollen sex.

  Despite being half-asleep, the euphoria of his slow, lazy strokes sent her into a red haze of need. Within minutes, she tried to claw at Jack’s shoulders in silent plea—only to realize he’d tied her down again. And blindfolded her.

  He’d released the ties at her ankles suddenly, she recalled, then shifted her close to the head of the bed. Keeping her wrists tethered, he sat her up and, with a grip of controlled fervor, guided her down on his cock . . .

  “Ride me, cher. Squeeze me with that pretty pussy and ride me,” he whispered in the midnight air.

  With his hands clutching her hips, Jack dictated the speed and depth of his penetration. Never too deep, never too fast. Never enough to do anything but reduce her to a panting, pleading mass of tingles.

  Morgan had whimpered for more. Perspiration dampened her belly, her back, as she strained toward a release he wouldn’t give her. Instead, he merely drove her up, up, up to mindlessness with endlessly slow strokes.

  “Jack . . .” she moaned.

  “Non.” He sat up beneath her, then nipped at the tip of her breast with his teeth, even as one of his hands struck her bare ass.

  The double pleasure-pain ricocheted through her body, spiraling sensations through her like hot lava. She gasped for air as Jack buried himself deep, deep inside her. He thrust up, but still in long, lazy strokes that multiplied the friction, exploded shivers of sensation within her.

  “Wrong,” he chastised, lifting her up, nearly off his cock. “What should you call me?”

  Morgan hesitated, teetering on the knife’s edge of need. Panting, her sex on fire, her bound hands preventing her from touching him, she cried out, “More. Please . . .”

  “You’ll get it when you address me properly.”

  “Sir.” She managed to get the word out of her mouth in a rush. “Sir.”

  Jack rewarded her with a quick upthrust, his cock burrowing deep, filling her completely. Morgan cried out. The hand at her hip inched over until his thumb toyed with her clit. With a moan, she arched into his touch, seeking the edge of the cliff that was nearly in front of her. Almost . . .

  With quick fingers, he untied her hands—and made it clear they would not stay idle. “Play with your nipples, Morgan. Show me how you like to have them touched.”

  She hesitated, apprehension tangling with a jolt of lust. Put her hands on herself while he watched? Oh, God, the idea excited her.

  When she didn’t comply, Jack stopped his slow, steady thrusts. Morgan whimpered.

  “Touch them. Now,” he demanded. “Or I will stop fucking you and spank that pretty little ass red again . . .”

  Morgan didn’t want to think about how much she’d liked his broad palm striking the cheeks of her butt. But she wanted his cock inside her more, as much as she wanted to please him. She brought her hands to her breasts and cupped them, wishing more than anything that she could see his face. Was he aroused by what she was doing? Repulsed?

  “And your nipples. You don’t ignore them when you make yourself come, do you?”

  “No,” she said breathlessly, squeezing them between her thumbs and fingers, then giving a slight twist. “No, sir.”

  A fresh rush of moisture surged from her passage, wetting her already-slick folds. Her body’s gesture didn’t go unnoticed.

  “Yes, cher. I love you wet. You’re so perfect to fuck, like you were made for my cock.”

  Jack lowered her on his erection again and poured into her with a heady, steady rhythm that made her head spin, her body burn. She met him, thrust for thrust, moan for moan, pinching her nipples on each downward stroke until they were so hard, so sensitive.

  “Move your hands,” he murmured against her skin.

  It was almost with reluctance that she released the hard buds of her breasts. Difficult to admit that, but satisfaction was so close, she tasted it on her tongue. She whimpered for it. Her fingers pinching her nipples added to the pleasure Jack swarmed her with.

  She didn’t have to do without the delight for long. He took one of her stiff tips into his mouth, sucking so hard, pressing it against the roof of his mouth while his tongue teased the underside. His fingers tormented the other, putting so much sweet pressure, so much ache, around the sensitive crest that she nearly screamed.

  “You’re tightening on my cock, cher. You don’t come until I tell you to,” he reminded.

  “I can’t stop it, sir,” she murmured, helpless against the rising tide of ecstasy threatening to overtake her.

  “You can. You will. Just as you’ll play with your clit for me.” He lifted one of her hands to his mouth and sucked a finger into the shocking heat. “Lick your finger like this, get it all nice and wet, then stroke it over your clit for me.”

  She wanted to. Oh, God, she wanted to. The mere thought stabbed her with a fresh surge of need. But . . . “It will make me come.”

  He smacked her ass. “Address me properly.”

  Morgan swallowed against her need. “It will make me come, sir.”

  “Not until I say so,” he warned. “Now take that finger into your mouth. Yes. Deep. Suck it. Beautiful, cher. Good.”

  He pistoned her up and down on his cock. Blood rushed in flowing rivers toward their joined bodies, flooding every nerve ending with need, swelling her folds until she felt the slick friction of e
very thrust inside, outside—everywhere. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to focus, but she couldn’t hold back much longer . . . Jack was driving her beyond her ability to endure.

  Yet the last thing she wanted to do was use the safe word to stop him.

  “Squeeze me with your pussy. Yes,” he croaked. “Now put that finger on your clit and show me how you rub it.”

  Seared beyond modesty or shame by the flames of pleasure, Morgan did as he demanded, sliding her palm down her abdomen into the damp nest of her curls and circled her wet finger over her clit.

  “Oh, yes!” She couldn’t hold the sound in. Immediately, she realized that the hood had pulled back from her clit and every drag of her fingertip over the swollen little bud was like fire in her sex, burning down to the passage Jack filled with every thrust.

  “Don’t stop,” he growled. “Show me how you play with your clit.”

  Actually, she couldn’t have stopped for anything. Her saliva mingled with her own juices as she pressed a second finger onto her clit and began the motions she knew would rocket her straight into bliss.

  Still, she strained to hold back her orgasm, waiting for Jack’s approval. Somehow needing it. The pressure grew, mounted. She clenched every muscle, even as she felt compelled to drive herself higher. And Jack . . . He was now pounding into her, a moan punctuating his every stroke. Inside her, she could feel him thickening, swelling. He lengthened his strokes, the crest of his cock hitting her G-spot with every rapid-fire thrust.

  And still Morgan held on, digging her nails into his hip with one hand, stroking the bundle of nerves between her legs with the other. Her thighs tightened around him. She cried out, trying desperately to wait for Jack’s consent to release the gigantic explosion swirling inside her with the bright, shining promise of Nirvana.

  “Jouis pour moi,” he demanded. “Come for me!”

  Jack didn’t even finish his sentence before it crashed over her, granting that dazzling dance with the stars as light and color flashed in her head. The beauty had a dark side, though, as it poured through her, swirling around her, then pulled her under, into a dark morass, like a riptide. It drowned her in violent pleasure, a place where only the white-hot sear of satisfaction lived. A ringing in her ears and a sting in her throat told her, over the roar of her pulsing heartbeat, that she was screaming. Jack’s long groan of satisfaction joined her . . .

  After that, she remembered nothing, just deep dreamless hours of heavenly sleep, cocooned in Jack’s warmth.

  Now the bed was empty, the bedroom door closed.

  And the mere thought of him and their night together left her aching and wet again.

  Morgan buried her face in her hands. God, what had she done?

  Before Jack touched her, she’d worried that after one night with him, she would never be the same again. She’d been right to worry.

  Worse, after arousing her into panting for everything she swore she’d never want, couldn’t want, then satisfying her beyond her every erotic imagining, Jack had merely awakened at some point and left. No, she hadn’t expected undying devotion or confessions of love. Crazy. Jack Cole didn’t seem like the kind of man to bow to something as soft as emotion. The very notion made her laugh. Or would have, had she been in the mood to see the humor.

  As it was, she saw only that she’d given herself—repeatedly—to someone who could turn her inside out, make her into something her mother would be horrified by, Andrew would scorn. A wanton she wasn’t sure she could come to terms with. Then he would leave her.

  It had to end . . . even if that reckless part of her craved more of Jack and the sweet insanity of the pleasure he gave her. Other than one night of sex, they didn’t suit. Earthy, laid-back Jack didn’t fit in her world. And she . . . didn’t belong in his, a world of silken commands that came with velvet bonds and spankings and acts that both horrified and fascinated.

  And why was she even contemplating anything she might share with Jack beyond last night?

  He had challenged her to give herself to him for a night. Fine. She had. It wasn’t going to happen again. Now they just had to divine the identity of this stalker, and she could get back to her life . . . and somehow forget Jack before she lost herself in him.

  On the bright side, when it came time to film the episode of Turn Me On that dealt with domination, she’d be well prepared.

  With a sour smile at her own bad humor, Morgan rose and fished around the room for something to hide her nakedness and ward off the morning’s chill. A huge sweatshirt of Jack’s that hung to mid-thigh and a pair of socks later, she finger-combed her hair to rid it of the worst of the tangles. Damn, she couldn’t even find a pair of underwear. And the rest would have to wait. The way her stomach was rumbling, she needed food.

  With a deep breath, Morgan opened the bedroom door and stepped into the hall.

  The last thing she expected to see was another man standing in the middle of the living/kitchen area.

  Built hard, with obviously Germanic ancestors, the man rose about three inches above Jack, who was no midget himself. Hair the color of rich caramel, cut military short, a square jaw, and shoulders a mile wide all screamed male! But it was the eyes, bright, razor-sharp, deep denim blue . . . slashing over Jack’s shoulder to focus on her with cool assessment—and hot reaction—that startled Morgan.

  This stranger could probably guess that she’d spent the night having sex with Jack. As if her own licentious behavior hadn’t been bad enough, this new realization sent a fresh flush of mortification rising up her cheeks.

  Jack turned to find her frozen in the hall. She probably had that deer-in-the-headlights look, she thought, forcing herself to take a deep breath and meet the stranger’s gaze.

  “Morgan,” Jack called.

  She cut her glance to him. My, he looked yummy in the morning. Just his voice, low, gravelly, with a hint of command, both reassured her and made her wet again. Bad, bad sign.

  Her belly jumped, her cheeks flushing again when she remembered for the second time everything they’d done the night before.

  His dark eyes burned with memories, even as he crossed his arms over his massive chest, jaw tense. His posture did not invite morning-after affection, even if she’d been so inclined. Was this remote man the same one who’d tangled his limbs with hers in a warm embrace of protection during the dark of the night?

  “This is my business partner, Deke Trenton,” he simply said.

  Jack and this newcomer, they might look a bit like day and night, light and dark, but with iron bodies and hard eyes, they were cut from the same military cloth. She shivered. Too much testosterone in one room.

  The big warrior stepped around Jack and extended his hand with a friendly smile that changed his whole face from forbidding to surprisingly approachable.

  Haltingly, she held her hand out to him, and they shook. “Morgan O’Malley.”

  “Jack, you asshole. Hoarding the pretty girls again. I really ought to beat your ass for that.”

  Jack snorted. “Yeah, you try.”

  Deke grinned. “Later. Outside. You, me, and the gators.” He turned to Morgan with a conspiratorial whisper. “Ask me, and I’ll tell you who to place your money on. Better yet, maybe I can convince you to grant the winner a kiss. Then I promise it won’t be any contest.”

  His gentle teasing set her at ease immediately. Despite the awkward situation, she felt herself relax and smile back.

  “I’m not the human equivalent of a poker chip,” Morgan teased with a roll of her eyes.

  “Good girl,” Jack praised. “And if my business partner doesn’t stop messing where he hasn’t been invited, he’s going to find his face one bloody blob—uglier than it already is.”

  Deke laughed and sauntered back toward Jack, slapping him on the shoulder. “You’re so damn subtle, Jack.” He cast another heated look in her direction, gaze lingering on her bare legs and the outline of her unbound breasts through the sweatshirt. “And you’re one lucky bastard.”


  Morgan bit her lip under his appraising gaze, at once discomfited. And shamefully intrigued. Deke looked like something out of a hardcore war film—not at all her type. Neither was Jack, for that matter. But . . . never mind; she wasn’t going there.

  “Did you come here for a reason? Or just to torment me?” Jack shot back acidly.

  Morgan saw through the sarcasm immediately. It was clear he and Deke were great friends. Jack didn’t trust many people, but she’d bet he trusted the big blond guy with his life. At this moment, however, Jack was tense, watchful, even a bit angry. He pretended to take Deke’s teasing well—but he wasn’t.

  “Well, you know I never pass up the opportunity to torment you. Not that I need the practice.”

  “Nope, you’ve got it down to a fine art.”

  “Years of effort.” Deke sighed. “But I did come here for a reason.” He glanced back at Morgan, all business now. “You might want to hear this, too. It’s about your stalker.”

  She sucked in a breath. In all her tangled emotions and the easy banter, she’d lost sight of the murderous lunatic. Silly her.

  “Okay. Um, one minute. I can’t face this without something to eat.”

  “And coffee, I’m sure,” Deke added.

  Morgan made a face. Jack laughed.

  “She doesn’t drink it,” he told Deke.

  He raised a tawny brow. “Is she human?”

  Rolling her eyes, Morgan padded back to the bedroom. If she was going to face the testosterone inquisition, she needed something more than a flap of sweatshirt covering her ass. Once she’d retrieved Jack’s oversized bathrobe, she padded to the bathroom and brushed her teeth and hair.

  When she made her way down the hall again, Jack and Deke both sat at the round kitchen table, cups of strong coffee resting on the smooth pine surface. A piece of toast and a glass of orange juice waited for her.

  She glanced at Jack in surprise. He merely guided her into a chair without comment.

  He’d made dinner last night, and now this? The man who tied her up and told her exactly how to behave in the bedroom so he could send her straight to mindless orgasm did something as menial as cook for her? Like he was taking care of her?