by Wicked Ties
“And you may think we’re done,” Jack went on, advancing closer, closer, larger and more insistent with every step. “Think again. I don’t want to lose you to this stalker; that’s a given. But I don’t want to lose you. Period.”
Morgan rolled her eyes. “Lose me, how? As a . . . little fuck toy. That’s all I am to you. You enjoyed every minute of tearing away all my misconceptions about myself. Congratulations for convincing me I’m submissive. Now get the hell out of my life.” She whirled away.
Jack snagged her around the waist and hauled her back against his chest. It didn’t take more than a second to feel the steel-inspired cock prodding the small of her back. The knowledge shouldn’t matter, shouldn’t make her sex clench with need, shouldn’t make her ache to latch onto him, to surrender everything to him.
Shouldn’ts weren’t her reality. Morgan did want him, with a desperate craving that made her body tight and achy, a condition she feared only he could ease.
“A fuck toy?” he growled in her ear. “No. A fuck toy I could have put back in a box and forgotten. I could have sent one of those away without another thought. A fuck toy wouldn’t have me hard every time I hear your voice, or worried when I see you cry. Or feeling ready to hand you my heart on a platter every time you do nothing more than fucking smile.”
Morgan’s breath caught. He didn’t mean it. Impossible after the way he’d treated her tonight. “Let go.”
Her demand fell on deaf ears. Instead, he growled in her ear, “When I put that collar around your neck tonight, that meant something. That dangling heart represented something. I know you get it. The symbolism can’t be lost on you.”
His heart? No . . . “It meant so much that you cursed at me and stormed out. You’re the one pushing, pushing, encouraging me to open up, let loose, promising me that it’s okay. Yeah, it’s okay as long as it’s some fantasy you’ve been harboring, but when I—”
“My ex-wife cheated on me,” Jack cut in, panting in her ear, once, twice. “I learned she was fucking my then-best friend when I found their homemade video.”
Gasping, Morgan’s jaw dropped. Her tirade stuck in her throat. He’d actually seen his wife and his best friend together? Not just heard gossip about them. Not just listened to their confession. He’d witnessed it in a way he could replay over and over.
To a strong, proud man like Jack that would be the ultimate slap in the face.
Morgan risked a glance over her shoulder. Defenses stripped, Jack’s gaze seethed anger and begged her forgiveness all at once. “We weren’t . . . close. I tried to give her what she needed—money, health insurance, time, and space after she miscarried. I was faithful, but . . .”
It wasn’t enough. He hadn’t known what else to do. His burning eyes and painful silence told her that.
Jack turned her to face him and released her. “Knowing that she let another man fuck her ate me alive. She begged him to touch her.” He swallowed. “She could barely stand to be in the same room with me. And then she left me. For him.”
The rest of the message shone clear in his tortured gaze. Morgan mattered, and he wasn’t letting her go. He wasn’t hiding his intention to have her again.
And she’d staggered him with the fact that she’d fantasized about having two hungry cocks command and possess her at once. He fought the knowledge that she ached for Jack to share her.
Another man screwing his ex-wife had pissed him off, hurt his pride. The hot drill of his stare told Morgan that another man touching her had the power to turn Jack into a red-hazed, full-fledged postal maniac. She could bring him to his knees.
Oh, God. He hadn’t stormed out of the playroom because he was shocked; he’d done it because he was scared. Of losing her.
Because he cared.
“I kept wondering what my ex needed that I didn’t give her.” His voice cracked. He cleared his throat, closed his eyes. Looked away. “In ten months of marriage, she never told me she loved me. On that video, she told him three times in eight minutes. Ever since, I’ve wondered if maybe . . . maybe I don’t have that something a woman needs in order to be happy.”
The way his intense gaze gripped hers made her breath catch. In those dark eyes lurked the fear that she could never love him. Of all the things she’d expected, this would have been dead last on the list.
Warm, gooey feelings exploded in Morgan’s chest. She cupped his stubble-rough cheek in her hand, thumb caressing the hard thrust of his cheekbone. His vulnerable frown tore at her heart as he kissed the inside of her palm and watched her with a gaze scraped raw by need.
“Have you ever told anybody else about your ex-wife?”
“No.” His tight voice sounded somewhere between a whisper and a mutter, then he cracked a pained smile. “Well, I told Deke after one too many hurricanes.”
This proud, dominant man had just laid bare his fear and pain. For her. To help her understand why he’d walked out.
“You have everything necessary to make a woman love you.” Her voice shook. “After all, I’ve been fighting the dangerous urge to fall in love with you for three days.”
Jack’s eyes widened, heated. He stalked closer, against her, greedy fingers curling into her hair, hungry gaze eating her up. “Did you succeed?”
Morgan hesitated. Answering this question gave him so much power . . . Yet, intertwined with a ragged catch of emotion, she heard that subtle command in this voice, the one that never failed to rouse both her body and her instinct to submit. She saw apprehension tighten his bold features. And couldn’t stay silent.
“Not well enough for my peace of mind.”
A smile broke across his face, white teeth flashing in Cajun-dark skin. Chocolate eyes melted. That expression . . . so brilliant, so happy. “Good. I shouldn’t be in this alone.”
Then he covered her mouth with his, a soft urge for entry with a hint of demand beneath. Tender control. Silken mastery. Her cold lips warmed under his touch, quick as a whip’s lash. Her body melted, heated, ached. The brush of his lips, the sensual dance of his tongue, and suddenly her head swam with everything Jack—his scent, the hard breadth of his chest, the flavor of his mouth, the way he held her, as if she was . . . everything.
Breathing harsh, he pressed a light kiss to the corner of her lips and backed away. “This fantasy of yours, it’s important to you, isn’t it?”
She could do without it, couldn’t she? It wasn’t that important. After all, she’d been doing without it for years. Why pursue it if it was going to cause him more distress? Why risk hurting him, a man who’d already known pain?
“The truth, Morgan. Not what you think I want to hear.”
If she lied, even for the sake of his feelings, there would be hell to pay. That message wouldn’t have been any more obvious if he’d paid to put it on a neon billboard.
Morgan crossed her arms over her chest. How important was it? Blowing out a breath, she tried to sort out the tangle.
Well, she’d had nothing but miserable relationships since she discovered men. And Jack had known why by looking at her the first time they met: She hadn’t been listening to her needs, giving her psyche what it required to unlock the key to her pleasure. No denying she’d sacrificed her wants, burying her desires, for the greater good of those lousy relationships. Instead, ignoring her submissive nature had killed those relationships.
Big admission for her, and she had Jack to thank. He’d taught her not to hide, forced her to face the fact it was impossible to build happiness on a lie.
And the truth was, of all her wicked midnight fantasies, the idea of two men taking her, at once, had been the most explosive. And yes, she might be able to renounce it now, for a while. But how long before denying her desire caught up with them?
“I—I wish I could just make it go away. But I’m afraid I’ll never feel truly . . . settled and satisfied until I have it, at least once.”
He frowned, nodded, turned, and paced to the other side of the room.
A silent im
plication that she wanted more than he was willing to provide. The truth hurt, ripped her insides like an industrial paper shredder. But she’d done what she had to do. Lying wouldn’t work. Ultimately, the fallout would only be more painful. She’d be doing them both a disservice. Being engaged to Andrew without being honest for too long had proven that.
Besides, better that they crossed this bridge now, rather than later, after she convinced herself to stay and lie . . . and surely only grown more attached to him.
Would she ever be able to move past Jack? Looking at the tense set of his shoulders, his clenching fists, remembering the feel of that inky hair in her hands and that broad Cajun smile . . . Probably not.
Morgan sighed. “I’m sorry.”
She watched those broad shoulders lift in a shrug. “I wouldn’t want you to lie to me.” He turned and paced toward her again. “Don’t ever lie.”
But his eyes raged, as if the pain was nearly beyond his bearing. Morgan ached for him.
“I understand why you can’t—”
“Shh,” he whispered against her mouth. “You’re exhausted, and I just want to feel you, know you’re okay.”
Jack eased her down to the bed and removed the plush robe the inn had provided to reveal her clean, bare skin. He removed all his clothes and slid onto the mattress behind her. He lifted her breasts into his hands, thumbing her nipples. He settled his hard cock against the curves of her ass. But he made no demands. After tonight, she doubted he would.
“Sleep,” his whisper encouraged.
Was he out of his mind? She pushed back tears, trying to relax, trying not to make him feel worse for what he wasn’t able to give her.
“I’ll take care of you.” Jack kissed her shoulder and nuzzled his face into the curve of her neck.
He felt good against her. With him, she felt warm, protected, aroused. Even accepted. It was all Morgan could do not to turn and tell the man she loved him, that she could do without that one fantasy. But with a lie between them, they had no future.
“Jack—”
“We’ll deal with it tomorrow. That’s a promise.”
JACK flipped his phone shut just as Morgan emerged from the old-fashioned bathroom wearing a towel and an awkward smile. His gut clenched at the sight of her.
She looked so tempting with an emerald green towel shielding her fair skin and curves from his eyes. Knowing those blushing pink nipples were bare under the scrap of terry cloth didn’t exactly calm his libido. With a dash of black mascara, her blue eyes looked vivid and huge in her uncertain face. A swipe of some amber-colored gloss over her lips emphasized their pillowy softness. That flame hair fell in a silken curtain halfway down her back, framing alabaster skin with little cinnamon freckles. She glowed.
And Jack wanted her so damn bad, he could barely take a single breath without thinking about having her bound and open for him, taking him in every way his twisted mind could conjure.
Had he made the right choice?
Too late now. What would happen, would happen.
“Feel better after your shower?”
She nodded, then looked around the room, bed with sumptuous jewel-toned comforter rumpled from nothing but sleep, hardwood floors gleaming, little area uncluttered. “They came to take the breakfast dishes away?”
“While you were in the shower.”
“Good.” She chewed on her lower lip.
“I just talked to Deke. He’s friends with local police.” He reached for her hand, hoping it would help steady her. “Your pal, Reggie, was arrested at about three this morning for trying to accost Alyssa in her club. Deke’s been to see her. From what he said, according to Alyssa, Reggie demanded to know where you were and was getting pretty physical about it.”
Morgan gasped. If it was possible, more color slid out of her face, leaving behind those blue, blue eyes wide with fear, disappointment, anger, relief.
“So I’m not in danger anymore.”
“Maybe. Maybe not. He won’t be in jail long, a day or two. And we don’t know for sure that he’s your stalker.”
“He has to be. No one else knew that much about where I lived, where I’d be. Photography is his passion. If he could make a living at it, I think he’d quit Turn Me On tomorrow. He has a volatile temper sometimes. I’ve heard whispers that he has a record . . . I’ve never known him to be violent or anything, but there’s no one else in my life with the ability to follow me here and take all those pictures in quite that way.”
It was possible she was right, Jack mused. Probable even. But he wasn’t about to take chances, especially not with her safety. He drew her closer, placed a soft kiss on her bare shoulder.
“I’ll know more later. I have an appointment to chat with him this afternoon. I’m hoping to wring a confession out of him, if he’s our guilty party.”
Her shoulders drooped. “I’m grateful to know that I have a few hours of peace in order to plan my next move, but it pains me to lose someone I thought was a friend. And . . .” She stepped out of his embrace. “I guess I’ll be leaving here, get out of your way. I—I . . . Thank you for last night, for keeping me safe again.”
Leaving? Not if he could help it. Not ever. “You’re welcome.”
Jack waited. She had something more to say. Her pensive gaze told him it weighed on her mind. Was she going to ask more questions about Kayla? Recant her fantasy? Tell him to get lost? Impatience gnawed on his composure like a rabid dog with a juicy bone. But he waited.
“Thank you for telling me about your ex-wife. I know it wasn’t easy. I appreciate you explaining . . . It was a relief to know you didn’t leave the playroom because the idea of a ménage was too shocking for you.”
He regretted her thinking that for an instant. Regretted it like hell. And he planned to make it up to her.
“Cher.” He crossed the room and took her shoulders in his grasp. “Nothing you say or do can shock me. Or make me stop wanting you.”
She lifted her face to his with a sad smile, one that told him she was holding back tears. And he, the man with control whispered about in hushed tones among D/s circles all over Louisiana, couldn’t wait another second to touch her.
Thrusting his hands into her hair, he anchored her underneath him and captured her mouth in a blistering kiss. He possessed, unable to stop himself, unable to temper his thirst to ravage her lips, make her melt and moan . . . and give in. Hell, he didn’t even try to stop.
Seize, devour, dominate. It was like a chant in his brain, over and over, as he slanted his mouth over hers. Sinking deeper into the heaven of her, he allowed his tongue to find hers and intertwine in an urgent dance of need.
Beneath him, Morgan moaned, the sound vibrating into his body. When had he not wanted her? When had he ever looked at her and not wanted to call her his?
And last night . . . he’d dreamed of her again. Not as he’d seen her on the wraparound porch of his little swamp cottage with the sun glinting on her hair. No. He’d dreamed of tomorrow, of her in his bed, wearing his pendant, submitting to the burn of his demands, accepting his heart the way he cherished hers.
“Cher,” he whispered against her lips. “Je suis fou d’te caresser.”
I’m desperate to touch you. He’d never said anything more true.
“Jack, we shouldn’t . . .”
He heard the catch in her voice, the regret. Damn, he had to change that. Erase it. Replace it with the sharp edge of joy, the raging burn of pleasure. With complete submission.
“This morning,” he murmured against the sweet curves of her swollen lips. “Give me this morning. We’ll sort everything else out later.”
Morgan looked up at him, her blue eyes so clear, like a bright December day. And just now, they telegraphed her uncertainty tangled with her need to give in. But that overthinking mind of hers made her hesitate.
“Morgan.” He dropped his voice an octave, leaned in, pressed his advantage. “Don’t say no.”
Closing her eyes, the long lashes flutt
ered down to pale cheeks ripe with a hint of a rosy flush. A self-recriminating smile twisted her full lips. “I’ve never been able to say no to you.”
Jack hoped to erase that word from her vocabulary, starting today. But first . . . they had to face her ultimate fantasy.
His ultimate nightmare.
Tension raked at him, scraping at his insides until he felt pissed and . . . what was the right word? Vulnerable. Yeah. His gut clenched. And he started to sweat.
Despite all that, he had to know, once and for all, if he and Morgan could make it.
In the back of Jack’s head lurked one haunting fact: Morgan’s total submission to him would hand him his ultimate revenge on a fucking silver platter—to have Brandon’s fiancée begging him to master her. Telling him that she loved him while clawing at his back and coming all over his cock. Sweet . . . but the idea of revenge now sat sour in his gut. Nothing about the way he wanted Morgan, about the need that turned him inside out and focused with unerring demand on this woman, had a damn thing to do with retribution. Morgan. Just Morgan.
She’d come to mean everything to him.
And if Morgan returned to Brandon after today, well . . . then his former buddy would leave his heart gutted and have the last laugh—again.
Damn, he wished he could avoid telling her the truth for just a bit, until he had time to assure Morgan of his feelings, of their rightness. She was still skittish, but he had to move fast or he was going to lose her.
“Stand in the middle of the room,” he commanded into the soft morning air.
Morgan bit into that plump bottom lip with her little white teeth. Her sweet pink tongue swiped across the surface next, and Jack imagined watching her drag it across the head of his cock. He engorged, biting back a curse at the way this woman got to him.
“Jack . . .”
No backing down now. He raised a sharp black brow at her, knowing she’d get his displeasure without a word.
“Sir,” she corrected.