by Wicked Ties
“Lean forward and brace yourself on your hands,” Jack commanded.
Morgan complied, hoping that they’d let her come and end the maelstrom of lust driving her out of her mind. The orgasm brewing just grew and grew, expanding into something larger than she’d ever imagined. When this peak hit, it was going to kill her.
A moment later, Jack wedged a pair of fingers deep in her pussy. He wriggled, reawakening nerves his cock had stroked to life. But he didn’t stay. No, those fingers of his dragged her juices to the smaller hole in back.
He was going to fuck her there again. And once he did, there was no way she could stop the orgasm bubbling in her gut from completely overtaking her.
“Jack! Sir . . .”
“Your skin is so flushed and pretty,” he murmured against her back as one finger toyed with the puckered rosette.
“Her taste is fucking addicting, too,” Deke muttered against her pussy before he dove back in, sucking her clit into his mouth.
The dark ache of desire throbbed harder. The edge rushed closer, looming huge and unavoidable in its burning grip. God, the heat blistered her. She couldn’t hold back much longer. Her inner walls fluttered. Her clit throbbed against Deke’s tongue. Just one more sensation, and denying her climax would no longer be possible.
Jack seemed oblivious to her sensual distress, taking his sweet time dragging her cream from her weeping entrance to the forbidden hole in back. Morgan found herself pushing back toward his fingers, whimpering, pleading.
“Are you mine?” he whispered right in her ear, so she alone could hear.
“Yes.”
“Completely?”
“Yes. God, yes.”
“You’ll stay with me? Be mine? Wear my collar?”
“Yes, yes, yes,” she chanted.
He positioned a finger against her back entrance, and every nerve ending jumped as he began to press in.
“Oh, yes!” She could barely get the words out, barely find a breath to say them. Dizzy, hot, aching tight under her skin, Morgan babbled with mindless appreciation.
Jack thrust his finger deep in her ass at the moment Deke scraped her clit with this teeth.
“Come!” Jack shouted.
But she’d already started. Nothing could stop her from flying apart, exploding into a million sizzling pieces, burning under the pressure of Jack’s invading finger, aching at the adroit ministrations of Deke’s insistent tongue.
She didn’t moan or cry out. She screamed, long and loud, gripping the bed sheets with her hands as the pulses went on and on and on. The climax shattered her, hitting so hard she lost her breath. Her gut cramped. Dizziness assailed her as her heartbeat pounded in her ears like a staccato drum.
God, she was dying. Right here in this little cottage room, bursting into so many flaming little pieces of herself, she’d never be able to put them all back together. And she didn’t care.
Deke eased her down his body and reached for something near his hip. A condom, she realized a moment later, as she watched him tear open the foil with his teeth, roll it on, and grab her hips in world-record time.
Again? Oh . . . She had all the muscle control of a rag doll right now, had just taken what felt like the first ragged breath of air in hours, and they wanted to fuck her into orgasm again?
Before Deke thrust home, Jack withdrew his finger from her ass and replaced it with the searing width of his lubricated cock.
“Jack . . . Sir,” she began to protest.
“Take me,” he demanded on a groan. “Take us.”
And he slid in, dark, ruthless, demanding that she open wide and accept every inch of him in her ass right now. Moaning at the feel of him stretching her so completely, Morgan pushed down until he’d sheathed his entire cock inside and his balls slapped at her pussy.
And there he stayed, completely unmoving.
Shockingly, the feeling of him tunneling inside her dark, forbidden passage roused her all over again. She tried to wriggle and whimper. Deke’s hands stayed her hips. Her previous scream had stolen most of her voice. The new jolt of demand scorching through her body took the rest.
They were killing her. Honest to goodness killing her.
Before she could find a way to recover, to cope, Deke positioned his thick cock at the weeping entrance of her pussy and thrust inside, driving his way in quickly, pushing past resistance, shoving in inch after inch after ruthlessly hard inch inside her.
Oh. My. God. Stretched so full, packed tight. The burn of their cocks put her senses on overload, sent her reeling straight back to the kind of sharp arousal that had her holding her breath, calling Jack’s name, gripping Deke’s shoulders to stay grounded in reality in the midst of this mind-blowing fantasy.
And then they began to move, like a well-timed dance designed for maximum devastation to her senses. Jack withdrew, Deke thrust in. Jack thrust in, Deke withdrew. And friction, oh, God . . . The heat overwhelmed her. She’d never had so many nerve endings screaming all at once, and Deke only made it worse when he pressed a thumb to her clit.
“Jesus, she’s tight,” he ground out.
“And she has a thin membrane between her ass and her pussy. I feel the head of your cock dragging over me. Damn!”
“Yeah.” Deke’s face twisted into a mask of concentration. “She’s killing my control.”
“What control?” Jack growled. “Cher, come when you can, as much as you can.”
That was all the invitation Morgan needed. At the feel of Deke’s cock pressing right against her cervix and the slick pad of his thumb dragging across her swollen clit, she exploded, seeing light and stars behind her eyes. Hell, she wouldn’t be surprised if someone told her the heavens had parted.
The explosion was Jack’s to command, and sharp as a machete. The two men tore her apart with thick, sublime, unearthly pleasure.
Jack rewarded her by reaching around her and lifting her breast to Deke’s mouth. He took the nipple between his lips hungrily, drawing hard, nipping with his teeth. Sensation zinged from her breast to her belly, straight down to where Deke impaled her with the wicked length of his cock . . . and lower, to the forbidden thrill of Jack lodged deep inside her.
Together, they scraped her raw, shoving her up impossibly higher, right into something huge and irresistible. Indescribable.
She’d barely caught her breath when she felt Jack’s flesh push into her, dragging across all her tingling nerves while he exhaled on her neck and whispered, “You’re mine. I love you.”
Something cracked in Morgan at his words, deep inside. The last of her resistance broke free. She sent a helpless glance over her shoulder at him, knowing her total submission showed in her eyes, and she climaxed again, zooming higher than ever in shuddering surrender.
Clamping down on the pair of cocks so hard, both were trapped deep inside her as the orgasm rolled over her, wave after wave erupting, bringing utter submission with it.
Tears rolled down her cheeks. In that moment, Morgan wasn’t herself. She didn’t worry about whether this choice was right or what others would think or if she could live with herself later. As they came with her, groaning and gasping, she was at peace. Perfect blessed peace in perfect rushing pleasure for the first time in her life.
“Yes!” she cried out, her voice a screech of pain, need, love, and completion.
“I love you,” he panted in her ear. “Tell me . . .”
“Yes! Yes, I love you.”
As the pleasure subsided, Jack wrapped his arms around her tight, so tight it seemed he’d never let go. That was just the way Morgan wanted it.
NOON slanted through the windows of the bed and breakfast’s quaint cottage, illuminating Morgan’s fiery hair and bare, pale skin as she curled up next to him in slumber, her head pillowed on his shoulder. Deke lay behind her, his hand lax in sleep as he draped it around her waist. They looked so peaceful.
And he was in hell.
Not because Deke touched her. Surprisingly, he’d known almost from
the moment they laid their hands on Morgan just a short few hours ago that she might appreciate Deke’s touch, but her heart wasn’t involved. After that, Jack had simply enjoyed the fireworks her fantasy had inspired.
As he’d hoped, Morgan had surrendered utterly, totally, given him every bit of herself, her body, her passion. He’d wrung from her the sort of abiding submission he’d been seeking since the moment he’d first seen her.
She’d told him that she loved him.
So how the fuck was he going to tell her now that he’d arranged their meeting and plotted to fuck her, strictly to get revenge against her fiancé? Ex-fiancé. There was no way he was giving her up to Brandon Ross after today.
Problem was, what if she wanted to go back to the pansy-ass bastard?
He was going to have to come clean, explain how and why he’d arranged their meeting, and swear on his life that his every intent had changed, virtually from the moment he’d touched her.
Hell, he should have done this a long time ago. Jack sighed, clenched his fists. When revenge had taken a backseat to winning Morgan for himself, he should have been honest, laid his cards out on the table. Dreaming up ways to win her trust, only to confess that he’d lied, had been the stupidest freakin’ idea ever.
Shoving down the gut-tightening fear that he was going to lose her, Jack kissed her awake.
Please God, don’t let this be the last time she let him touch her.
Slowly, her eyes fluttered open. Her languid blue gaze, sated smile, and catlike stretch all jabbed at his heart. She wasn’t just beautiful to him, but perfect for him. He loved her like . . . he’d never loved any woman. And if he didn’t play his cards right, she could walk out the door forever.
He held in a biting curse.
“Morgan. Cher . . .” he whispered.
Now what? Where were his suave words. How the hell could he phrase this?
“I have to tell you something,” he murmured.
Her ginger brows sloped down in a tired frown. She yawned, covering her mouth with the back of her hand in a gesture both womanly and childlike at once.
Tenderness jerked his heart, as anxiety kicked him in the teeth. God, he’d almost rather cut his balls off with a dull rusty knife than shatter the bond between them.
“Hmm.” She moaned. Her eyes drifted half-closed as she sent him a sleepy smile.
Behind her, Deke shifted, his hand lowering, curling around her hip. Then he let out a snore. Morgan giggled.
Ignoring Deke, Jack took hold of her face, gaze delving down into hers. “I love you, cher. I have to know something. You and Brandon . . .”
That brought her eyes open. Wide open.
She gasped. “Jack, I—”
“Do you love him?” he demanded.
Morgan hesitated, clearly searching for words. Pain stomped his gut. Damn it, this was going to rip his fucking heart out to hear that she did.
“Yes, but not the way you think. He—”
Something—someone—pounded on the door. A moment later, wood splintered in a deafening sound. The door crashed open, slamming against the wall.
Jack scrambled in front of Morgan and faced the threat that stood in their doorway.
Brandon Ross wearing a business suit and a snarl from hell.
“Get your fucking filthy hands off her, Cole.” Brandon raised a mean-looking Browning Hi-Power and pointed it at Jack. “Now!”
Chapter Seventeen
“BRANDON!” Morgan cried, peering around Jack’s shoulder.
Her half brother’s thin, elegant frame filled the doorway. Fury morphed into shock when he realized she was in bed with two men. Mortification blasted open a pit of dark dread in Morgan’s stomach. Too bad she couldn’t crawl into it and disappear, she thought as she scrambled to cover herself with a sheet.
“Put the gun down!” she demanded.
He ignored her, instead scowling at Jack as if the fires of hell lurked in his eyes.
On her left, Deke had awakened and leaped in front of her, beside Jack, to protect her.
“This isn’t the way it looks, Brandon,” Jack assured.
“Yes, it’s exactly the way it looks.”
Morgan couldn’t mistake her brother’s growl, but it barely registered. Besides that unnerving gun, she was stuck on one fact . . .
“You two know each other?”
“Oh, shit,” Deke muttered and eased off the bed to put on his jeans. “Here we go . . .”
Even Deke knew what was going on? Morgan frowned and shot Jack a questioning glance, scrambling mentally to understand. Jack’s face tightened with anger, regret. And unmistakable guilt. What the . . . ? She was having as much success deciphering this situation as she would watching a soap opera in Swedish.
“You didn’t tell her?” Brandon said incredulously. “No, of course you didn’t. That would have made getting your revenge much harder. But this way, not only did you get to fuck her and get back at me, you obviously shared her with your GI Joe buddy here for payback with interest, since it beats the hell out of anything I did to you.”
Revenge? “What is going on?” Morgan demanded, frowning.
She couldn’t follow the conversation . . . but what she did understand seemed damn ugly. Jack had taken her to bed to get back at Brandon? For . . . ?
“Let me explain.” Jack turned and took her shoulders in his hands. “This is going to look bad and sound worse, but I swear—”
“He’s a sneaky son of a bitch looking for any way to stab me in the back,” Brandon spat. “Get away from him, Morgan. Don’t listen.”
“I told you how I felt, cher,” Jack vowed in a whisper. “Whatever you hear today, my feelings are real. I didn’t lie about that.”
Until this moment, she hadn’t doubted it. Now, dismay infected every breath Morgan took. She knew, just knew, something was really wrong. And that she wasn’t going to like it.
“But you lied about something else?”
“I told you to get your hands off her!” Brandon waved the gun at Jack again.
“Take it easy, man.” Jack eased off the bed and slowly reached for his jeans. “Let’s have a calm conversation about this situation and—”
“No, let’s tell Morgan the truth and see if she feels like having a calm conversation.”
“You don’t know the truth!” Jack snarled, tendons standing out in his neck, fists clenched. “You know what this looks like, but you don’t know shit.”
“So you didn’t pursue Morgan and bribe her production assistant, Reggie, to forward your name and IM to her for supposed use on the show?”
Morgan looked to Jack for a denial. He said nothing.
“Why would you do that?” she asked.
A muscle ticked in his jaw. “I . . .”
“Because he wanted to meet you. No, that’s not right. He wanted to lure you to his side, fuck you, then make sure I knew about it so he could get his pound of flesh. Literally. Isn’t that right, Jack?”
Thick horror slid through Morgan. She turned her gaze to Jack, hoping, praying for his denial. He closed his eyes and bowed his head. The guilt on his face came raging back, digging into his furrowed brow.
Oh, God. Brandon was telling the truth. Morgan’s stomach lurched as betrayal stung her heart. Shock blanched her blood. “You did . . . all this to me? For revenge? How could you?”
Jack opened dark eyes swimming in shame. “The way I planned things . . . that isn’t the way it ended up happening.”
The pleading on Jack’s face, the seeming sincerity, tore at her. But she’d believed him before. And he’d apparently lied.
“Sure it is.” Brandon kept digging up ugliness. “The video footage you emailed me of you fucking Morgan certainly drove your point home. Thanks for that. I clearly saw her back against the door, her nails in your shoulders, while she screamed that she’d never had it better. Well planned.”
Brandon’s sarcasm ripped at the already raw wounds blistering inside her. Jack had made a video of
them? When? Her back against the door, nails in his shoulders . . . Oh, God. That first time they had sex, after he’d caught her masturbating in the tub. Had to be. Jack had filmed that without her knowledge and sent it to Brandon? And he’d arranged it all in advance. Unbelievable.
Her happiness curdled, froze. Her trust . . . evaporated in an instant. And he’d done all that for payback? Unforgivable.
Morgan lifted a trembling hand to her mouth. She was going to be sick. This was like a nightmare, gut-wrenchingly terrible, something she wished she could just wake up from. But it was too intense and vivid to escape. Brandon and Jack were playing out some drama here, with her squarely in the middle.
“You emailed him a video of us . . . W-why?”
Jack hesitated, clearly trying to gather his words. Or his lies? The question ripped through Morgan.
“You want to tell her about Kayla, or should I?”
“Brandon, shut up,” Jack snarled. “She knows about Kayla.”
Kayla? Who the hell was . . . Oh, Jack’s ex-wife. Morgan had never heard the woman’s name, but that had to be it. Yes, she knew about Kayla, knew that Jack had found his best friend and his wife having sex on video . . .
The full implication slammed into Morgan, stealing her breath, replacing it with pain so intense, she nearly doubled over.
She stared at Jack in dawning horror. “Brandon . . . he was your friend. He was the one in the video having sex with your ex-wife.”
“While we were married,” Jack snapped. “He betrayed years of friendship and trust.”
And it had all hurt Jack’s pride.
Morgan trembled with disbelief, with anger. With pain. Deke put an arm around her to comfort her. She elbowed him in the gut, clutched the sheet to her chest, and glared at them all.
Then she zeroed in on Jack. “You betrayed my trust, too. The things you persuaded me to do . . .” Her face flushed hot in remembrance. “The way you made me question everything about myself . . . Damn it, I believed in you. In us. God, I was an idiot! You must have laughed a hundred times.”