Plain Jane and Mr. Wrong (Plain Jane Series Book 4)

by Tmonique Stephens

  She ran her hand up his turgid length. “Hands on the wheel. Ten and two if you want to finish.”

  Like a good boy, he gripped the wheel precisely as she ordered. She didn’t tease. She dragged her mouth over his cock and took him deep once more.

  “Fuck yeah.” He grunted as his thickness filled her throat. Wrapping her hand around the base of his dick, she pulled back for a quick breath, stroking him until she gulped him deep again. “Shit!” He pounded the wheel. “Baby, I’m gonna come.”

  She freed his cock from the confines of her throat to fist it and pump. Slick with her saliva, her hand was a velvet glove to his hardness. Her hard strokes left his body tense and his breaths stuttered. She sucked on his tip, her hand squeezing him, until he grunted and mumbled something harsh under his breath. Sheer will kept him from exploding, but he held on by a thread.

  Until she ran her fingernails over his balls and took him to the back of her throat. Her gaze flipped up because she needed to see him come apart.

  His face was harsh, his eyes shining with fierce intensity from the pleasure she gave him. His cock swelled, and on a long, staggered groan, exploded. Jentry swallowed every drop of his thick, salty, sweet release, relished the heady taste on her tongue and then licked him clean.

  She glanced at the speedometer and smirked. Fifty miles per hour. That was one way to get him below the speed limit.

  “You…that…” His voice trailed away.

  Snickering, she gripped him again. “I know.” If it was one thing she knew how to do, it was giving head. She actually liked it, liked the feel of a hard cock down her throat. Men thought it placed them in power because a woman was on her knees in front of them. In fact, it took an incredible amount of power to submit to a foreign object testing your gag reflexes and enjoying it. The additional surge of power came from completely unraveling a man, watching his back bow, his knees jelly, hear his guttural cry as he succumbed to a soft tongue and welcoming throat.

  Carefully, she tucked him back into his pants. Gone, but not forgotten, she patted the bulge. “Thank me by reciprocating.”

  “Oh, I will. Count on it.” The car picked up speed and once again, they cut a swath through the night.

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  The car slowed and made a right into a marina. The boats weren’t cheap dinghies. They were yachts, some costing millions. “Are we getting on a boat?” She’d never been on one and the prospect excited her, especially one of the high-end boats with all the bells and whistles.

  “No,” he replied and laughed at her pout. “Can’t risk trapping us on a boat with no way out.”

  “Then why come to a marina?” she asked.

  He pointed to the row of luxury cars, and she understood. Hiding in plain sight with all the luxury cars, yeah, that’ll work. He backed into a spot and cut the engine. His phone rang before they moved.

  One look at the screen and he answered. “What?” His tone was gruff. Then silence as he listened to the caller. Jentry couldn’t hear the person on the other end. “If I wanted you to know I would tell you.” He ended the call and shoved the phone into his pocket.

  His gaze cut to her, then back to the quiet marina. “Your sister, she still seeing Nick?”

  What? “I don’t know. Why?” she asked suddenly afraid. “We don’t share information like that.”

  His eyes narrowed. “I thought sisters shared everything?”

  She bristled. “Like you and your brother?”

  “We’re half brothers.” He snarled and got in her face.

  Jentry didn’t back down. “Technically, so are Jane and I.”

  Harden reared back. “Really? I didn’t see that coming.”

  “Well, we are, but it doesn’t matter because we grew up together. She was a baby, two I think, when my mom met my dad.”

  “Where’s her biological?” he asked.

  “Dead. He was a security guard and was killed in a robbery. That’s what I heard.”

  Harden grunted and looked away. His jaw clenched as if he had more to say. Instead, he opened his car door. Jentry waited as he surveyed the surroundings. Just because it was quiet didn’t mean it was safe.

  And what the hell can I do if it isn’t? Tense, she chewed her lip and waited as he walked around the car to the passenger side. Jentry climbed out, ready for anything. Gun in his free hand, he took her hand with his other, and together they crossed the street to a line of cottages. They walked down the street, the clickity-clack of their shoes striking the pavement like the rat-tat-tat of gunshots in the night. Heart pounding, she practically jogged next to him, trying to keep up with his long strides.

  They stopped at the second to last house. Jentry watched Harden punch a code into the electronic lock, then he ushered her inside the dark interior. He pressed her against a wall where she stayed as he went to the window and peered around a part in the curtains and blinds.

  Minutes ticked by and Jentry didn’t move, she barely breathed even as he closed the curtains, made sure they were secure, then flicked on a lamp. Though low, she still squinted until her pupils adjusted.

  “It’s okay. We’re safe.”

  He stood in front of her, the gun still in one hand, the other on her shoulder squeezing. She knocked his hand away and moved deeper into the house, not seeing any of the furniture or decorations because she remained focused on him. “What the fuck is going on? If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you ran away from home and took me with you.”

  Harden sighed and tucked the gun into a shoulder holster beneath his coat. “Not far from the truth, at least for tonight.” He turned away from her to shrug out of his leather bomber and tossed it onto the plain brown sofa.

  “You ran away from home?” It was too incredible to be true.

  He came to her, slowly, as if caging a skittish animal. “I ran to you,” he murmured.

  She swallowed down the lump in her throat because that was the most romantic thing she’d ever heard—in her life. But she desired more. “Why?” Her voice was small, needy.

  “Three days.” Hands on either side of her head, effectively caging her skittish self, he leaned in. “Not eating. Not sleeping. Because you and Allie weren’t there.”

  His head dropped to her shoulder to nuzzle against her skin. Goose bumps flared across her skin and her entire body trembled. His breath, his body, his touch, his words, all of him slowly dismantled her fractured resolve.

  His breath fanned her neck, her jaw, her cheek and finally her ear. “I’m a selfish bastard. I sent you away to protect you, but I can’t live without you, Jentry, though I have to. Give me tonight to explain everything, and to hold you one last time. Please.”

  Harden Gage said please, to her, Jentry Playne. Pussy flooded while her throat was desert dry, she croaked out, “Yes.”

  His hands moved down her body to clasp her waist and pull her into him. He held her, just held her as close as possible. Of their own accord, her arms came up and wrapped around his neck. No words shared, just touch, just two people clinging to the moment and the possibilities. Two people keeping reality at bay.

  “In case things go south, let me show you around the safe house.”

  He showed her to the panic room and the underground exit to the garage of the house on the right where a car waited. If the panic room wasn’t accessible, then there was the cellar hidden under the butcher’s block in the center of the kitchen. Another hidden door in the cellar would take her to the garage of the house on the left and a waiting car. Panic room and cellar were stocked with weapons and food. Also, the windows were bulletproof.

  As safe houses went, she was impressed. She sat at the butcher’s block while he got her a glass of water. “You said you’d explain. I’m ready to listen.”

  He sighed again and planted his elbows on the block. He looked into her eyes and told her about his mother, a sweet woman who loved the wrong man, and the bullet that killed her. His time in foster care wasn’t easy to hear but somehow, she h
eld back the tears. He’d think it was pity when she was proud he’d survived. Meeting his friends: Emmet, Nasir, Davien, Lawson, and Julius, changed his life for a short interim between arriving in the Swiss boarding school and returning to New York to be the son his father wanted.

  “Things were good, for a year. I followed the rules.” Jentry gave him a look and he laughed. “Most of the time. I thought I was working my way up to enforcer. Point and fire, tell me who’s the target and they were dead. No higher thought. Brawn, not brain.”

  “You? No brains? They really thought so?”

  “They let the blond hair fool them.” He smirked. “Plus, I was happy being their gun. I did it well, though if I’m truthful, the crumbs they tossed me got old fast. I speculate they weren’t too stupid to figure that out. It was only a matter of time, really, when the novelty of the bastard brother wore off.”

  “What happened?”

  “They set me up.” He paused, then gritted between clenched teeth. “Colin set me up. He sent me on a kill. I got there late, got caught up at a strip club,” he said unapologetically. “The man was dead already. Colin did the hit and instead of telling me, let me continue to the house as if there was nothing wrong. I walked inside, saw the body, before I could leave, the police were there. They couldn’t tie me to the hit, but the guns on me were illegal. Luckily, they were clean. Fresh guns after every hit. I got five to ten. I was twenty-two. Paroled at twenty-eight with a new lease on life.”

  She knew the rest. The entire city knew the rest of the story. “You killed everyone who stood in your way. Within two years you ran the Irish mob. Another three, the New York families merged under your leadership, the new leader of the syndicate.” She paused, debating her next question. “What about Aida?” she whispered.

  His brow lowered and his expression darkened. “Who told you about Aida?”

  She wouldn’t out Leonid. “What does it matter when it wasn’t you?”

  His head dropped, severing their connection, but he didn’t move away.

  She waited until she couldn’t wait anymore. “You must’ve loved her a lot.” She shouldn’t be jealous of a dead woman, but she was, even if Leonid said Harden had killed her.

  “I didn’t.” His head lifted yet his gaze was distant. “It was an arranged marriage with one of the lesser families. They wanted an O’Rourke connection. I wanted to fit in, be accepted, make my father proud. She flew in from Ireland the day of. A sheltered virgin. A small private ceremony. I left her for a job in Vegas the next day. She was dead by the time I got back a week later.”

  “How?”

  “Autopsy said suicide. She was Catholic, devout. She’d never kill herself. One month later I was in prison.”

  “Who—”

  He shook his head. “Don’t know. I have a theory. Nothing I can prove, and it doesn’t matter. The father that sold her is dead. Icepick to the temple. My father is dead. Natural causes while I was chillin’ in prison. No one left to kill.”

  She should be upset or concerned but couldn’t summon either. “What about your brother? Why did you let Colin live? You could’ve had him killed at any time in prison. So why do that?”

  “Simple. I wanted him to suffer, but I also wanted him to have hope, the hope I didn’t have. And it backfired.”

  She didn’t understand, but she was too tired to focus. Through a yawn, she asked. “What are you going to do?”

  He stood and came around the block to her side. “I’m going to correct my mistake. That won’t happen tonight.” He glanced at his watch. “Make that this morning.” He helped her to her feet, then swept her off her feet and into his arms.

  “W-what are you doing?” Changed to, “Where are you taking me,” as he carried her upstairs to the loft bedroom.

  “We’re tired. I’m taking you to bed.”

  She shook her head. “I can’t stay. My father’s birthday is today and it’s Thanksgiving.” It wasn’t much of a protest, but it was all she had.

  “I’ll get you back to the beach house in time for all the festivities. Right now, I need to hold you, Jentry.”

  He set her on the edge of the bed, then bent to take off her boots. Her coat, shirt, and slacks came next, leaving her in her lacy underwear and him clothed, studying her curves. This wouldn’t do. Her naked and him clothed. Oh no. She reached for his holsters. He took her hands and moved them away.

  “That’s not what this is about.”

  “That’s exactly what this is about.” Jentry flattened her hands on his chest and felt the strength within just under the surface. “I couldn’t eat, couldn’t sleep...because I missed you too. And I want to hold you. I need to,” she said instead of the three words she really wanted to say. “You asked me to give you tonight. Well, I’m giving it to you and taking it for my own. I want you. And I know you want me.”

  He groaned and dropped his forehead to hers as his hands roamed down her back to cup her ass. “I am not going to fight you.”

  “Good.” She snickered and helped him out of the holster. Guns still safely in the holster, he placed them on the nightstand. Next came his shirt, removed quickly. Then, his belt buckle and his pants. He toed off his shoes and kicked off his pants while Jentry slipped between the blankets. His underwear was next, and there was the long, thick penis she loved.

  He joined her between the sheets and pulled her body into his. Those rough hands of his glided over her, causing her breath to hitch and her spine to arch for more. With a snap and release, her bra was gone, ripped away, and she didn’t care. Her only care centered around him and this moment.

  His kiss was slow, reverent, and intoxicating as lava poured into her bloodstream while his hand traveled south to slip beneath the edge of her panties. He cupped her, his fingers possessive before parting her wet folds. He peeled her open, dipped into her hollow, aching core only to pull away and circle her throbbing clit when her hips bucked for more.

  “Fuck,” she said.

  “I can’t explain how beautifully filthy you sound. Say it again.” He demanded, pumping two fingers into her pussy.

  She hissed as her walls fluttered. “Yes, Harden. Fuck me.” She groaned into his mouth and threaded her fingers through his hair. He yanked her panties down her long legs and tossed them away. Finally, she sighed, and parted her legs.

  He broke from her to gaze down her body, to where his fingers teased. “You’re my early Christmas present that I don’t deserve.” He sucked a nipple into his hot mouth, worrying the tip until it was hard and swollen, much like her poor clit. He had two fingers against the hard nub, flicking, stroking, tweaking the sensitive bit of flesh.

  She whimpered and lifted her lower half off the bed as her body tensed. He sank his fingers deeper into her core and rolled his tongue over her hard nipple. She whimpered again. Her nails scratched his scalp, ran down to his shoulders and back to dig in. It only made him suck at the peaked nipple harder and thrust his fingers into her weeping core deeper. She was on the edge there, all she needed was a— He growled and gently sank his teeth into her hard flesh.

  A ripple tripped from her core and tipped her over the edge. Her back arched and she exploded in a brilliant flash. Her vision faded to white as wave after wave of bliss engulfed her.

  Suddenly, he was between her legs, his weight pinning her to the bed, his cock notched at her opening. One thrust and he was home, bottoming out inside her quivering walls.

  She gasped, it was all she could do when, instead of dissipating, her orgasm continued. On and on it went, his thrusts measured, precise, wreaking havoc as rapture tortured each nerve from her toes to her hair follicles.

  She forced her eyes to open, to see the harsh planes of his face, his icy eyes, and lips twisted in a grimace as if he were in pain and not ecstasy. Harden Gage, the man she loved. “Don’t stop.” She groaned.

  “Never.” His voice was nothing but a harsh rasp.

  Buried deep inside her, he swelled. His strokes lengthened, seemed to go deeper,
faster. She rocked into each thrust, desperate for more, for anything he wanted to give and all she could take. She gripped the back of his neck and drew him to her mouth, the need to taste him overwhelming. At the same time, she reached between their bodies to strum her clit into another blistering release.

  His eyes widened, his breath hitched, his lips peeled back in a snarl and his entire body tensed above her. “Jentry!” He shouted her name and flooded her pussy with his hot seed.

  Her thoughts fuzzy, yet content. Her body temporarily sated because her hunger for him, for more of this, of him, of them, would never abate, she peeled her heavy eyelids open and showed him what was in her heart.

  His smile was sexy, brilliant, and all hers, only hers. His eyes, warm, loving, spoke words that never left his mouth. But they were there, hanging in the safe space between them, unsaid, yet present.

  Harden slumped to the side and taking her with him, he rolled onto his back. Sprawled on his body, she was sated in ways she couldn’t explain and never expected. Equally, it terrified and exhilarated her. With so much said and unsaid, what happened now? Where did they go from here? In the quiet aftermath, where the sound of their staggered breaths and slowing heartbeats echoed, his next words crashed into her.

  “This is the last time, Jentry. We can’t do this again. It’s too dangerous,” he said as his arms tightened, and his cock stiffened between their bodies.

  Asshole, you chased me down on the expressway, not the other way around. Instead of screaming the reply pinging around her frontal lobe, she relaxed into his body, his chest now her pillow. He thought he was doing the right thing, and he probably was. Arguing the opposite was moot especially when that wasn’t how she wanted this night to end.

  So, a single nod was her answer while settling herself more firmly over his growing length.

  Jentry may be—definitely was—addicted to his dick, but she wasn’t the only one jonesing. Harden would be back and—no use denying it—her legs would be open, welcoming him home as they were about to do again.