Chapter 9

9

SERENA

J ust like at first, he comes every night to the bar, sits at the same table and orders the same drink, our days falling into a pattern so easily.

Although the old man who runs the bar returns to work, I can still count on Jack showing up at the end of my shift to get me. He doesn't send a car or an associate and laughs when I ask why he doesn't. We go to his place. Sometimes we hardly make it to the elevator before we are all over each other. Sometimes we get as far as his big bed.

A couple of times, I see a patient in the office behind the bar again. When that happens, it's like the high stakes of the emergency revs Jack up the way that gambling does with other men. The night I stitch up a stab wound, Jack and I barely make it out to his car before he hikes up my skirt. Before I know it, my bare legs are over his shoulders and his mouth is buried between my thighs. I've never had this kind of urgent need for anyone.

When I answer my phone, Jack doesn't even say hello.

"Where are you?" he says.

Instead of making a smart-ass comment about how demanding he sounds, I press my legs together stubbornly because that alpha male commanding voice sends a thrill right to my core.

I tell him where I am, and tells me to wait there, that he'll be there in five minutes. It's hard to believe he'd be that close to a crappy neighborhood on the block with the resale shops and the discount vape joint, but it's less than three minutes before he drives up and I climb in his car.

"What's up?" I ask, heart thundering as it always does when I can smell his spicy cologne and the masculine scent of his skin.

Jack shifts into park for a minute and turns to me. I half-expect him to say this is over, that we can't keep doing this. The other half of me thinks he'll reach for me possessively, close his hand over my mound to let me know he's down to fuck. Both halves of me are wrong.

He reaches over and cups my cheek in his hand. His gorgeous face is so serious that he's frowning. I touch the wrinkle between his brows with my fingertip.

"What's wrong?" I ask softly.

"I miss you," he says, and the way his voice is somehow anguished and surprised makes me speechless.

It's fine that I'm speechless because he kisses me, the sweetest kiss of my whole life right there in a parking lot outside a strip mall. His mouth rocks over mine, soft and sensuous, sipping from my lips until I'm holding on to his wrists.

He cradles my face in his hands, and I have to hold on to his thick wrists to anchor myself to him. I'm whimpering a little and feel almost like crying. I couldn't end this kiss if my life depended on it.

"How can you miss me? You see me every day," I tease, because I want him to say he can't get enough of me, that he will never get enough of me. I crave that admission from him because that will mean this is balanced, that I'm not just an idiot who starts banging her boss out of loneliness and spite.

"I need you more than that, Serena," he says, nipping at my bottom lip. "I need you all the time. I was in a meeting. I just walked out and here I am because I couldn't go another minute without seeing you, touching you, hearing your voice." He moves his mouth to my jaw and my neck. I'm panting now, ready to beg for it because whenever he kisses my neck, it's like there's a direct line from the sensitive skin of my throat that he is scraping with his teeth right to my clit.

I give myself up to the heat of seduction, his arm around me. When he moves his lips back to mine, I know we're not going to finish things here in the parking lot. It's probably for the best but I want to whine in frustration. He kisses me soundly and pulls away.

I made a mistake then. I spoke without thinking. It's all too much. Some narcotic cocktail of hormones is coursing through my body and short circuiting my brain, that's what I tell myself as an excuse for what I say.

"Please, my love," I breathe.

He looks as stricken as if I'd slapped my open hand across his face as hard as I could. Stunned, a bit horrified, mostly like he will never recover from the unexpected shock. I bite down on my lip, realizing what I've said.

"Shit," I say. "I didn't mean it. I'm all worked up; I didn't mean to say that."

His voice tightens now, his whole body seeming to withdraw and recoil from me.

"I knew it was crazy to get mixed up with a girl like you. It's too complicated, plus it looks like I took advantage of you. Maybe I did. I'm not arguing it. It's on me, that I made a lot of mistakes and landed us here."

"I made mistakes, too," I say, jaw set stubbornly. "I was caught up in the moment. I'm not in love with you. I'm not going to act stupid and ask for some kind of commitment," I manage to say as casually as possible.

I've protected those stolen hours like the deepest secret that I'll take to my grave, something only for myself. Now he's dumping me. I was supposed to be a bit of fun instead of more trouble than I'm worth. I steel myself for him to say those words.

"You've got integrity," he is practically gritting his teeth. "You keep secrets without being asked, you're loyal like nobody's loyal anymore. You fix gunshot wounds like you're just doing dishes on a Tuesday night. Every day there's something else I admire about you, and I don't know what to do with that. I know we passed the point of this being a fling a while ago, and I'm into you more than I should've let myself get. I leave work in the middle of the day because I need to see you. I'm gripping the wheel like my life depends on it just to keep my hands off you."

When he looks at me, that handsome face is haggard, anguished. I touch him. My fingers shake as I trace his jaw tentatively. I want to be his. I want him to be mine.

"Let's get something to eat," I say softly. "Maybe we're just hangry."

"What?"

"You know, hangry? When you need something to eat, and it makes you cranky and dramatic?"

Jack catches my wrist and holds my hand against his cheek, his eyes shut. I can see the breath sawing in and out of his chest. He is as torn up as I am, as stunned by the intensity and desire.

Something that feels warm and fuzzy, and possibly bright pink and glittery gold rolls through my body and seems to fill me up. I'm happy. I'm so stupidly happy with this guy. All the bitter regret drains out of me, and I decide—I'm on this ride for as long as it lasts.

"Where does a guy take a hangry woman exactly?"

"Someplace quick and cheap."

"Cheap and fast isn't the way I do things, Serena, you haven't figured that out by now?" he says archly.

"Anything I've ever had has been both," I tell him.

"This is my big chance to change that."

"With a slow expensive lunch? That's not going to alter the course of my life. But one thing I've learned from growing up the way I did is that I have to grab something I want if I get the chance and go for it, because things almost always get worse. So, if I can snag an iced coffee or a cute pair of shoes on the clearance rack, I can't hesitate."

"I'm glad you see it that way or I never would've had a shot with you. If you'd had a chance to learn that there are deeper pleasures worth holding out for, you'd be with a better man than me."

He kisses my wrist and my eyes drift shut. A tickle of excitement creeps up my arm and I shiver deliciously.

"Busy this afternoon?" he asks.

"I am now."

He wants to treat me to a nice lunch, but we get turkey sandwiches and orange soda from a corner store I like. We sit together on a bench, and I steal a bite of his dill pickle.

"Want the rest of my pickle?" he offers. I shake my head.

"Unless you're using pickle as a euphemism," I tease.

It's hilarious the way he grabs all our trash to stuff it in a bin and catches my hand to hurry me along to his car.

"If you want me, you just have to say so," he says, tugging me into the circle of his arms, nuzzling the shell of my ear with his hot mouth.

I expect him to take me home, but we go to his club. I didn't know men still had clubs like it's London in the nineteenth century. But in no time, we're whisked through a dim, wood paneled foyer and ushered to a private sitting room. There are leather chairs, a glass and walnut humidor, a crystal decanter set on the bar cart. The man who shows us the room reminds us to press the call button if we want anything further. Jack dismisses him.

"What is this place? Where you go to smoke and drink and unwind when your fancy penthouse is too crowded?" I tease.

"It's a place to meet clients that's outside my offices, more private, with all the amenities."

His voice is dark with seductive promise and my skin heats at the prospect. I go to him where he sits on the sleek burgundy leather couch. My stomach is already starting to clench in anticipation of the pleasure. Every nerve in my body has learned fast, trained to anticipate the riot of ecstasy he'll bring me.

Jack shrugs out of his tailored blazer, reveals his broad muscular shoulders and chest, the shadow of dark chest hair just visible through his white button down. My mouth waters at the sight, my heart hammering like I've run a marathon. I'm so worked up just knowing what to expect.

A grin slides across my face, and I know he registers my expression. He reaches up, traces the plain crew neck of my t-shirt with one finger. He lifts one eyebrow in question. Color floods my face, I nod my head too fast, wonder if it's possible to give myself a concussion by saying yes too hard. He pinches the fabric, his other hand joins the first, and with a sharp tug, I hear the hiss of fabric ripping. My t-shirt hangs open all the way down the front. I'm breathing hard, turned on by his urgency, his primitive desire to tear off my clothes.

I set one hand on his shoulder and bend at the waist, my mouth brushing his cheekbone, reveling in the rough stubble, the salt flavor of his skin. His attention is riveted by what my ripped shirt revealed I didn't wear a bra this morning. Now I'm glad I didn't because there's no barrier between my aching, heavy breasts and his big bare hands.

He fondles me, massages my breasts, suckles a nipple. He teases me, too soft, too light to give me what I crave. He knows this and I can practically feel him trying not to laugh as I dig my fingertips into his scalp, urging him on. Jack lifts his head and grins wicked as hell.

He wraps a big hand around my bare thigh, pushes the seam of my shorts to the side and traces the freshly shaved, plump flesh inside my panties. The tight fit, his thick fingers pushed against my lower lips by the underwear and shorts, gives me friction. My hips buck.

"God, yes," he mutters, his mouth fastening onto my neck while he parts my slick folds and groans something that isn't even a word.

Unable to resist the sleek invitation, Jack dips one finger into my pussy. My nails scrape half-moons into his shoulder. He peels my shorts off—I'm not even sure how he does it and bends me back over his arm. Lifting my hips, he licks me slow and lingering, his clever tongue circling my clit. I bite my lips to try to hold out, greedy enough that I don't want to come yet.

He twists his wrist, the finger buried inside me curling and twisting as I bear down on the invasion, savoring every touch, every flutter of bliss. Jack lifts his face from my pussy and gives me that filthy grin.

Jack lays back on the couch, bringing me with him, his fingers deep in my core. My inner muscles flutter around his thick digits, wanting him to twist, tap and push, to fill me and let me have all those sensations he has at his literal fingertips that could make me beg without any effort at all.

"Sit on my face," he commands, taking me by surprise.

His voice is pure temptation. I shake my head, embarrassed. He'll decide now that I'm too vanilla for him. He didn't ask for handcuffs or a threesome—but I can't even bring myself to do this. My face flushes, and I can't look at him.

I hold my breath, waiting for him to let go of me, to fix his cuffs and unlock the door, look at me in disgust. I venture a peek at him because a minute or two pass and nothing happens.

I'm still on his lap, acutely aware of his fingers curving inside my channel, touching me gently, enticingly. When I dare to look at him, he meets my eyes, looks concerned. He slides his fingers deep in my hair, cradles my head, kisses my mouth.

He doesn't speak and neither do I. But whatever fear I had just closed up, demolished by pleasure when he draws those fingers out of me and sides them back in, thumb tapping my sweet spot until I'm riding his hand. A thrum, a pulse begins between my legs and grows, a thunderous rhythm that eclipses everything, draws my body so taut that my legs cramp up.

There's soft classical music piped in for ambience. As I drift on surges of pleasure, I notice that his fingers follow the the rhythm and beat of the music. I wish for a moment I knew who composed it, this famous symphony that Blackjack Marino is fucking me to.

I lose track of how many times I've come already and he just keeps working me over. I slide my fingers through that dark hair, and he goes harder until I sob his name, my inner muscles gripping the long fingers he crooks inside of me. He lifts his head and grins. I'm completely exposed, debauched, but that look on his face—that makes me blush.

I unbutton his pristine white shirt and paint his hard, hairy chest with my tongue. I push my bare nipples against his chest, revel in the tantalizing scrape of curling chest hair against sensitized flesh. Jack steadies me, his fingers on my spine, tracing the line of my backbone through the film of sweat clinging to me. He leans in and nuzzles my neck, inhales deeply to catch my scent and gives an approving nip of my neck.

I reach between us, unzip his trousers. His cock bursts out of his zipper fully erect, the head a deep purple, gleaming with damp drops of precum. I want to drink it up, want to slide it all over my body to mark me as his.

He rolls his hips between my thighs, dragging his heavy length against my tingling core. His tip notches at my opening. I lift up on my knees, straddling his lap, my boss, my lover. Both his hands go to my back, pulling me closer until he can slide me down the length of his shaft. It takes two more strokes to get me comfortable enough to take it all. Tension snaps through my muscles, freezing me up motionless when he stretches me to my limit and bottoms out. Experimentally, I rock back and forth,

He grabs my face to kiss me, his tongue in my mouth matching the rhythm of his cock stirring inside me, filling every space until I know I can't take any more. There is no getting used to how big he is, just cramming me full. My body gets wetter, making space for him as I tip my pelvis back make a little more room. I'm looking down at the spot where we join, his fat cock spearing me, my flushed lips parted over his organ that is both plush and brutal within me. Jack brings his hand to my clit. Our eyes meet. His rough fingertips stroke my bare flesh just above my mound.

"I like this," he says with a smile, "how you shaved for me so I can see how pink and pretty you are, so I can touch you with nothing in my way. "

My eyes lock onto the place he's touching me, the lewdest sight: the pad of his thumb just above my clit, tugging the tiniest bit, lifting the hood. Lightning sizzles through me at his thumb commanding my entire body, every nerve and cell working in concert as he directs my pleasure.

I bite down on my lip and jerk my hips forward, swallowing the last inch of his cock and rocking, riding him hard. The slap of our flesh drowns out the piano music and sounds filthy in the silent room. He works me over then, the fingers of one hand teasing my mound, my outer lips, while the other clenches around my breast, then pull and pinch on my nipple making it stand out, reddened and hard.

Jack steadies me with both hands on my hips, lifts me, pulling his cock free of my trembling wetness. I give a cry of dismay, greedy for his invasion. He chuckles softly at my impatience. One sweep of his thumb brushes my seam. I try to catch my breath, watch his eyes darken with intent. I'm suspended and taut, waiting breathless for him to make whatever move he has planned. I'd be begging, babbling if I could think.

He overwhelms me suddenly, crushes me to his chest, his arms around me, his movements less smooth, more desperate. Jack spears me then, before I can catch my breath. I clutch him, kiss his jaw as he pumps inside me. With a sound something like a sob, I feel myself lift free of the concrete world and pulses of white-hot pleasure chase each other along my limbs as the spasms go on and on.

The strength of my climax nearly forces Jack out of me as my inner muscles clench so hard. He grips me, mouth finding mine as he swallows my cries. We're fevered, clumsy as we fight to join and thrust together. He grows rigid in my arms, the fiery gush of his climax pours into me, and I come again at the relief of it, laughing and crying at once.

"Maybe—you're right—" he breaks off, winded, his hands trailing down my spine as I taste the film of sweat at his throat.

"About what?" I murmur. "I love being right."

He nips my chin playfully.

"You said you got feelings for the wrong man. Maybe that's me, the wrong man. But wrong or right, I'm the man who's got you."

"You've certainly got me."

"Once I kissed you, I knew there was no getting over the chemistry. I'd just want you more. What I'm saying is, I'm not the right guy for you. We both know it. But I want to be the one who takes you to dinner. Not a taco truck or a bodega sandwich. A date."

"Are you asking me to go steady?" I giggle, forcing myself to keep it light when all I want to do is kiss him a thousand times and say yes, that I'd go anywhere he asks me to go.

"No, I'm asking you on a date."

"This is all so sudden!" I tease.

He grins at me, flips me onto my back on the couch. I arch into him, arms stretched above my head as he pins me down into the leather cushions, sliding into me once again. My body is slick and open to him, his touch everywhere. His hand clamps onto my wrists and pins my arms. The restraint makes my eyes fly open and meet his, my hips bucking with arousal.

"Have. Dinner. With. Me," he orders me, punctuating each word with a thrust until I come apart on him, body drawn taut as a bowstring before I scream high and long.

"I take that as a yes," he says smugly.