End of Day (Jack & Jill #1) (30 page)

“It’s all yours.”

“Thanks.” She reached up on her toes and kissed his neck. He looked around to see if anyone was watching. Public displays of affection were part of who she was, never giving any consideration to onlookers. It made the promise or threat of her intentions for their flight that much more terrifying.

“Do you like to fly?”

She shut off her phone and shoved her purse under the seat in front of her. “I don’t know. This will be my first time on a plane.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Nope.” She fastened her seat belt then gave him a smile.

“How is that possible?”

“Cars, trains, subways, boats …” She leaned over and kissed him on the mouth, dragging his bottom lip between her teeth. “I’m so damn horny right now,” she whispered over his lips.

He cleared his throat. “You’re not nervous?”

“About sex on a plane?”

His brow tightened as he shook his head. “No, about flying. About not being in control of the plane.”

“Nah, I’ll be fine. I’ll be in control of
something
or
someone
.” She wet her lips.

The uncomfortable strain of his cock pushed against his jeans, growing worse by the second.

“Flying gets you there quicker.”

Jillian stared ahead at the attendants making final preparations. “Maybe I like the journey better than the destination. Have you really never been in the Mile High Club?”

The older lady in front of AJ looked back. She wore a hearing aid that apparently worked just fine. He gave her a small apologetic smile. After she turned back around, leaving him with a nasty look, he leaned over and whispered in Jillian’s ear.

“If you censor your words and the rest of your body for the duration of the flight, I’ll find a place to fuck you nine ways to Sunday just as soon as we get off the plane.”

She grinned, as only Jillian Knight would do. He made a warning and a promise, but from her smile he felt certain all she heard was the promise.

“I like the alliteration of seven ways to Sunday, grammatically speaking. However, in reference to your promise, nine is a much better number.”

Ten minutes later they were in the air. Jillian showed no anxiety during takeoff and seemed content staring out the window. AJ leaned his chair back and closed his eyes, praying for an uneventful flight with the most unpredictable woman he had ever met.

Lulled to sleep by the mild turbulence, AJ woke when the flight attendant stopped in the aisle for their drink order. She handed Jillian what looked like a mixed drink as Jillian handed her cash.

“Anything for you, sir?”

“Water.” He glanced at Jillian. “Thought you were going to behave.”

She took a sip then grinned. “Oh, I am—
Nine
ways to Sunday.”

“Pretzels?”

AJ shook his head at the attendant.

“I’ll take his.” Jillian smiled.

“Are you enjoying your first time?” AJ asked.

She popped a pretzel in her mouth. “First time?”

“Flying.”

“Oh … uh, yeah, sure. Can you pilot a plane?”

“Not this one, but yes. I used to fly fighter planes.”

“Missiles? Bombs?”

“Yes.”

“And now?”

AJ tapped the empty plastic cup on his leg. “Now I advise with the Logistics and Readiness Squadron.”

“Career military. Was it your dream?”

“I didn’t sit around dreaming about my future. I just did it.”

Jillian gulped the rest of her drink. “Yeah, my question was a bit more metaphorical, but whatever.”

“Did you dream of selling … what you sell?”

“Yes. My mom had at least a hundred erotica books in the study and my dad hid his subscription to Playboy in the bottom drawer of his tool chest. Our neighbor was a minister who was arrested for soliciting a prostitute, and my high school guidance counselor’s ass landed in jail for selling photos online of the high school volleyball team taking showers in the locker room. No one ever figured out how he got them.”

“There’s a point to this?”

Jillian grinned. “Absolutely. My point is, I learned early on that sex sells. Like most people it took some time for me to follow my instincts, but here I am … living the dream.”

“You’re not living the dream, but thanks for yet another entertaining story that I’m certain is one hundred percent fiction.”

“What if it’s not?” Jillian handed him her cocktail napkin that she’d been doodling on with a pen.

“What is this?” He knew what it looked like. Nothing about her should have been shocking any longer and yet, it was.

“Nine ways to Sunday.”

He found the one person whose mind was more fucked-up than his, and she was hours away from meeting his parents. The only thing more messed-up than the drawing of two figures—one with its head between the legs of the other that was tied to a bed in four-point restraints—was how it stirred his cock to life.

AJ shoved it in his pocket. “God, you’re twisted.”

Jillian interlaced her fingers with his. “And yet, here we are … together. Why is that?”

He released a heavy sigh. “I ask myself that question every damn day.”

*

Hot stagnant air
filled the room. It wasn’t a five-star hotel, but for two hundred dollars AJ expected the air conditioner to work. Sweat beaded on his brow and trickled down his back that bowed from his arms being restrained behind the desk chair. The rope around each ankle chafed his skin every time he moved.

“You’re a sadist.”

Jillian rolled her eyes as she stood in her bra and panties, flipping through the TV channels. “Why does everyone say that?”

“I can only speculate why
everyone
says that, but I say it because you have me tied naked to the desk chair in a hotel room.”

“Fair point.” Her lips dipped into a frown at the screen. “There’s nothing good on here.” She left it on the hotel’s information channel and turned up the volume.

“Does elevator music get you off?”

Jillian removed her bra and panties. “Asks the naked guy saluting me with a very impressive erection.” She knelt down in front of him. “Hope you’re not too uncomfortable. If you would have sprung for the suite with the four-poster bed, we’d both be more comfortable.”

“I wasn’t going to pay fifteen hundred dollars for a fucking blow job.”

Jillian ran her hands up his legs then dragged them back down, letting her nails dig into his skin just shy of breaking it. AJ hissed.

“Then I’d say you haven’t
really
had a blow job.”

Jillian took him in her mouth and drew blood on his legs at the same time.

“Fuck!” he groaned, feeling the intense collision of pain and pleasure.

The chair creaked with protest as he bucked against the restraints. The rope sawed his wrists and ankles when he jerked his pelvis toward her, searching for a gag reflex she didn’t seem to have. Her tongue licked and swirled as she kept her gaze locked on his. In that instant, she reached the pinnacle of sexy, unlike anything he had ever seen. His vision blurred a bit with each heavy blink as he felt himself getting closer.

She grinned with him still in her mouth then released him.

“For the love of God …” he begged “… don’t stop.”

“Tell me you should have splurged for the suite.”

“What?” He panted the word, feeling almost delusional. “Untie me.”

Control—absolute physical control ran through his veins. It defined him, his career, his life. He’d never given such control to anyone before. Some perverse voice in his head convinced him to give it to Jillian. She was his kryptonite.

“Tell me you should have splurged for the suite.”

“No.” Every muscle fought the restraints. Every thought devised an escape.

Jillian glanced at the clock on the nightstand. “What time are your parents expecting us?”

AJ called his parents from the airport and told them not to pick them up because they had a few stops to make. The clock ticked with no mercy. He knew how it felt.

She slipped on his T-shirt and snatched the room key. “Have it your way. I’ll be right back.”

“Jillian!” he yelled over the nauseating elevator music.

She returned a few minutes later with a bucket of ice. “Now, let’s try this again.”

AJ was supposed to fuck her nine ways to Sunday. Jillian had other plans. Two hours later his dick felt in need of a cast and crutches, maybe even a wheelchair. Someone must have hypnotized and used word association with her. Nine ways to Sunday had to be a trigger for her horns to emerge, because she put him through hell. A woman sucking his dick with ice in her mouth gave new meaning to the word aroused. She brought him to the brink so many times until he conceded that he should have paid for the suite. Less than ten seconds later he came in her mouth, and even if the timing and purpose was inappropriate, he thanked God over and over again.

When she untied him, he charged at her like a bull out of its cage. What ensued after that was sexual grappling, both of them vying for the upper hand. It was—in its own right—combat, and that’s why two-hours-and-nine-ways-to-Sunday later when they left the hotel room in shambles, AJ wondered if his dick had made its final performance ever.

Jillian signaled to the cab driver outside of the hotel. She looked perky … fucking perky … and full of energy. AJ looked and felt like a wounded soldier being dragged back to the barracks.

They slipped into the backseat of the cab. AJ managed to mumble his parents’ address to the driver while Jillian nuzzled her nose in his neck.

“That was incredible. If I promise to be on my best behavior for the rest of the trip can we have an encore performance when we get home?”

There would be no encore performance—ever. At forty-two, AJ had the build and stamina of a thirty-year-old in top condition. Sadly, it was no match for Wonder Woman on steroids. He rubbed the rope burn marks on his wrists, which were nothing more than minor blemishes compared to the bite marks and claw scratches on other parts of his body. He looked like hell and the task of explaining any of it to his parents was daunting at best.

“Have you actually ever killed anyone?” he asked her.

The cabbie glanced at them in his rearview mirror.

She sat up straight. “Why would you ask me that?”

No
, was the answer he was looking for.

“Look at me.”

She stared out her window for a second too long. Then turned with a soft smile on her face. “Hmm?”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“You didn’t answer mine either.” Her eyes shone bright with amusement as though the conversation was absurd.

Was it?

J
illian Knight had
never killed anyone. Period. That was the accurate answer to his question and to deliver that answer, every thought, every move, every breath had to embrace Jillian Knight. There was no room to flinch, pause, or even swallow. Jillian Knight had never killed anyone.

AJ shook his head. “I shouldn’t have asked that. I’m just stressed about seeing my parents.” He reached between the seats and held her hand.

She stared at the red marks on his wrist. What kind of barbaric person does what she did to him? How fucked-up does a man have to be to allow a woman to do what she did? Why did taking control feel like losing control?

“Are you stressed out because of me?”

“No. Yes … it’s complicated.”

She knew complicated. Jillian defined complicated.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

“For what?”

“That you’re taking
me
home to meet your parents instead of someone more … normal.”

AJ leaned over and kissed her cheek, and then her ear. “Normal’s boring,” he whispered back.

The pain in Jillian’s chest from his words was almost indescribable. It triggered such vivid memories of Luke. She turned toward the window and the only thing she could see through the blurry passing of the city was Luke. Would he ever stop controlling her mind?

*

Day

It was a
shed, not a surprise.

“Thank you?” Jessica’s lips formed a tight smile as they stood in front of the old shed behind the house.

Lara loaned her a pair of work boots to go with Jessica’s old jeans and faded red T-shirt.