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Authors: Delilah Devlin

Five Ways 'Til Sunday

BOOK: Five Ways 'Til Sunday
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Five Ways 'Til Sunday
Delta Heat [1]
Delilah Devlin
Samhain Publishing (2011)

Sometimes a man’s just gotta call for backup… Delta Heat, Book 1 Marti Kowalski is all wrong for Officer Jackson Teague—he just won’t listen to reason. She didn’t finish high school, runs a bar. Has a tattoo and a blue streak in her hair. Yet he still wants to marry her? She can’t say she’s not tempted, but she’s got a bucket list to complete before she ties the knot. Not just any bucket—more like a fifty-five-gallon drum of sexual wishes so explicit, there’s no way one man, even Jackson, can fulfill them all. When Marti turns him down again, Jackson insists on knowing why. That’s when she shows him her list. He takes it, thinks about it—and calls on the only men he can trust: four buddies from his academy graduating class. Between the five of them, he’s sure they can come up with a plan to check off every item on her list in one wild, wicked weekend. That is, if she has the nerve to follow through—and if he can bear to share her. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Product Warnings Contains five men on a mission to break down the resistance of one determined woman, using everything in their arsenal from BDSM accoutrements to roleplay of non-consensual situations.


Thanks to my wonderful editor, Lindsey, for her faith in me,

and to my red-headed hellion who reminds me why sometimes

animals eat their young—I love you!

Chapter One

Marti Kowalski waved a hand blindly behind her at her desk, swiping the inventory sheets she’d slaved over for two days, and her telephone, to the floor. She didn’t care about the mess—or by the crunch—the loss of her phone. Right this moment, she had Jackson where she wanted him—too far gone with want to worry what damage he might cause.

His body was hard; his expression carved to a lustful edge, which promised the kind of sexy interlude she preferred—something spontaneous and surprising.

Even after all the months they’d been seeing each other, he managed to surprise her. Like now. He’d pulled her from the door of the ladies’ restroom and goose-stepped her with her arm bent behind her back to the manager’s office, growling menacingly into her ear about the wicked things he’d do to her.

Ma’am, keep quiet and I won’t hurt you.

She’d shivered at the menace in his voice, but he’d rubbed her hip gently to remind her this was just a game.

She had to hand it to him. He knew what made her hot.

Jackson bent her over her desk and shoved up her blouse. His head ducked to pluck a nipple with his lips, and then he bit it.

“I wasn’t expecting you,” she gasped, her fingers digging into the rigid Kevlar armor he wore beneath his dark shirt. “You’re on duty. Thought you didn’t cross that line when you’re wearing the uniform.”

His head reared back. His dark eyes flashed. “Shut up, ma’am. You draw any attention, and I might have to get rough.”

So he was still playing the role. She widened her eyes. “Please, sir, I’ll do
.” She tried to infuse a little angst into her voice, but inside she was laughing uproariously.

A glint of humor in his gaze might have just been the reflection of the overhead light because it quickly extinguished. He bared his teeth. A hand snuck between her thighs. A finger tucked beneath one side of the crotch of her panties and tugged. Elastic stretched and gave. His palm crammed against her bare pussy.

There was no hiding how turned on she was. Not when cream smeared his hand.

“Fuck, you’re hot.” He drew back, gripped her by the waist and gave her a little shake—just to remind her who was in charge here.

Her head bobbed backward. Her heart skittered at the strength in those large, hard hands. He could so easily hurt her, but was careful to give her just the right kind of pain.

Nostrils flaring, he did a good impression of a criminal intent on doing her bodily harm. She guessed he saw enough of them in his line of work to mimic the look.

He leaned in and whispered in her ear, “Sure this is the way you wanna play it?”

“Baby, don’t stop now,” Marti moaned.

His grunt accompanied the tightening of his hands on the corners of her hips. He gave no warning and whirled her around, then pushed gently on the back of her neck until she folded over her desk.

Her short leather skirt lifted. Hands gripped her cheeks and squeezed. His mouth pressed against her skin.

She huffed. “What kind of a rapist are you?”

“One with an ass fetish.”

She giggled and reached back to push him away, wriggling on the desk like she wanted to escape. “Stop,” she whispered huskily. “Stop or you’ll be sorry. My boyfriend’s a Memphis PD cop.”

Another grunt was his only response. He straightened, his hard body rubbing against the back of her thighs and ass. An arm clamped over her lower back, holding her down. A zipper scraped. His cock nudged against her folds, thick, insistent—lord, Jackson was completely into this naughty game. He found her entrance and drove deep inside in a single, merciless thrust.

Her body arched off the desk. “Oh shit!”

“Did I hurt you?” he muttered, deeply embedded, but unmoving.

Didn’t he know how to play this game? “You’re gonna pay, you bastard,” she said with an edge of a sob in her voice, but she wiggled her butt to let him know it was okay to proceed.

He withdrew slowly then stroked deep again. This time his hands slammed the wood on either side of her shoulders. “Stick it up higher, slut,” he growled. “My balls are bangin’ the desk.”

He’d never called her that before. She held back a chuckle, hoping the playacting wouldn’t end too soon. Jackson could only keep his focus up to a certain point. Not that she’d truly mind it when he dropped the act. Knowing she was the reason he couldn’t stay in control gave her deep satisfaction. She rose on tip-toe and tilted up her ass.

His cock crowded through juicy, engorged walls, filling her up like no man ever had before. Maybe he really was that big, or maybe she’d never been so excited. Jackson was the best lover she’d ever had—the most adventurous with the most stamina. That his body was ripped like a bodybuilder’s only added to his dangerous appeal.

She gave a short, throaty groan. “
, that feels incredible.”

A knock sounded at the door.

“Go away,” she shouted. To Jackson, she whispered, “Hate to say it, but we might have to rush this a bit.”

Another, harder rap sounded. “Hey, Jackson, you in there?”

Marti relaxed and pushed backward to take more of Jackson’s large cock. It was only his friend, Craig Eason, letting them know he was playing lookout. Not something he hadn’t done before.

“Fucker,” Jackson bit out, banging her ass faster.

Marti snickered then gasped when he swirled inside her to stroke her most sensitive spot. “Think he knows what we’re doing?”

“He will if you keep making that noise.”

“What noise?”

He banged her again. “That bleating noise.”

“You saying I sound like a goat?”

“More like a fluffy little lamb. It’s cute.” A kiss landed on the back of her neck. “He’ll pick the lock if we don’t wrap it up.”

Marti widened her stance and tilted just a little higher, needing more of her pussy smacked by his sharp, forceful thrusts. “That something he learned at the police academy?”

“Nah. Craig wasn’t always a good guy.”

Marti suspected Jackson was cut from the exact same cloth. Sure, he was an attentive boyfriend, kind to kids and dogs, but when he looked at her, sometimes she got the feeling there was something deeper and darker lurking in his past. Or maybe it was just the hardened criminals he dealt with rubbing off on him.

Her pussy swelled, getting hot and so wet Jackson was swimming in her arousal. She aimed a smile over her shoulder. “Baby, I’m ready to rumble whenever you are.”

“Shut up, lady,” he said, his voice rough as gravel again. “Think you can take this?”

“Man,” she moaned, “my boyfriend’s
gonna kill you.”

Jackson covered her back, jerking his hips to tunnel deeper. “Does he do it for you? Can he do it as good as I can?”

She faced forward to hide her expression. “His cock’s bigger.”

Laughter shook against her, and she grinned, gripping the far edge of the desk as she tried to hold still under a battery of hard thrusts.

Her inner walls melted all around him. Her pussy pulsed, clasping tightly then weakening, then tightening again. She dragged in deep breaths. “God, Jackson, I’m close.”

He hammered harder. “It’s okay, baby. I’m right there with you.”

Marti pushed up on her arms with her head thrown back as she did indeed bleat a series of soft, staccato moans. Jackson’s own noises were more of a dog-like panting. Something she thought odd to think about at a time like this, but he’d made her self-conscious about her sex sounds.

“Stop thinkin’,” he rasped.

“You pant like a dog,” she groused.

“I like your bleats. If you didn’t do it, I’d know I was doin’ something wrong.”

“Just finish it.”
Finish me!

And he did, changing his grip on her hips and shortening his thrusts, sharpening
the finish
with each precise stroke. Friction burned inside her, fluid gushed to add another juicy aspect to the bumping, bleating, panting cacophony echoing around her tiny office.

A knock sounded again.

“Go away!” they shouted in unison only to hear muffled laughter from the hallway.

The thought of what Craig must be hearing was enough to shoot her over the top. She didn’t even try to hold back her strangled scream as she came.

Jackson grunted once more then gave a hoarse shout. Come pulsed inside her.

“I’m so glad we aren’t using rubbers anymore,” she said.

A hoarse bark of laughter jolted her. As she fell from the high, the sharp edge of the desk cut into the bend of her thigh. She eased her heels to the ground and slumped against the sweaty wood.

A hard hand cupped her shoulder. “Keep lookin’ straight ahead. Don’t move a muscle. I’m gonna back away. You move, you’ll be sorry.”

“I won’t move,” she said with a lazy drawl, “but only ’cause I can’t.”

His cock withdrew. A zipper rasped. The door whooshed open, and she turned in a panic to glance over her shoulder.

Craig stood in the doorframe. His eyebrows shot up.

Jackson shoved his buddy’s shoulder. “You can look, bro, but only ’cause she’ll like it.”

Marti’s gaze locked with Jackson’s as both men stared at her bent over the desk, her skirt flipped up and her bare ass and pussy pointed right their way.

Jackson winked then pulled Craig by the arm, closing the door behind them as they left.

Facing forward again, she waited until her breathing evened and her legs stopped feeling like rubber then slowly pushed up. Once more, Jackson Teague had surprised her.

Damn, but he really did get her.



Jackson checked his zipper and adjusted his utility belt as he followed Craig down the darkened corridor and out the back exit of the bar.

“You always talk that much during sex?”

Jackson shrugged. “It turns her on. Just takes a little practice—and stamina.”

Chuckling, Craig shook his head. “Did you ask her?”

Jackson grimaced. “Never had a chance. Didn’t expect to barrel into her in the hallway—but then it was all over. Besides, Gus is probably right. She might not be the hearts and flowers kind of girl, but I should still make a gesture. Show her how much she means to me.”

“Got any ideas?”

“Not a one.”

“Maybe if we get in a huddle with the others…”

Jackson blew out a deep breath. “We aren’t plannin’ a quarterback rush. I wanna marry her, not mow through her defenses. I want her to want it too. But every time I get near the subject, she finds an excuse to get away or distracts me.” And his attention span wasn’t what it used to be. One whiff of perfume, a flash of her bare skin, and he was a goner.

Pushing through the steel door and out into the alleyway, his buddy Craig shook his head. “You gotta have a strategy. A game plan. Marti isn’t your typical woman.”

“Which is exactly why she’s the one for me. I can’t get her out of my mind, Craig. She’s makin’ me nuts.”

Craig slung an arm around his shoulder. “
drivin’ us all nuts, buddy. Figure out why she’s so cagey about puttin’ a name on what you two have.”

They headed left toward Beale. Jackson squinted into the hot, late afternoon sun. “She thinks she’s all wrong for me.”

“Because she has a blue streak in her hair and an ink sleeve?”

Jackson sighed. “I’m a cop. She doesn’t see herself as ‘proper spousal material’. Her words.”

Craig shrugged then narrowed his eyes at him. “She does stand out. You haven’t introduced her to your mother yet, either. Are you sure you’re ready for it?”

No matter that he was thirty years old, his mother would have taken a willow switch to his ass if she’d heard him call a woman a slut—even in play. Mary Teague had been married to a cop and was tough as nails. He’d been wary of introducing the two women. Despite Marti’s feistiness, he worried that his mom would scare her off.

BOOK: Five Ways 'Til Sunday
3.7Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub

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