Jacked Up (Bowen Boys #4) (12 page)

“Wrong, Borg. I looove pissing you off.”

It figured.

She pondered for a second, then added, “I think it’s that don’t-fuck-with-me vibe of yours. It makes me, you know, want to fuck with you.”

His cock stood at full attention at the way her eyes danced with laughter and her lips quirked up. Such a tease.

“You don’t want to fuck with me, pet.”

“But I do.”

“You can’t take me on. I like my women tied up. Ball-gagged. Blindfolded. Plug up their asses. Pussy spread open for me to fuck it however I want. If I take the gag off, it’s to fuck their mouths.”

He was going for shock effect, not that he was exaggerating much. That didn’t shock her. She just whistled. “Wow. No wonder you forget they’re in your bed. How do they communicate? What about the safe word? Do you give them a pad and they use their fingertips to Morse it to you?” She imitated Morse-code-like sounds and added, mimicking a robot, “Tap. Taptaptap. Please scratch my nose. Dying here.”

In spite of himself, he smiled. “You are a smart-ass.”

“Thanks, I do my best. You didn’t admit you like having me around,” she pressed on, changing the subject.

“Because I don’t.” He hated having her around. Hated what she did to him, how easily she got his attention. How he couldn’t think straight whenever she was near him. How he couldn’t shock her into compliance.

“You’re a shitty liar, Borg.” In a swift movement, she straddled him. “Hasn’t anyone told you you’re handsome when you smile?”

He curtly shook his head, frozen as he was with sensory overload.

“They are probably distracted by the growls and the ice-cold stares.”

“And you aren’t?”

“They don’t bother me.”

No shit. They rolled off her back. Nothing seemed to faze her.

“I think they’re damn sexy. Can I ask you something?” Before he nodded, she was already talking, her hands flat on his chest. “Why do you kiss me all the time?”

Her sweet mouth was so close to his he could smell the tiramisu gelato she’d been eating. Vanilla with a little kick from the coffee, just like her. Tamping down the need to ravish her lips, he answered matter-of-factly, “To shut you up. And I wouldn’t say it’s all the time. Just when strictly necessary.”

“So all I need to do to get you to kiss me is chatter?”

Actually, all she had to do was look at him. Hell, breathing was enough.

That he kept to himself. It was already bad enough that his dick was jumping up and down from excitement, pounding against the zipper, trying to break through his jeans.

She felt it too, he could tell. It was in the smugness in her eyes. “Not interested,” she said, unstraddling him, a cocky smile on her lips. “I know you think I’m borderline slutty, but I’m not. I’m searching for the one. And you so are not.”

She strode to the TV and turned it on.

Suddenly, Jack jackknifed, and crowding her, turned it off, gripping her waist when she tried to swirl around.

“Really?” he growled in her ear.

“Really what?” she whispered, attempting to hide her surprise.

“You’re not interested? That’s why you sway around me half-naked, your nipples hard as stones? Why you sit on my cock?”

“I’m not the one sneaking into your bed at night. Or kissing you all the time.”

“No, you’re the one jacking off in the shower.” Her intake of breath was loud and sharp. She tried again to turn but he tightened the hold he had on her. “No. Keep still.”

Her voice was husky and so fucking sexy. “Why?”

“Because I say so.” And because his cock was hard enough pressed against her ass. Didn’t need any more visual stimuli.

She snorted, her tone incredulous. “Is that supposed to work on me?”

“Oh, but it works on you,” he said and kissed her throat, feeling her body tremble. “You know what your problem is, pet? You go for men who are used to wearing the pants, but you tell them what pants to wear. They cave in; you win and then lose interest. You can’t tell me which pants to wear. I don’t work that way.”

“Don’t say. You into quilts?”

Such a smart-ass, his pet. He cupped her pussy, ripping a whimper out of her. “I’m into fucking. Stuffing yourself with ice cream will give you a sugar rush and ultimately put you out.” He increased the pressure on her core. “I can do the same much faster.”

It took a second before she could find her voice. “How much faster? Faster is not always better, Borg. Do you have files on female anatomy? You know what you’re doing?”

Yep, a smart-ass through and through.

He moved his hand up to her belly and then delved under her panties. Oh fuck, she was bare. Soft, smooth, bare pussy. He caressed her slit. “You bet I know what I’m doing.” Sex he could manage. Sex he understood, how to make a woman’s body melt with pleasure. Besides, the more distracted they were by coming, the less inclined they were to want to talk. Or berate him for his lack of social skills. Sex was up his alley; the rest was just a jumbled mess that got him nowhere but into trouble.

He circled her clit, spreading her juices. “Twice I’ve stopped myself from reaching for you and giving you what you were aching for. You were dripping wet all over me in bed, rubbing against me. Moaning in your sleep. So fucking ready to come. By the way, you are fucking sexy jacking off. Were you thinking of me?”

“You saw me in the shower,” she all but whispered.

“You need to learn to close the doors, pet. And come in silence.”

She was trembling. Creaming his hand. “And yet you didn’t…”

“Barge in?” he finished her sentence. “No. I wasn’t invited to the party.”

Elle cleared her throat. “And now you are?”

“Now you’re awake and pressing against me, panting, not telling me to stop, so yeah… Now I’m invited to the party.”

Her voice was unsure for the first time. “Jack, this might not be the greatest idea.”

He slid one finger inside her, her inner flesh clamping around him. Sweet Jesus. So fucking tight.

“Jack—”

He wrapped his other arm around her, supporting her and keeping her trapped. “You haven’t been fucked that much, have you?” Elle was such a tease. So brazen, so in-your-face, but it was a big, false facade.

She licked her dry lips. “Why do you say that?”

“You’re fucking tight, pet. You can’t be giving it up too often.”

At his words, he felt her pussy contract around him. Her spine straightened, her whole stance radiating offense.

“You’re wrong. I fuck everything that moves, the bigger and the rougher the better, and once a year, for Christmas, I get a vaginal reconstruction and start all over again.”

He chuckled softly. Fuck but she was funny.

“And let me tell you,” she continued, her voice choppy, her body slowly yielding to his invasion. “If you’re one of those shitheads who only wants to break into untried, tight holes to then move to the next one once it has been ‘stretched,’ you should know that one, I’m not a virgin, and two, the tightest holes in this earth are in men’s asses. Maybe you should move into fucking those.”

“Not interested in men or virgins. Too high-maintenance and easily attached.”

“Men or virgins?” She was trying to resist the pleasure. Trying not to give in. It was in the slight trembling of her voice. In the fluttering of her pussy.

“What I meant is you’re a cheat. Not at all the experienced minx you pretend to be.”

“No, I haven’t been fucked that much, as you so romantically put it. My choice.”

He slid a second finger inside her, making it only to the first knuckle, and felt as the breath that she was taking caught in her throat, her core tensing further around him. “I know, pet,” he whispered in her ear, pressing his palm against her clit. “Any man with half a working brain would sell his soul for a taste of this pussy.”

He knew because he was ready to part with his soul, his brain, and half his vital organs for a chance to feel her coming around his fingers.

“Jack…” Her body tightened. Her core too. She was so close.

“Like this. Give it to me.” He penetrated her to the second knuckle. “Come for me.”

She leaned her head on his shoulder, arching her back and rubbing herself against his hand, climaxing long and sweet, her needy whimpers reverberating through his body, his cock jerking like a motherfucker.

When she started coming down, he spread her legs further with his thigh. He wanted her so badly he couldn’t even remember his own name, let alone why this was a shitty idea.

“You’re so small. This is going to be a tight fit, but you can take me.” He yanked her pants down and unbuttoned his jeans. His cock sprang out, at the ready, the juices dripping from her sweet pussy fucking hot as he nudged the crown against her folds. “Brace yourself on the mantel.”

That seemed to snap her out of it, and she turned around, defiantly, her chest rising and falling rapidly.

“I don’t think so. If you want to fuck me, you’ll have to do it looking me in the face. Or can’t you?”

He took a step back. No, he couldn’t. He couldn’t look at her while his cock was inside her. Heck, he couldn’t even kiss her. He would lose himself in her. In her sweetness. In her fire. In what she did to him. And he would never find his way out. Not in one piece anyway. And he was too fucking old and jaded to be shipwrecked.

“You’re scared of me,” she whispered, realization and hurt flashing through her eyes.

“Not scared of you,” he said, tucking his painfully hard cock in and zipping up.

Scared of her? Please, he was fucking terrified, thank you very much.

“Then what? You can’t perform without all your…hardware to keep me under control? You don’t want me? Because your dick says otherwise.”

“My dick is not in charge here,” he spat out, and without looking back, he walked away.

Chapter Eight

“Stop touching my radio,” Jack ordered, his hands gripping the wheel, his eyes never veering from the road. “Stay still for a fucking second, woman; we’re almost there.”

“That would not have happened if we’d taken René,” she said, continuing to flip the stations until she finally found one playing
Grease
songs. “My car is tuned already.”

Jack grumbled something back, but Elle didn’t catch it. And it was just as well, because he hadn’t said anything worth listening to the whole day.

From the corner of her eye, she studied him. For some reason, Jack was looking mighty pissed, which didn’t make a lick of sense to her. After all, she’d been the one left standing with her pants around her ankles, still trembling from her orgasm, watching dumbfounded as the asshole zipped up and walked away, his face carved in stone, as if two seconds before that he hadn’t had his fingers inside her and his hard dick tucked against her behind. Not to mention he’d been the instigator of the whole situation. Yes, she’d straddled him on the sofa, but she’d unstraddled him and told him she wasn’t interested. He’d been the one cornering her.

Leaving her badly wounded female pride aside, she had to admit not going all the way had been the right thing to do. Sex with Jack would complicate their fragile arrangement to an impossible extreme. He was overbearing enough as a babysitter; she didn’t want to know how he behaved when he thought he had more say because he was fucking her. And fucking her would be all that he would do. There would be no making love. His severe demeanor and the contemptuous way he looked at her ensured that.

“You going to train at the same time or you plan to stand beside me in the dancing room, stalking my every move? It’s an all-female dance class, but I’m sure we can accommodate you. Teach you the steps and include you in the choreography.”

A grunt was his only answer. He hadn’t said two sentences to her today. Grunts and growls had been about it.

She’d been pissed too after the way he’d walked out on her. She’d felt cheap and rejected and, well, hurt. Jack wanted her, but he couldn’t stand the fact that he wanted her, like she was some kind of shameful weakness of his. Her plan had been to read him the riot act in the morning, but she realized there was no need. Jack was punishing himself enough for the both of them.

“Not sure you’ll be any good at dancing though,” she added while Jack parked in front of the gym. “One needs certain flexibility, and you seem a bit stiff, if you know what I mean.”

He threw her a murderous look and got out of the car. Stiff? Ha! Every single muscle in his body was strained by the looks of it. She was afraid at any second he would sprain something.

Good. He deserved that and so much more.

They entered the gym in silence. He didn’t ask what kind of dancing class and she didn’t tell. She wasn’t going to be the one spoiling the surprise.

Jack walked to the practice room with her and glanced around. She rolled her eyes. A frigging miracle he hadn’t insisted on entering the dressing room too. Paranoid ass. Which kind of self-respecting Miami mobster with more money than God would be seen in a suburban Boston gym with violet walls and carpool housewives? Please.

“Sure you don’t want to stay?” she taunted him. “The girls would enjoy a man dancing with us for a change.”

He threw another murderous glance her way and, without saying anything, left the practice room and walked to the weight machines nearby.

“Who’s that?” one of the women whispered to her.

Judging by his language and social skills, the missing link between humans and monkeys.

“A friend of my brother-in-law.”

“He is hot,” she said giving Jack another once-over.

Sure he was hot; a hot pain in the butt. And he brought out the worst in her. The belligerent side. The Elle that didn’t want to submit, never mind how much her body was dying to give in. Exhausting, really.

The rest of the ladies started pouring in and soon the teacher, Dolores, trotted in and got the music going. “You ready to twerk?”

Everyone cheered.

Elle reached for the door and locked it.

She appreciated what he had done for her. What he was still doing, never mind how disgusting it obviously was for him to stick around her, but he exasperated her. It was his black-and-white, unbending attitude. His arrogant superiority. His my-way-or-the-highway. That air about him that demanded obedience.