So. Long.: Bad Boy Next Door (36 page)

Jackson’s hand covers the fingers I’ve got tucked into the
crook of his elbow. “She’s my mystery partner for the evening.”

Whining exclamations follow his vague answer. Once at the
end of the carpet, we’re swept into the ballroom along with a crowd of other
people.

Glittering gowns rival the giant chandeliers hanging from
the ceiling with too many crystal teardrops to count. A dance floor takes up a
huge portion of the center of the room. Tables with fine linens and china dot
the perimeter, and people fill in the gaps between fountains and ice
sculptures.

Jack takes my gloved hand and twirls me in a circle. “Dance with
me, beautiful lady?”

A giggle breaks through the awe at my surroundings. “Why, thank
you, sir. I would love to.”

Jackson doesn’t let go of me for hours. At all times, his
hand is on me. My waist. My hand. My shoulder. The small of my back. His touch
warms and comforts. His gaze heats me to the tops of my gartered stockings.

The room is filled to capacity. I fan myself, but it does no
good.

Jack leans close to my ear. “What’s wrong, Peaches?”

“Too many people. Not to mention my corset is too tight.
Makes for a deadly combination.”

“C’mon. There’s a terrace and a garden, I think.” He pulls
me along behind him as he makes our excuses across the ballroom to the doors
leading outside.

As though we’ve stepped into an air-conditioned room, the
cool air hits me, soothing and gentle. Jackson continues dragging me across the
terrace, down the steps, and into the garden.

Once we round the hedgerow, he slows. “One problem fixed.”

“Yes, it’s much cooler out here. Amazing how many people
showed up to one party.”

Jack pulls his phone out, turning on the flashlight app. “Let’s
see what’s up there.”

He walks me up a slight knoll. At the top, under the low
light of the moon, I can barely make out a shape below us.

“What’s down the hill?” I ask.

Jackson steps behind me and wraps his arms around my waist.
He whispers behind my ear. “A place for me to taste that pussy.”

My body responds to his words with an immediate thumping at
my clit. “You naughty, naughty boy.”

He bites my earlobe. “You bet that beautiful ass I’m
naughty. C’mon.”

With one hand in his and the other pulling up the front of
my gown, I follow him down the hill at a jog. My tits bounce and jiggle.
Suddenly, my left breast pops free of its confines. The laugh gurgles up from
my chest.

When Jackson slows to a stop, he turns back to me. His phone
spotlights the pebbled nipple enjoying the cool night air. He groans and
pockets his cell.

“Now that’s what I call a wardrobe properly functioning.” He
grabs me about the waist and yanks me to him. His mouth lands on my nipple as
he sucks it in and laves loving attention on it with his hot tongue.

Music floats in the air, and laughing voices rise in the
distance. But here, on this side of the small hill, we’re alone.

Jackson backs up, his mouth staying latched on to my bared
tit as he pulls me to a short, bricked wall with vines growing over it. One of
the things I love about southern California is that the greenery never ceases, even
in the winter.

He lifts me onto the wall, pushing my dress up around me. He
disappears beneath my petticoat. The first tentative touch of his mouth on my
mound is followed by a growl.

“I love it when you skip the panties.” His muffled voice
comes up through my skirt.

I brace my hands on the edge of the wall behind me, spreading
my thighs to allow Jackson to have his snack. My one breast still hangs over
the top of my corset, the nipple as tight as it can be.

His tongue slips over my clit and I let out a low hiss of
pleasure. Jack sucks my lower lips and kisses my thighs. He bats my bud with
this tongue, and his fingers slip inside. Pressure builds in me, just like
every other time.

The coiling heat rises as he slides his tongue to lick the
hole below. I pull one leg up to rest my foot on the brick, rolling backward to
open myself to him even more. He rewards me by wetting that puckered spot and
sliding a finger in while he sucks my clit so sweetly I could cry. His tongue
delves into my pussy, and he pushes deep inside the other place, sending
tingles out through my body.

He really does get off on getting
me
off.

I revel in his attention as he goes back to circling my nub
with the tip of his tongue, massaging me as he plunges both of his thumbs into
my entrance. The combination culminates, and an orgasm crashes over me in wave
after wave of pleasure. He holds tight until the tremors subside.

When he comes out from under my skirt, his smile is wide. He
licks his lips and pulls a handkerchief from his pocket. He first cleans the
wetness from between my legs and then wipes his hands.

He checks his phone. “Almost midnight. Should we go up and
bring in the New Year with the crowd?”

I throw my arms around him. “Nope. I just want you to hold
me, right here—preferably while you slam into me with your hot dick.”

He unbuckles his pants. “I can do that.”

TWELVE

The first day of the New Year, and I’m taking the walk of
shame. I unlock the front door.

Nah. I’m not ashamed. It was a fantastic night that ended
with a beautiful morning love-making session.

Dickey squawks and caws, flapping his wings. “Hello.
Hellooooo. Pretty bird want a cracker.”

“Silly bird, you don’t even eat real crackers.” I toss my
gown on the sofa and plop into the cushion.

Jack’s sweatpants swallow my legs, and though it’s long, his
shirt fits snugly across my breasts. I hug his clothes around me.

Two weeks ago, I had no idea a night could be so exciting.

So perfect.

So dangerous.

Jackson Tremaine could swallow me whole, and I’d gladly be
gobbled up. What was supposed to be a bit of fun has transcended. It’s time to
pull back. Remember that he’s the one who put me in the position I’m in right
now.

I have to get my mind right and focus on the New Year, on my
career, on winning this ridiculous bet. But when he’s around, the bet, my
future, none of it seems to matter too much. All that matters is what he does
to me, and how he makes me feel.

Lord, I am in trouble.

I set my laptop aside. The blank screen is more than I can
bear for another minute. The second book refuses to come into being.

Shay walks into the living room and tosses a magazine into
my lap.

I flip it right-side up. The entire cover is made up of a
slightly grainy, greenish photo of Jack in his tux and me in my ball gown, holding
hands and running. My tit hangs out over the top. Most of my boob is hidden behind
the strategically placed thumbnail picture of Jackson from some photo shoot he
must’ve done for the show.

The headline reads,
Raunchy Romp: Jackson Tremaine Enjoys
New Year Ball with Mystery Woman
.

I drop the magazine and cross my arms, as if that’s going to
hide the fact that my loosed boob made the cover of at least one major gossip
rag with national publication.

Heat washes over my face. My words strangle me, and in their
fight to get out, nothing is intelligible.

Shay grabs the offending journal from its perch on the arm
of the sofa. “I only know it’s you because of the dress—and Jack, of course.”

I hide behind my hands. “This is terrible. What if other
people put two and two together?”

She cocks her hip and her head. “Then you tell them the
answer is five. No way can anyone tell who you are from that horrible photo.”

“You think?” I peek out between my fingers.

She walks away, calling over her shoulder, “I know.”

Man, that was quick. Two days. That’s all it took someone to
sell some pictures they shot of Jack and me frolicking in the dark.

I pick up my phone.

He answers.

I skip the pleasantries. “Did you see?”

He doesn’t miss a beat. “Yes. Don’t worry, it’s not a
problem.”

“It could be for me. No more outings for us. I’ll be lucky
if no one recognizes me.”

He huffs. “It’s not a horrible picture for night vision. Do
you think my profile looks good?”

Exasperation escapes my chest in the form of a sigh. “This
is serious.”

He lets out a laugh. “I
seriously
think you’re
concerned over nothing. Tomorrow, some other poor bastard will be front page
news. No one will know it’s you, and I don’t exactly have the kind of
reputation that needs protecting.”

“You got me on that one.”

Dave drops me off, two hours after he picked me up. On the
dot.

I step from the car.

Dave jumps out and walks me to the front door.

I pull my keys from my purse. “Thanks, that
was—interesting.”

“Glad you had fun. I’ll give you a call.” He pats me on my
shoulder and heads to his car.

Dave’s car roars off as I turn to jam the key into the lock.

Well, at least it was more exciting than dogs running
through tubes and jumping over poles. Still, very platonic. At this point, I
think he’s relegated me to the friend-zone.

“Maybe Dave’s too nice to break things off? No. It’s got to
be that I’m putting off the vibe that I’m not really as interested in him as I
should be.”

“You’ve been sitting here for an hour, gnawing your
fingernails into oblivion and trying to figure out what the problem is with
Dave. Here. Eat up.” Shay plops a plate onto the end table.

The chocolate cake looks at me, taunting me with its moist
layers. “This will go straight to my ass. Or worse, to my tits.”

“Oh, stop. You’re beautiful. Jackson sure thinks so.” She
winks.

I drag in a breath and hold it for a moment. “Jack’s a pain
in the ass.”

She salutes. “I agree. But he’s a fucking hot pain in the
ass. One that wants your coochie hella bad.”

Well, he can’t have it anymore. “Too bad. I have to make
Dave fall for me, or it’s bye-bye book sales.”

“Oh, give it up to Jackass on the side. Dave won’t know. Not
like you’re planning to actually marry the guy. Dave isn’t exactly your type.”

I pull my head back. “My
type
? What type? I haven’t
been out with anyone in ages until Dave.”

“Except Jackson Tremaine. You guys have gotten cozy lately.
Haven’t you?”

“We’re—only friends. And he’s probably only being nice to
keep an eye on the bet. His show’s ratings are on the line too.”

“No. A guy like Jack has staff.
Staff
are the people
who keep an eye on things. The only thing Tremaine has his eye on, besides your
tits and ass, is
you
. That boy’s besotted.”

I have to bite my lips to hide a smile that shouldn’t even
exist. “I’ve only known him a few weeks, Shay. That doesn’t even make sense.”

“Infatuation doesn’t make sense, friend. It just is. Accept
it. Embrace it. Fuck the shit out of him, and then move on to the next. You’ll
both leave the relationship with a smile if you end it early.”

Infatuation. Yeah. That’s a good word. Most likely the
closest word in Shay’s vocabulary to love. But that’s not what drives Jack. For
him, it’s plain old lust.

The bell rings, sending Dickey Bird into a fit.

Shay hops up and snatches her purse from the hook on the
wall. “Three guesses who that is.”

The door opens. There’s murmuring. The door closes.

“Hey, Peaches, how was the date?”

Dickey Bird hangs upside down from the top of his cage and flaps
his wings. “Jackass. Jackass. Pretty bird, kick ass.”

Jackson shakes his head. “Well, at least he’s not
coming,
Ronnie, right now!
”

I push to my feet. “The date was…well, all I can say is indoor
skydiving is
not
my idea of a great time. Just saying. I swear my cheeks
flew up around my temples. They waved in the wind, like the underside of my
Grandma’s arms when she gets excited and throws her hands up to yell
BINGO!
”

His eyes sparkle. “You crack me up. I love the way you
describe things.”

“I’m a writer—that’s what I do. I describe things to people.
Those helmet straps cut into the skin.”

Jack chucks me under my chin, pushing up. He inspects it.
“Nah. No marks.”

In the kitchen, I pull out some thawed chicken breasts and
other things I need to make dinner. “Are you staying to eat?”

He checks his watch. “Whatcha cooking?”

I shake my head. “You’re as bad as a teenager wanting to
know if what your friend’s mom is cooking is better than what your mom is
serving.”

“No. When I was a teenager, I ate at both houses. But now, I
have to watch what I eat.” He runs his hands over his torso. “This physique
requires maintenance.”

I stand at the counter, slicing the breasts to half thickness.
“Chicken Piccata. I’ll make yours with no breading. Heck, I probably should
make both of ours with no breading.”

Jack steps in behind me, his hands running over my hips and
around my waist. “No, you shouldn’t. You need to maintain your physique as
well. Exactly the way it is.”

That never-ending flame he stokes in me flares to life. I
need a fire suppression system when he’s around. I try to ignore how his words
massage my heart. He says things like that, and I forget that we aren’t
really
dating.

We aren’t really
anything
. Fuck buddies, maybe. Since
the masquerade ball, he’s been over every day. Without fail. We have sex. We
talk. Sometimes we fuck a second time—or a third. Once, a fourth—man, was
that
ever a day. But with the exception of the gala, no dates.

I push him out of my way as I make dinner. Somehow, he works
his way back in.

“Fine. If you won’t move, then slice this lemon for me. Thin,
please.”

He takes the lemon and makes quick work of it.

I bump him with my hip. “Showing off your prowess with a
kitchen knife?”

“Contrary to widely spread rumors, I do have talents in
other places besides what I do when I’m between ladies’ thighs. What else?”

“I need the capers. Yes, you certainly have expertise
between a woman’s legs.”

Just the thought of all the things he’s done to my pussy
over the last few days brings the warm liquid of anticipation to my entrance.