“Ten seconds.” Jack groans, his fingers moving to hover over the switch. “Maybe you want to be caught fingering your pretty pink pussy.”
“No!” I gasp.
“Five, four…”
I hold my breath and close my eyes, caught between the confusing excitement and fear of the unknown—and the dam breaks. I scream behind my clenched teeth, held in the authority of an earthquake that won’t let me free. Won’t stop shaking me. My sex draws in tightly, releases and does it over and over and over until I’m about to scream “make it stop.” Moisture slides down my fingers, my inner thighs and I’m blind. I see nothing. Only feel.
When I almost drop to my knees, Jack’s arm bands around my waist and hoists me up, his free hand covering mine and helping to stroke me through the climax, his touch grinding down, prolonging the tempest. “That’s a good little girl, Maisy,” he croons in my ear. “But you’re not done.”
I’m so caught up in the roller coaster of sensations, I barely register Jack spinning me around again until my bare back presses to the cool glass. And he kneels, throwing one of my knees over his shoulder, and rakes the tip of his tongue up and back between my thighs.
“Jack!” I twist my fingers in his hair, no idea whether I should pull him closer or push him away. I’m already too raw, too strung out on pleasure, but he leans into the barriers I start to erect and shoulders past them, his tongue bathing my swollen clit, the thumb of his left hand strumming my nipples firmly, with ownership, his mouth relentless. Relentless.
This time, the orgasm is a knock out blow.
I have no control, no recourse against it and I’m pitched into oblivion, babbling and crying and working my flesh against his hard mouth. Riding it shamelessly. Just trying to survive while Jack groans, laps at me, pins my hips to the glass so he can get closer, closer, until finally I lose power of my legs. My awareness of our surroundings goes blank and when I regain it, I’m being carried in Jack’s arms toward a leather couch on the far end of the office.
He lays my body down there and sits beside me, brushing my hair back to scrutinize me.
All I can do is stare back at the powder keg that is Jack Lincoln.
There’s affection in his gaze, yes, but it’s surrounded by hunger. Intense, male hunger. It seethes out of him. It’s etched in every line of his body, from his heaving chest to the erection spearing up from his lap to the shaking hand he rakes down between my breasts. “I’m not a good man,” he rasps in between breaths. “But I can be very good at giving you what you need. Give me a chance to prove it.”
I don’t know what to do.
This man is a puzzle with dark and light pieces. He’s charming sometimes, domineering others. He does good deeds and performs wicked ones. And there’s the little matter of him watching me, possibly even stalking me, for six months. Now I’m going to give him a chance to what? Become a part of my life? Maybe…maybe I could go through with monthly dinners at his house for twenty months and not get attached? It would be difficult with a man this magnetic. But casual dinners aren’t really what he’s asking for.
No. His imploring tone tells me he wants to get good and attached.
But…do I like what Jack brings out of me?
Do I like this new adventurous, sensual side that he’s ignited?
It satisfies my body like nothing else. Nothing I could have imagined. And I think if I walked away too soon, without really exploring this connection between me and Jack…I would only end up craving him. Wondering what might have happened.
Still…
“You’re such an enigma. I need to know who you really are. No more lies. Only truths, Jack,” I murmur, reaching up to thumb the crease between his eyebrows. “I want to give you some time to show me the real you.”
Hope makes his eyes almost translucent. “How long?”
Long enough to get a true picture of the man.
Short enough that I can keep my heart intact if he’s a wrong turn I have to avoid.
“Three days. If…if it doesn’t work out, you’ll give me the first hundred thousand. And I’ll go through with your twenty dinners. But that’s all they’ll ever be. Dinners. I won’t change my mind.”
“Three days.” He huffs a humorless laugh, looking like he wants to argue. But in the end he only says, “Well we’d better get started.”
6
Jack
If it was medically possible to die from blue balls, I’d be in the morgue.
Lord, what this girl does to me.
Maisy. My Maisy.
We’re in the back of my limousine on the parkway and she’s sitting beside me on the leather seat, head lolling against my shoulder, bun askew. Adorably sleepy. Drowsy from the emotional scene in my office. Drained from the act I committed against her tasty little pussy with my mouth. I never would have flipped the switch and let my employees ogle her naked body, but she doesn’t need to know that. The possibility got her off in time, just like I knew it would, and then I ate her out to calm my jealousy.
Putting her on display wouldn’t have been my drug of choice.
I’m too possessive of her.
She loves it, though. Needs it.
So I’ll find creative ways to make it happen. Ways I can live with.
Simple as that.
There’s nothing simple about what she makes me feel. From a distance, I was obsessed with Maisy. Up close? Having the ability to touch her, talk to her, spoil her? This new reality has added a far deeper level to the infatuation. Made it an addiction. A cult of which I’m the only member. And this fixation has no limits now. It’s going to consume me. Swallow me whole.
Three days.
I have three days to show her the real me. But I’m not even sure who that is.
I know for a fact that I’ve always been driven. Ambitious. As soon as I aged out of the system, I was going to prove to those who abandoned me that they made a huge mistake. I masked the hurt with accomplishments. Money. Control and power. The first time I let my guard down, though, it backfired. I spun out, doubled down on being the most ruthless financier in the game. Am I ready to try being open again?
The stakes are way higher this time. They involve Maisy.
Three days. Three days.
What will she think about me by the end of them?
What does she want to see?
And do I even have whatever she’s hoping for inside of me?
My phone is buzzing in my pocket, but I might wake up Maisy if I answer, so I let it go to voicemail. We’re in her neighborhood now, a place I recognize, because I haven’t always been able to maintain my distance. Sometimes the pictures Kirk sends me aren’t enough and I find myself parked across the street from her building in the middle of the night, holding my breath as she walks from the bus stop to her door. Devouring the sight of her. Memorizing every inch of her and bringing home the images like a dog with a bone.
How different things are this time. I’m not parked in the shadows, I’m bringing the girl home myself. Helping her pack for three days at my estate.
No more lies. Only truths, Jack.
Can I keep that promise and still keep Maisy?
The limousine stops along the curb and I turn my head slightly, dropping a kiss on Maisy’s fragrant hair. She lifts her head and blinks several times, clearly disoriented. “Are we there? Or here?” She rubs her eyes with a fist. “You know what I mean.”