Chapter 5
WET KISSES
Jack
I was no virgin. I was no saint.
I’d had a quiet year by choice. Guilt had clawed at me, and though I’d had some chances, and plenty of attempted set-ups, I had kept my nose to the ground and my pants zipped. I was a mess in the head, and a fuck-up in the heart, and that had kept me out of the bedroom.
A self-imposed celibacy, my sister had called it.
But hell, I wasn’t thinking of my sister right now.
I was thinking how much I’d like that dry spell to end tonight.
Maybe even in the next hour. Because Michelle was everything I wanted—sharp, clever, playful and hot as hell in that blouse and skirt.
The skirt down to her knees made me think of her in a boardroom, crossing her strong, sexy legs as she sat at the head of the table.
She probably ran her own business, and that made her even sexier.
I was drawn to the kind of confidence that a high-powered woman possessed.
And I particularly liked that this high-powered woman had no clue I ran the venture studio that produced Joy Delivered.
Maybe she was actually interested in the guy she’d met tonight, and not the label that sometimes lured others.
With the years I’d spent after college as an army intelligence officer before funding this company with Casey, I’d been labeled by the press as the Soldier-Turned-Sex-Toy-Mogul.
It wasn’t the sort of title that could be bestowed very often, so I understood why it was irresistible for the media.
Though it didn’t bother me one bit, I also didn’t mind not being that person tonight, along with the baggage attached. I could be myself again.
And so the last half hour with Michelle with two Ls I’d been precisely that—myself. We’d polished off another round of drinks and I’d held her hand, touching her in a way I hoped was driving her wild, and enticing her as much as her sexy librarian look and smart conversation was luring me in.
The business meeting with Henry, Marquita and the lawyer was in the rearview mirror; I no longer had dirty developers or problems on my mind.
Michelle and I had talked about baseball, and beaches we wanted to visit—Portugal for me, Fiji for her.
Then, after a sip of scotch, she said, “So, Just Jack, what exactly is it that you just do?”
Uh-oh. The conversation I didn’t want to have. “What do you think I do?” I fired back, hoping to deflect.
“Obviously something that requires you to wear a tie, so unless you’re a suit model,” she said, and that drew a deep laugh from inside my chest, “I’m going with businessman, and you were here tonight working on a deal.”
I breathed a quiet sigh of relief. Businessman. Not altogether wrong—I could work with that.
“You are very good at putting clues together.”
“That’s kind of my job.”
“Are you a detective?”
She shook her head and laughed. “Nope. But some days it can feel that way.”
“So is this when I ask you what you do? Even though we’re supposed to talk about far more interesting things?” I asked.
“But, see, I find what people do interesting and it says something about who they are,” she said, her brown eyes hooked on me, her gaze confident and alluring.
“Then I’ll tell you what I do, because I don’t want you to walk away and say you didn’t know anything about who I was,” I said, figuring I could give her something without telling her everything.
“I am a businessman. And though I’m involved in a number of companies, the one I’m currently most involved with sells things—usually online, sometimes in stores—that make people feel better. ”
“What sort of things?”
“Toys.”
She laughed. “Toys,” she said, amusement in her tone. “That is so damn cute.”
“Cute. Not exactly what I want a beautiful woman to call me.”
“What do you want a beautiful woman to call you?”
“Oh, god, at the top of her lungs,” I said, watching her breath hitch with my words.
“You are naughty, Mister Toy Salesman,” she said, arching an eyebrow playfully. Fine, she thought I was a toy salesman. I didn’t need to disabuse her of that notion. But tonight I planned to show her that this toy salesman wasn’t dependent on his products.
I could use the tools I came with. Tools to make her come, again and again.
Before I could respond, she spoke again. “So you want me to call you Oh, god, Jack,” she said, her mouth falling open, her breath coming fast as she imitated an orgasmic cry.
Like a shot of adrenaline to my groin. I shifted in the chair, sure she could see my erection, and equally sure I didn’t mind her knowing I was rock-hard for her.
“As long as you’re looking at me like that, you can call me anything you want,” I said, watching her reaction as she pressed her lips together as if she were holding back.
I didn’t want her to hold back. I wanted her to let go.
“Well, Oh, god, Jack, we’re in the same field. I also help people feel better.”
That seemed to be the end to the obligatory “what do you do” conversation. I was glad it was out of the way so I segued into something I’d wanted to ask all night. “Any chance you’d let me make you feel better, Michelle?”
“What makes you think I feel bad?” she countered.
“Nothing. But I think I could make you feel a little bit better if, say, I did this,” I said, then brushed a loose strand of her hair away from her shoulder, and leaned in.
It took five seconds for me to bend closer, and the air was charged, heated with possibility.
Then I pressed my lips to her neck, barely there, brushing her soft, sweet skin that tasted faintly of honey and vanilla, something entirely alluring that made me both want to kiss her and rip her clothes off at the same time.
A feminine scent, but a thoroughly suggestive one, too, that hinted at the way she might taste all over.
“Mmm,” I murmured against her skin, then pulled back to assess her response.
The hazy look in her eyes told me all I needed.
More. She wanted more.
She breathed out hard through pursed lips. “You know, I think, um, this spot,” she said, tapping her neck on the other side, “might need to feel better too.”
“I have a treatment plan for that,” I said, leaning in close to kiss her neck again.
I groaned faintly, heat rising in my body because she tasted so good.
The scent of her was beyond arousing, and I wanted to know how she tasted everywhere.
The back of her neck, her belly, her legs, between them… I wanted my mouth all over her.
“What about here?” I asked, brushing a fingertip across her bottom lip, watching her hitch in a breath. That quick gasp signaled that she was losing control, and that was how I wanted her to be. Lost in me.
“Yes, my lips could stand to feel better,” she said in a needy whisper.
“Then let me help you feel fantastic,” I said, and I took my time, wanting to savor every single second of not only kissing her, but the time before, when I was about to kiss her.
I ran my fingers over a few loose strands of her hair, so soft against my skin.
I watched her, because I liked to watch, and because I liked to record a woman’s reactions, and this woman had me wanting her badly.
Her brown eyes were clouded with lust, and I was sure they matched the look in mine.
The only difference was I would lead the kiss. I would set the pace.
I liked control, and I wanted to know how she felt melting against me. I traced a finger down her jaw, and her lips parted. Her breath was soft against my face, and then I pressed my lips to hers.
She tasted faintly of lipstick and scotch, and it was one of my new favorite taste combinations in the world.
Running my tongue across the seam of her lips, I teased at first, priming her for how I wanted to kiss her properly.
Hard, passionately, the kind of kiss that would make her weak in the knees, and foggy in the head, and leave her not only wanting, but desperately needing more.
A kiss that would make her wet.
She angled her body closer, her breasts pressed against my chest, and soon her hands had found their way to my hair.
Our tongues tangled in a hot duet. The temperature rose, the volume shot way up, and we were practically clawing our way through the kiss, desperate for more.
Teeth, lips, mouth, tongue, all furious and fevered heat as her hands gripped my hair.
I needed to have her. Had to take her. She was sexy as sin, smelled like lust, and radiated sexuality.
Without her even saying it directly, I knew she was a woman who had no reservations about self-love.
She’d pretty much admitted it, and I could see her alone in her bed, eyes fixed on filthy images online, spread out on a white comforter with her legs spread and her fingers wrapped around a red vibrator, thrusting in and out, bringing herself there.
Tonight, she didn’t need her joy delivered from anything but…me.
I broke the kiss, and traveled to her ear, whispering hotly, “If you were to go home right now, would you touch yourself?”
“Obviously.”
“Why is it obvious?”
“Because I’m turned-on as fuck, and it would be a fantastic orgasm.”
“Would you think of me as you played with yourself?” I asked, then licked the shell of her ear. She shivered against me.
“You’re giving me pretty good fodder, so I’d have to say that’d be a yes.”
“What would you imagine?” I asked, so fucking eager to know what she wanted. I shifted back, looking at her gorgeous face, her brown eyes hazy with lust. I was curious if she’d say hands, lips, tongue, or cock. Dying to know what she wanted next if she were to have her way.
She shot me a stare, her eyes hooking into mine. Something dark and naughty passed over her gaze.
“I would fantasize about you finishing what you just started.”
My breath caught in my chest, and my heart stopped for a moment.
The air around us was heavy, expectant, and suddenly it felt as if all the sound in the room had both stopped and been sharpened.
Everything collided into this—the heavy pulsing sound of the music, the clink of glasses, the splash of liquor being poured, and then this—her breath, her chest rising and falling, and the heated look in her eyes that spelled unabashed lust.
I was going to fuck her good tonight.