“No worries.” That tension wire in my gut snaps once she apologizes. She didn’t have to do that. In fact, I don’t ever want her to do it again. My finger grazes along her cheek without meaning to. Before I know it, I’m lifting her chin to get a better look into those pale starry eyes, and my dick gives in and salutes her the only way it knows how. “I’ve got a surefire way to relieve that tension.” There, I did it. I swore I wouldn’t, but my little head won out. It usually does.
“What’s that?” Her breathing picks up pace as if she already knows.
I pull off my shirt nice and slow, letting her get a good look at the offerings before unbuttoning my Levi’s, stepping out of both them and my boxers at the very same time.
Her eyes enlarge as she snakes up and down my body with a wandering gaze. Her lips twitch in that all too familiar smirk, and I don’t bother to suppress a smile.
“There’s the naughty little bitch I know and love.”
Her mouth opens, and for a second, I’m tempted to put something in it. “Did you just call me abitch?”
“Did you call me tat boy?”
“Why are you naked?”
“Why do you ask so many damn questions?”
Daisy swallows hard while openly glaring at me. But nothing about Daisy’s demeanor has me retreating. My fingers find their way into the back of her hair. Daisy closes the distance between us as her hands sear over my chest.
“So, are you going to relieve my tension or what?” Her voice trembles. Her lips quiver with the question.
“I thought you’d never ask.”
Talk Dirty to Me
Daisy
Accordingto my American Express card, I’ve been spontaneous on more than one occasion and liberally so. I’m forever stymied by how a couple of small purchases here and there, over a span of thirty days, quickly add up to hundreds, thus leaving methousandsin debt and then some. So deductive logic begs to reason, that, yes, my spontaneous behavior has landed me in trouble on more than one occasion. And trouble is exactly what’s brewing in Jet Madden’s marble blue eyes.
His chest thumps with a quiet laugh, and my hands remain sealed over that scalding battleship he calls a chest. A part of me wants to study the intricate designs he has stamped over his body. Those muted blue-gray tones have been calling to me, and I’ve more than enjoyed the luscious sneak peeks I’ve stolen. That serpent wrapping itself around his neck has begged me to follow his slithery path for months—but, at the moment, I can’t seem to rip my gaze from his... There’s something paralyzing, magnetic, undeniably addictive about this inextricable bond we seem to be locked in.
Jet Madden has never shared more than a few words with me over the entire last year, and here his fingers are knotted up in my hair, his piping hot hard-on grazes my robe. For whatever reason, I’ve deemed Jet off limits. Most men have been just that to me for as long as I can remember. I’ve never wanted to be tied down the way some of my friends were. I never wanted to feel like I had to answer to anybody, or God forbid that someone else might actually think they can control me. Worse yet, I never wanted to fall dependent on anybody for any single thing. People only hurt you in the end. I’ve always known that the best way to avoid a crushing heartbreak is to build an impenetrable wall, high and fast. I’ve also had enough rejection in my past to know that’s one bitter cup I’m not interested in sipping out of ever again.
The heat radiates off his body in dizzying waves as this moment of silent debate rages between us. Verbally we’ve committed, but our bodies have yet to take the proverbial plunge. My gaze drifts to those full lips of his. It’s strange that I’ve never noticed the lips of any man before. I’ve noticed a lot of things about a lot of men, and their lips were not even on the short list. The subtle hint of his cologne permeates us like a cloud, spiced, luxurious, and unmistakably manly. If Jet Madden is anything, he is the textbook definition of manly.
According to his reputation, Jet has had his fair share of spontaneous moments. That fifth appendage he’s saluting me with has seen more action than prom night at every US high school combined in the history of ever. Do I really want a piece of this beautiful, hard-bodied, sculpted, well-chiseled, mapped-out-piece-of-art-that-belongs-in-the-Louvre, glowing blue-eyed man? My thighs tremble as if giving up an answer of their own.
There are so many reasons why I should turn around and run, but that dark cloud of a shitstorm that’s been following me has my feet taking root to the floor. To say I’ve had a crap week is an understatement. Those caustic phone calls from my father were enough for me to want to bury myself alive. My parents have never expected much from me. When I applied to every pricey university known to man, my father wasn’t shy about offering his opinions. He sang an entire choir ofyou’ll be married and knocked up before you’re twenty! Both your mother and I know you’re sleeping around! College is a waste of time for you!That right there is the sole reason I’m hoofing the tuition on my own, not that they could have afforded a state school, let alone WB. Between scholarships and student loans, I’m squeaking by without their help, but they did somehow manage to pay for my brothers’ tuition. Nowtheywere an investment—the family treasure. Here I had proven to be the embarrassment they always knew I would be. And my boss down at Stilettos? Let’s just say I’ve been persona non grata for the last week. He suggested I come back in a few days when this entire nightmare blows over. Only, according to those stalkarazzi that have been posing as students all week, making my brand new fall semester fresh hell, this isn’t blowing over quickly. And those articles—the vile lies the media is openly vomiting on the Internet… Saying I bopped the senator’s bologna? Piper actually had to explain to me what that gross little lunchmeat tidbit meant. Who the hell speaks like that, let alone lies about it? And those hideous threats against me from the senator’s grown children? The cease and desist from his rabid wife?
The room warbles a moment, and Jet comes clearly back into focus. It’s just he and I behind these four walls. Nothing that happens between us ever has to see the light of day. I’d do anything to get my mind off the madness that’s taken over my existence. And I think I’m ready to do just about anything.
“Are you going to kiss me, or do you have a much more creative way to start the night?” This time I say it with conviction. This time my voice doesn’t warble or shake becausethis timeI’m in control of who I’m with and why.
Jet grunts with the curve of a smile. Something about that caveman-like response gets my heat index rising to levels too hot to ever be safe.
He works my robe open nice and slow, allowing it to drop to the floor at his command, leaving me breathlessly exposed. His gaze runs down my body with a pressing heat, searing its trail all the way to my feet and back. Jet touches his lips to mine before I let him in, allowing him to probe me thoroughly, hotly, viciously with his thick, strong tongue. Before I realize it, I’m off my feet as Jet carries us down the hall, bouncing us on his bed. The heady scent of a warm breeze filters in through the slit in the window and makes this feel that much more like some nocturnal fantasy that’s come to life. His hands find my breasts as he cups them, kneads them, rolling my nipples between his fingers, and a hard moan evicts from his throat.
In a strange, and perhaps foolish way, the fact I drew that sound from his body makes me feel powerful, in control, and in charge for the first time in a long while.
His knee falls between my thighs, and his lava hot mouth rakes a sopping wet line down to where his hands still lay claim. Jet tries his God’s honest best to swallow down each of my nipples. Both the sucking and pulling draw me to the brink with every tug and pull. My wetness for him increases with each playful bite, and now it’s me groaning and moaning as he frantically buries his face in my chest.
Oh my shit. This is happening! How is this happening? Clearly, I wasn’t thinking straight. Clearly, I’m certifiably insane as evidenced by this man ravaging my boobs as if they were a five-star meal. Theyare, but that’s beside the point.
God, I haven’t had a decent night of sleep in a week. Everyone knows that alone can sponsor all kinds of questionable behavior. A part of me struggles to reach for my phone and put in an emergency text to the girls, but this is a real time deal, and that digital deadline has long since passed.
Jet Madden’s mouth glides down my torso—oh, wow, he’s just dove straight down to my—
“Whoa,” I moan, getting up on my elbows a moment. Through sleepy eyes, I spy Jet Madden’s dark head of hair bobbing between my thighs, and I can’t stop the moans from ripping from my throat. His tongue is frantically licking, sucking, pushing me to the brink of insanity. This is no first-timer roaming around the pink playground, no senior citizen looking to “feed the kitty”—gah! So disgusting! This is a bona fide professional, a certified skin diver who is not only familiar with the lay of the land but could map it out in detail for NASA if need be. Jet launches in an all-out assault as if his lone job in the universe were to vacuum my vulva up with his mouth.
