All Jacked Up (26 page)
Authors: Lorelei James
Tags: #Romance, #Contemporary, #Adult, #Western, #Red Hots!, #Contemporary Romance
Jack gripped her ass cheeks in both hands, pounding into her cunt forcefully. His orgasm was hot and wet and messy and it sent Keely spiraling into subspace.
As she drifted back, she was vaguely aware of Jack toying with her asshole. Teasing those blood rich nerve endings with the rough pad of his thumb. Then something slick slid into her anal passage.
“Relax,” he murmured against her throat.
“What the fuck did you just shove up my ass, Donohue?”
“Anal beads. The small set.”
“You have more than one set?”
“I told you I planned on shopping for new sex toys. Does it feel good?”
“No.”
“Liar.” He nibbled her ear. “You’re wearing them until I take them out.”
Excitement unfurled in her belly. But she couldn’t give into him so easily. “And if I say no?”
“You won’t.”
She squirmed in her seat on the drive back to Sundance. Jack ignored it. In fact, he barely looked at her until they were in the apartment.
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All Jacked Up
But when Jack looked at her? Man oh man. Gone was the sophisticated, charming architect. The man who’d loomed over her was primitive male. Wild. Intent on conquering, claiming and marking his territory.
First, he took her mouth in a savage kiss. Next, he had Keely naked, facedown on the bed. Her heart pounded crazily. Not out of fear, but out of feminine pride. She’d never affected a man this powerfully.
Never. And to affect such a strong man as Jack Donohue to the point he lost all control and became a raging beast in his quest to have her? That was a heady, once in a lifetime feeling. And she was damn well going to savor it for as long as she could.
Jack’s body heat scorched her back as he angled her ass in the air. “Do you want your vibrator?”
That was his way of saying she’d have to get herself off because her pleasure wasn’t his concern. This was all about him.
It was fucking hot as hell.
“No.”
Jack growled. Hot, wet, openmouthed kisses trailed down her spine until his mouth met the handle of the beads. Very delicately, he licked around her stretched opening.
Lust slammed into her hard and Keely locked her knees.
He eased the beads out. Then cool gel and one slippery finger pushed in and out of her hole. More gel.
Another finger.
Oh, shit it burned. She held her breath until Jack commanded, “Breathe. Loosen up. Let me in. That’s it.” Then he screwed three fingers in deep and completely out. Satisfied by his preparation, Jack pulled her ass cheeks apart. The crown of his cock nudged her anus.
Keely breathed out as the thick head popped inside the ring of tight muscle. Before she registered the sharp pain, Jack slid the shaft into her anal passage. No stops. He fed his dick in until his balls slapped her pussy and he couldn’t go any deeper.
She concentrated on the musky scent of sex and sweat. Would Jack ask if she was okay? Or give her an erotic play by play of how tight and perfect her ass felt clamped around his big dick?
Jack did neither.
He fucked her without restraint. Withdrawing the plump cockhead completely every time he pulled out. He’d rest the tip on her spasming hole and slam back in. Over and over until she began to anticipate the burning scrape of retraction. Began to crave it. She braced herself for the sweet agony of pleasure mixed with bite of pain as Jack plunged back inside her clenching channel in one solid thrust.
A strange buzzing built inside her head as he reamed her. Proved he owned her.
Jack finally spoke. “Bear down on me. Harder. Sweet mother of God.” He shoved hard, stilled behind her and roared.
She felt every hot spurt as he filled her ass with his seed. She milked every drop, until the continual clenching and unclenching of her interior muscles set off a vaginal orgasm that stole her breath.
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Lorelei James
His body shuddered as he experienced her contractions. He didn’t attempt to pull out of her bowels.
For the longest time Jack let that big dick stuff her to the point she almost got used to it.
Almost. Then he growled, “Again.”
Yeah, she’d been a little sore this morning. But Keely didn’t regret a single minute.
“Keely?”
Startled out of her vivid flashback, she faced Jack, lounging in the doorway to her bedroom. “What?”
“If you really don’t want me to come to the bar and watch you play darts tonight, I’ll understand. I was just giving you shit.”
The vulnerability Jack showed her on occasion, like now, like last night, still had the power to move her. And because he was willing to share that side of himself with her, she grinned.
“Okay. You can come. But if I hear one caterwaulin’ or goat-yodelin’ comment about the music, you’re sittin’ in the truck.”
156
Two days later…
Jack paced in his condo, waiting for Keely to arrive.
Why had she insisted on seeing where he lived?
Because you’re supposed to be engaged, dumbass.
He inhaled a deep breath. For Christsake, he shouldn’t be embarrassed. He’d paid a shitload of money for this high-rise condo with a view of the Rocky Mountains.
Jack gazed at the jagged peaks that were covered in snow year round. As a South Dakota farm kid, raised on the flat prairie, he was amazed every time he looked at the majestic mountains.
Yet the view outside presented his living room in an even more pitiable light. He hadn’t spent time or money decorating besides adding two black leather reclining Lazy Boy chairs. True, Jack had forked over serious bucks for the top of the line entertainment system with a gigantic digital flat-screen TV, and theater quality surround sound. His massive collection of DVDs was arranged alphabetically on the shelves of the entertainment center that encompassed the entire wall.
The phrase “entertainment center” caused a snort. He’d never entertained here. Never cooked. Aside from his cleaning lady, he’d never invited a woman over. He feared looks of pity or worse, calculated looks of home improvement ideas.
Working out of his home meant no water-cooler type conversations with his coworkers—but after the ugly situation with Baxter and Martine, he considered that a benefit.
Since Jack had moved to Colorado from Chicago, making money took priority over making friends.
And yeah, maybe he had crawled into a hole after Martine ditched him for Baxter. No one could blame him for holing up and licking his wounds.
It’s been three years. Get over it. You’ve got a chance to have a better, fuller life.
With Keely McKay? Despite her sexual appeal, the sweetness she masked beneath insults, her thoughtfulness, her ambition, her sly sense of humor and her tendency to give all of herself to those she cared about, Keely was not the type of woman he expected he’d spend his life with. She’d never leave Wyoming, never venture far from her family, which led him to believe she had a narrow view of the world.
Any narrower than yours?
Lorelei James
Jack admitted spending the last few weeks with Keely and her family and friends proved his life was empty outside of working hours. No real relationships. No group of male buddies to invite over to catch a Broncos or Rockies game.
The one solid friend he’d kept throughout the years was Carter McKay. Jack figured after Carter married Macie the friendship might cool. But if anything, they’d gotten closer. Carter and Macie welcomed him into their life. In the last six years he’d enjoyed every moment spent at their house in Canyon River with their three wild boys.
Maybe you aren’t as allergic to the notion of home and hearth as you’ve deluded yourself into
thinking you are.
Then again, maybe Carter continued their relationship because of Jack’s ability to track down art commissions. If that perk ended, would Carter still call him? Or worse, what happened after the engagement with Keely went south? Would Carter blame him and cut all ties?
That thought absolutely paralyzed him.
The intercom buzzed and his heart rate rocketed. He depressed the button. “Yes?”
“A Keely McKay here to see you sir.”
“Thanks. Send her up.”
He paced, feeling edgy and nervous in his own skin.
Two brisk knocks. Jack opened the door, took one look at her beautiful face and everything inside him calmed. “Hey. Come in. How was the drive?”
“Uneventful.”
She skirted the plain white wall dividing the entry foyer from the living space. In the living room she wandered to the floor to ceiling windows. “The years I lived in Denver I always wondered what the view looked like from up here.”
“And?”
“Still makes you feel far away, doesn’t it?”
He didn’t quite know how to respond to that.
Keely meandered to the dining room, which didn’t have a table, but a drafting table, a Bowflex and weight sets. She moved through the kitchen. Her gaze swept over the breakfast bar. The double sink. The double ovens. The built in dishwasher. The island with a Jenn-aire range inset into a marble countertop.
The sub-zero refrigerator. She didn’t say a word—good or bad—as she rounded the corner and headed down the hallway leading to the bedrooms.
Jack’s whole body went on full alert.
She poked her head into the main bathroom. He could almost hear her assessment: nothing fancy.
Boring white walls, white sink, white toilet, white tub/shower combo and white tiled floor.
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She entered the second bedroom, which served as Jack’s office. Two oversized drafting tables lined the longest wall. A mahogany desk anchored one end of the room. He’d converted the walk-in closet with shelves for storing building plans and to house his collection of books on restoration as well as photographic books. The only wall not covered in shelf space was plastered with an enormous map of the U.S. dotted with colorful pins.
“These pins are where you’ve done restoration projects?”
“Yes.”
“What a cool way to see all you’ve accomplished.”
Jack smiled. Keely would see it as a positive. Whenever he was frustrated with project plans, he saw the pins denoting finished projects and it motivated him to continue.
“This is a great space and all cozy with books, but where do your clients sit?”
“I don’t bring clients to my home, Keely.”
She faced him. “But you don’t have another office someplace?”
“No. Most of the initial business is conducted over the phone. I travel to where I’m needed, hence no need for a formal office space. A PO box, an Internet connection, a phone and I’m good to go anywhere.”
“Oh. Well, I thought…” Her eyes darted away. “Never mind.”
“What?”
“I thought since you’re a historic preservation specialist you’d have a funky, cool office in a nifty building you restored. With pictures of the work you’ve done. Nothing fancy, just…”
“Something besides an overfilled second bedroom in a modern condo in Denver?”
She blushed. “I guess.”
“I had an impressive office when I worked in Chicago. Evidently the conference table in the meeting room was a favorite place for Martine and Baxter to fuck, so I’m soured on formal office suites.”
“You don’t have to snap at me, Jack, for asking a simple question.” She wheeled around.
Jack caught her wrist as she stormed into his bedroom. “Sorry. My place isn’t anything remotely cool… Basically it sucks and I’m embarrassed. There’s no personality and I’ve lived here for three years.
It’s like I just moved in.”
“Or are expecting to move out,” she murmured.
He hadn’t thought of it that way.
“Is this your bedroom?”
How he wished he could lie, because this was one ugly-ass, bare-ass room too. A plain boring brown comforter on the king-sized bed. One nightstand. One dresser. Both brown wood. No chairs. “At least the shitty décor in here fits with the rest of the place.”
“You do live here like you’re waiting for your life to start someplace else.”
Another perceptive, yet jarring comment.
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Lorelei James
Keely moseyed into the closet. “Omigod, GQ. Do you really wear all those suits?”
He squinted at the orderly line of jackets, suit pants and shirts. The dozens of ties folded over tie racks, separated by color. The pairs of dress shoes in black, light black, brown and light brown. His casual clothes were stacked on the opposite side, a considerably smaller selection.
“Yes. I wear them all.”
“Since you don’t have clients come here, when you get up in the morning to go to work in your office, in the next bedroom over, do you actually put on…an entire suit?”
That would seem ridiculous to her. Hell, it seemed ridiculous to him. “Sometimes,” he admitted. “If I have to go out later I usually wear a suit. I’m more comfortable in suits than I am in jeans, Keely. It’s just the way I am.”
“Which is a damn cryin’ shame, because you fill out a pair of jeans very nicely. However, I can hardly see your very fine ass or your impressive junk when a suit coat covers the front and the rear.”
“It conceals a big problem whenever I’m around you, buttercup.”
Keely fingered a pile of sweaters, arranged by color. “I live in jeans. I hate getting dressed up. But I will, when the occasion warrants it.” She jammed her hands in her pockets. “Did you have help organizing your closet? It’s so tidy.”
“I have help choosing my wardrobe, but I manage to hang things up all by myself,” he said wryly.
Keely gaped at him. “Someone helps you shop?”
“I’ve dealt with two men’s clothing stores in Chicago for a few years. My personal shopper knows what I like.”
“I’ve never met anyone with a personal shopper and wardrobe consultant. My God, you
must
be filthy rich.”
He skirted the
rich
issue. “Do you think I’m a pansy-ass because I care how I look?”
