gentle grip, but she felt its steel beneath. And his heat.
“Stay there.”
For some reason, something in his voice… She couldn’t not listen to him.
Maybe that’s because Jack embodied every sin she’d ever yearned to experience, ever masturbated to in her dark, lonely bed, only to have frustration douse her satisfaction when she realized none of it was real.
He released her slowly and began to pace around her with unhurried steps, brushing her shoulder with gentle fingertips as he stepped past. Her heartbeat accelerated. Goose bumps erupted across her arms. She didn’t even want to think about what was happening to her nipples or how bad they ached.
He stopped behind her. Jack’s hot breath tickled the sensitive spot between her neck and shoulders. His heat radiated along her back and legs. Morgan sucked in a breath. God, he was standing close. Too close to ignore. Too close to deny the effect he had on her.
The ache between her thighs zinged to new heights, as if she hadn’t stroked her way to climax mere minutes ago.
She sent a cautious glance over her shoulder. Jack stood right there, waiting, as if he’d known what she would do. Their gazes connected, his full of fire and demand. He hovered a mere breath away, tall and towering.
He was going to touch her.
A zip of electric thrill raced through her, even as she called herself twenty kinds of stupid. She tore her gaze from his and stared at the front door again, clutching the towel around her body. He said nothing, but Morgan could feel his eyes on her, taking in her still-wet skin, her rapid, telling breaths.
Now what? This had gone from an ass-chewing to an assviewing in about two minutes. If she didn’t want him doing anything else with her ass, she had to get away now.
“Tell me why you needed that orgasm,” he murmured into her ear.
She couldn’t. It would only confirm what he must know: That some deviant, out-of-control part of her wanted him, felt more than journalistic curiosity about what he could give her.
“It’s really none of your business, Jack…”
“Don’t call me that, not when we’re alone.”
He wanted her to call him sir. Trembling, she stood still, thoughts and heart racing between uncertainty and forbidden thrill. She felt…claimed by Jack’s words. His iron commands reached something inside her and called forth a barrage of need.
What would it be like to surrender? To give in to that voice?
Dangerous. Bad. Giving into everything Jack represented and everything she shouldn’t want. If she did, she’d only be forging a new path to hell.
“How about jackass, then? That’s appropriate.” She dug up her bravado and turned to face him. “Don’t bully me.”
She waited for his angry comeback, for a growled command of frustration. It didn’t come.
Instead, he shuffled a heartbeat closer, until a mere whisper separated her from the raging heat of his body. “There is no reason to be embarrassed about your desires.”
“I’m not. Call me repressed, but I am embarrassed about having an audience during orgasm,” she snapped.
“That’s not true,” he said softly.
Swallowing, Morgan tried to tear her gaze from his knowing, sexual stare. His scent assailed her next, full of man and mystery, spicy as Cajun food and as hard to fathom as the swamp itself.
She inched back. “Do you think you know me now?”
“I know things about you. I know you’re uneasy about your sexuality. You have desires you don’t like to admit to. I see them all in your eyes. A craving to be bound and dominated—”
“You don’t see a damn thing! I’m not depraved.”
“No, you’re not. Anyone who thinks you are is an idiot.”
Jack reached for her again, determination all over the fierce masculine angles of his strong face. She didn’t want to know exactly what he was determined to do. Panic flared, and she batted his hand away and leapt out of his reach. Her back hit the door.
And Jack kept coming for her with soft,
“Stay there.”
For some reason, something in his voice… She couldn’t not listen to him.
Maybe that’s because Jack embodied every sin she’d ever yearned to experience, ever masturbated to in her dark, lonely bed, only to have frustration douse her satisfaction when she realized none of it was real.
He released her slowly and began to pace around her with unhurried steps, brushing her shoulder with gentle fingertips as he stepped past. Her heartbeat accelerated. Goose bumps erupted across her arms. She didn’t even want to think about what was happening to her nipples or how bad they ached.
He stopped behind her. Jack’s hot breath tickled the sensitive spot between her neck and shoulders. His heat radiated along her back and legs. Morgan sucked in a breath. God, he was standing close. Too close to ignore. Too close to deny the effect he had on her.
The ache between her thighs zinged to new heights, as if she hadn’t stroked her way to climax mere minutes ago.
She sent a cautious glance over her shoulder. Jack stood right there, waiting, as if he’d known what she would do. Their gazes connected, his full of fire and demand. He hovered a mere breath away, tall and towering.
He was going to touch her.
A zip of electric thrill raced through her, even as she called herself twenty kinds of stupid. She tore her gaze from his and stared at the front door again, clutching the towel around her body. He said nothing, but Morgan could feel his eyes on her, taking in her still-wet skin, her rapid, telling breaths.
Now what? This had gone from an ass-chewing to an assviewing in about two minutes. If she didn’t want him doing anything else with her ass, she had to get away now.
“Tell me why you needed that orgasm,” he murmured into her ear.
She couldn’t. It would only confirm what he must know: That some deviant, out-of-control part of her wanted him, felt more than journalistic curiosity about what he could give her.
“It’s really none of your business, Jack…”
“Don’t call me that, not when we’re alone.”
He wanted her to call him sir. Trembling, she stood still, thoughts and heart racing between uncertainty and forbidden thrill. She felt…claimed by Jack’s words. His iron commands reached something inside her and called forth a barrage of need.
What would it be like to surrender? To give in to that voice?
Dangerous. Bad. Giving into everything Jack represented and everything she shouldn’t want. If she did, she’d only be forging a new path to hell.
“How about jackass, then? That’s appropriate.” She dug up her bravado and turned to face him. “Don’t bully me.”
She waited for his angry comeback, for a growled command of frustration. It didn’t come.
Instead, he shuffled a heartbeat closer, until a mere whisper separated her from the raging heat of his body. “There is no reason to be embarrassed about your desires.”
“I’m not. Call me repressed, but I am embarrassed about having an audience during orgasm,” she snapped.
“That’s not true,” he said softly.
Swallowing, Morgan tried to tear her gaze from his knowing, sexual stare. His scent assailed her next, full of man and mystery, spicy as Cajun food and as hard to fathom as the swamp itself.
She inched back. “Do you think you know me now?”
“I know things about you. I know you’re uneasy about your sexuality. You have desires you don’t like to admit to. I see them all in your eyes. A craving to be bound and dominated—”
“You don’t see a damn thing! I’m not depraved.”
“No, you’re not. Anyone who thinks you are is an idiot.”
Jack reached for her again, determination all over the fierce masculine angles of his strong face. She didn’t want to know exactly what he was determined to do. Panic flared, and she batted his hand away and leapt out of his reach. Her back hit the door.
And Jack kept coming for her with soft,
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