He zipped up his jeans and turned to Morgan again. Her lower lip quivered. Her posture had gone from satiated to guarded in seconds. Something deep in his gut wanted to reach out to her, reassure her. The other part was scared shitless at the magnitude of his reaction to her.
“Help yourself to anything in the kitchen,” he tossed out, then turned away.
Jack strode to the back of the house, to his private domain. Fishing the keys from his pocket, he unlocked the door.
Go in. Shut it. Don’t look at her.
Impossible.
Jack turned to face her. Across the length of his cottage, he could still see the shock on her face, along with the rosy marks of his whiskers on her bare skin, the swollen ni**les so sweet and succulent they made his mouth water, and the fiery hair covering the slick utopia of her pu**y.
His gut clenched. Again. Cross the room, lay her out, f**k her again.
Ignoring the voice, he slammed and locked the door, then stalked toward the computer desk in the corner. He plopped down in his chair and booted up his machine. But the thoughts and impulses pounding at him were unlike his mundane actions. His instinct told him he’d just made a big mistake by turning his back on her. If he’d been thinking beyond his desire to f**k her and the shock of his frenzied reaction to her, he’d have realized that if he wanted Morgan to leave Brandon, he had to keep her sated and enthralled. Constantly. Nothing else would ensure that she willingly walked away from his former pal. And if he had any sense, he’d get on his feet, march back in there, carry her to his bed and tie her to it.
But Jack hesitated. Morgan had been like a match on the tinder of his control. He needed a breath to recover, to think. She and her feelings weren’t important; only the fact that he’d achieved the first part of his revenge was. Deciding how to achieve the other half, the part where she left Brandon…that ranked up there.
Instead, dangerous fantasies of him laying her out on his bed and having a leisurely feast assailed him. He’d kill to work his mouth from the lush heat of her lips, down that silken throat, to the sweet treats of her berry ni**les, over the sleek plain of her abdomen…all the way down to her wet, clenching little pu**y he knew would be like ambrosia.
Damn it, he had to get his mind off his dick and remember that Morgan was the means to an end. She’d cheated on her fiancé—not the kind of woman to get tangled up with. Been there, done that. He had the scars to prove it.
To top it all off, she still had a stalker who wanted her dead. She was scared out of her mind, and he’d promised to protect her and get her some answers. It was the least he could do. Repayment for using her. He needed to focus on keeping her safe, not dwell on the feel of her around him. Not on how challenging she would be to truly tame.
He’d find some way to convince her to leave Brandon that didn’t involve sinking his c**k into her body over and over until they were both too sated to move.
A quick glance at his watch told Jack it wasn’t quite seven in the morning, too early to call Deke, his business partner, or anyone else. Deke had a million connections, from senators to janitors. He’d know someone who knew something about her stalker. But until then, all Jack had to focus on was Morgan or revenge.
Okay, revenge. He’d think about that, focus on how sweet it was going to be to pay Brandon back for his perfidy. He didn’t feel elation, at least not yet. Likely he wouldn’t until Morgan left the bastard. But he’d known at the start there was a potential flaw in his plan: If Morgan didn’t tell Brandon about her indiscretion, Jack had no way of ensuring Brandon found out. No way of proving it. And proving it—that was important. Everything, in fact.
Rising from his chair, Jack paced. How could he prove to Brandon that he’d gotten deep inside his woman and made her scream his name? He’d gotten irrevocable proof of Brandon’s backstabbing via video but—
But…he might be able to provide Brandon the same.
Jack smiled. Paybacks were a bitch…
Ignoring the sting of his conscience, he raced back to his chair and fell into his seat, fingers on the keyboard. A few commands later, he found what he’d been looking for: the security footage inside the cabin from just a few minutes ago. Clicking into the file that started at 6 A.M., he watched it in double time until Morgan came out stomping and screaming in that little green towel.
Then he sat back to watch at normal speed and full sound. He didn’t want to miss a second of this.
Hell, she was gorgeous, all that red hair hanging over her shoulders like a fiery flag of temptation. That creamy skin, lightly freckled and teasing his tongue. He got hard again just remembering the way she smelled, like fresh raspberries with a hint of cinnamon. Morgan was the kind of woman—strong, only bendable with effort—that he loved to dive into and eat. He hadn’t found a woman like her in a long time. She was wasted on Brandon.
On his black-and-white video, he kissed her, touched her ni**les. Watching her eyes slide shut, her skin flush, her back arch to him in offering aroused him all over again. Being there to experience her had been…beyond mind-blowing, but watching her this way was like having her again and savoring her every reaction.
She whispered something. He said something back, but the audio on the tape didn’t pick it up. It hardly mattered when she dropped the towel. Though his body blocked most of the view of her body, he saw the plump curve of a breast, a flash of soft, pink folds guarded by fire-red hair. But he saw more. The lush line of her hip, the fluid shape of her thighs. The vulnerability on her face. She was taking a risk with him, and she knew it. And the reservation. She wasn’t 100 hundred percent committed to this. But the aching curiosity had finally overwhelmed her concern. She was dying for a dominant…and didn’t want to accept it.
There had to be a reason why. He was way more interested in solving that mystery than he ought to be.
Jack swore again, torn between guilt, curiosity, and the hot flash of desire, as he watched himself lift her up, brace her against the door, and fill her with a series of ramming thrusts. He remembered—so well it had him sweating—how tight she’d been, how she’d struggled to take him. But she never uttered a word, never complained. A wince of pain crossed her face, and Jack bunched his hands into fists. Damn it, why hadn’t she said something? Hurting her had been the last thing on his mind. Next time—
There may not be a next time, he reminded himself. He had what he needed now that he’d found this video. Would the knowledge that she’d felt utter sensual devastation at the hands of a virtual stranger be enough to make her leave Brandon? Too early to tell, but he feared getting her to leave the senator’s son wouldn’t be that simple. He’d have to devise something…
As he watched her accept the entire length of his c**k and her face suffuse with pleasure, he hoped like hell that one encounter wasn’t enough, that she ached to submit to him again. And again. Why fight the truth? She called to him. Everything about her, her skin, her smell, her grit. She was an interesting mixture of naiveté and temptation. Shy and holding back one minute, opening wide and begging him to f**k her the next. He liked being a little off balance, and she gave that to him.
The video kept playing, second after second, of their hard ride against the door. He could see the orgasm mounting within Morgan. Her sweet lips parted. She groaned and tightened her legs around him. He watched her gasp and could nearly feel her silken heat all over him, even now. Erasing the memory of her scent, her reactions—Morgan herself—wasn’t going to be easy.
Jack shifted, adjusting himself in his pants. He grimaced. How often was he rock hard and ready to sink balls deep into a woman fifteen minutes after taking her? Rarely. How often had a woman lingered in his mind like this after one mere f**king? Never.
He exhaled. Why was she different? Then his grandfather’s words hit him like a battering ram in the gut. If you’re dreaming about a redheaded woman over and over, you’re about to meet her and she’s your heart’s mate. Impossible. The woman in his mind, his dreams, was just a fantasy. It wasn’t necessarily Morgan.