“Don’t stop,” he growled. “Show me how you play with your clit.”
Actually, she couldn’t have stopped for anything. Her saliva mingled with her own juices as she pressed a second finger onto her clit and began the motions she knew would rocket her straight into bliss.
Still, she strained to hold back her orgasm, waiting for Jack’s approval. Somehow needing it. The pressure grew, mounted. She clenched every muscle, even as she felt compelled to drive herself higher. And Jack… He was now pounding into her, a moan punctuating his every stroke. Inside her, she could feel him thickening, swelling. He lengthened his strokes, the crest of his c**k hitting her g-spot with every rapid-fire thrust.
And still Morgan held on, digging her nails into his hip with one hand, stroking the bundle of nerves between her legs with the other. Her thighs tightened around him. She cried out, trying desperately to wait for Jack’s consent to release the gigantic explosion swirling inside her with the bright, shining promise of Nirvana.
“Jouis pour moi,” he demanded. “Come for me!”
Jack didn’t even finish his sentence before it crashed over her over, granting that dazzling dance with the stars as light and color flashed in her head. The beauty had a dark side, though, as it poured through her, swirling around her, then pulled her under, into a dark morass, like a riptide. It drowned her in violent pleasure, a place where only the white-hot sear of satisfaction lived. A ringing in her ears and a sting of her throat told her, over the roar of her pulsing heartbeat, that she was screaming. Jack’s long groan of satisfaction joined her.
After that, she remembered nothing, just deep dreamless hours of heavenly sleep, cocooned in Jack’s warmth.
Now the bed was empty, the bedroom door closed.
And the mere thought of him and their night together left her aching and wet again.
Morgan buried her face in her hands. God, what had she done?
Before Jack touched her, she’d worried that after one night with him, she would never be the same again. She’d been right to worry.
Worse, after arousing her into panting for everything she swore she’d never want, couldn’t want, then satisfying her beyond her every erotic imagining, Jack had merely awakened at some point and left. No, she hadn’t expected undying devotion or confessions of love. Crazy. Jack Cole didn’t seem like the kind of man to bow to something as soft as emotion. The very notion made her laugh. Or would have, had she been in the mood to see the humor.
As it was, she saw only that she’d given herself— repeatedly—to someone who could turn her inside out, make her into something her mother would be horrified by, Andrew would scorn. A wanton she wasn’t sure she could come to terms with. Then he would leave her.
It had to end…even if that reckless part of her craved more of Jack and the sweet insanity of the pleasure he gave her.
That couldn’t happen. Other than one night of sex, they didn’t suit. Earthy, laid-back Jack didn’t fit in her world. And she…didn’t belong in his, a world of silken commands that came with velvet bonds and spankings and acts that both horrified and fascinated.
And why was she even contemplating anything she might share with Jack beyond last night?
He had challenged her to give herself to him for a night. Fine. She had. It wasn’t going to happen again. Now they just had to divine the identity of this stalker and she could get back to her life…and somehow forget Jack before she lost herself in him.
On the bright side, when it came time to film the episode of Turn Me On that dealt with domination, she’d be well prepared.
With a sour smile at her own bad humor, Morgan rose and fished around the room for something to hide her nakedness and ward off the morning’s chill. A huge sweatshirt of Jack’s that hung to mid-thigh and a pair of socks later, she finger-combed her hair to rid it of the worst of the tangles. Damn, she couldn’t even find a pair of underwear. And the rest would have to wait. The way her stomach was rumbling, she needed food.
With a deep breath, Morgan opened the bedroom door and stepped into the hall.
The last thing she expected to see was another man standing in the middle of the living/kitchen area.
Built hard with obviously Germanic ancestors, the man rose about three inches above Jack, who was no midget himself. Hair the color of rich caramel cut military short, a square jaw, and shoulders a mile wide all screamed male! But it was the eyes, bright, razor-sharp, deep denim blue…slashing over Jack’s shoulder to focus on her with cool assessment—and hot reaction— that startled Morgan.
This stranger could probably guess that she’d spent the night having sex with Jack. As if her own licentious behavior hadn’t been bad enough, this new realization sent a fresh flush of mortification rising up her cheeks.
Jack turned to find her frozen in the hall. She probably had that deer-in-the-headlights look, she thought, forcing herself to take a deep breath and meet the stranger’s gaze.
“Morgan,” Jack called.
She cut her glance to him. My, he looked yummy in the morning. Just his voice, low, gravelly, with a hint of command, both reassured her and made her wet again. Bad, bad sign.
Her belly jumped, her cheeks flushing again when she remembered for the second time everything they’d done the night before.
His dark eyes burned with memories, even as he crossed his arms over his massive chest, jaw tense. His posture did not invite morning-after affection, even if she’d been so inclined. Was this remote man the same one who’d tangled his limbs with hers in a warm embrace of protection during the dark of the night?
“This is my business partner, Deke Trenton,” he simply said.
Jack and this newcomer, they might look a bit like day and night, light and dark, but with iron bodies and hard eyes, they were cut from the same military cloth. She shivered. Too much testosterone in one room.