Nailing Mr. Nasty (Campy Romances Series Book 2), page 16
After a few more strokes and a little kiss on the end of his cock, she rolled the condom onto him and lay back on the mattress, her legs parting for him.
“I don’t deserve you,” he murmured, appreciating the soft rounds of her breasts, the nipping in of her waist, and the gentle curve of her hips. A small mark, shaped like a flower petal, rode her left hip. He leaned over her and kissed it. Her stomach muscles fluttered, telegraphing her anticipation, and he returned her tremulous smile. “You’re beautiful, Samantha. So beautiful it almost hurts to look at you.”
Her cheeks pinked up and her lashes swept down. “So are you.”
“Ha. Not a chance.”
The curtain of her lashes lifted swiftly. Her eyes had dilated so that only a thin rim of silver circled her pupils. “You are, and you know it. You notice how women gaze at you, lust for you. You’re one sexy beast, Jack Nast.”
He growled playfully and crawled onto her body, loving the feel of her skin sliding against his and the sweet scent of her enveloping him in an invisible cloud. Kissing her, he let his lips caress hers as he confessed, “I’ve wanted to do this every night this week.”
“Why didn’t you?” She drew lazy circles with her fingertips through his chest hair.
“I felt like an addict and I told myself I needed to get over you.”
“Didn’t work, did it?”
He chuckled. “No, it did not. One taste and I was a goner. I’m drunk with you right this minute, sweetheart.”
“I’ve wanted to do something for weeks and weeks. May I?”
Giving her a leery look, he nodded slowly. She lifted her head, opened her mouth, and bit his chin, then gave his dimple a lick. He laughed. The woman was audacious and unguarded.
“Did you enjoy that? I know I did.”
She smiled and her eyes rolled back in a near swoon. “I have a thing for that Nast dimple.”
“And I have a thing for this body and this face.” He rained kisses across her forehead, down the bridge of her nose, across her cheeks, along her chin, and then settled his mouth on hers. He reached down, tucked his hands under her hips, gathered her buttocks into his palms, and angled himself against her entrance. With his mouth and tongue busy with hers, he inched inside of her, languidly and appreciatively, until he was fully seated. Only then did he break the kiss so that he could stare into the shimmering pools of her eyes that seemed darker in the dusky interior of her bedroom.
“We’re entering dangerous territory.”
He nodded, unable to speak. Afraid that he’d say something he couldn’t deny later.
“You’re becoming my everything. Mine.”
He kissed her, stopping her words of love as he moved in and out of her, taking his time. She mirrored his movements, arching up to meet his slow, sure thrusts.
“Be careful, Samantha. Someone could get hurt. Someone or both of us could end up heartbroken.”
She ran her heels up and down his calves. “I’m not afraid.”
“I come with a lot of baggage. It’s not fair to burden anyone with it. Especially a woman who deserves so much more than I could possibly give her.”
“Oh, shut up, Jack. You and your ‘life’s not fair’ philosophy is tiresome.” She clamped a hand at the back of his head. “Stop with the words of warning and kiss me.” Her lips brushed against his and her breath warmed them. “Make love to me. I’m yours, Jack. All yours.”
Tender feelings sprouted in him like green shoots, wrapping around his heart and squeezing. Moisture collected in his throat and eyes. He buried his face in the curve of her neck and rocked in and out of her. Their bodies grew warmer, hotter, slicker. When he felt himself step close to the edge, he pulled out of her and ignored her mewling protests.
“Turn over,” he rasped, helping her flip onto her stomach. He ran his hand down her spine and over her buttocks, parting them to admire the pink, wet folds and the plump node of her clitoris. His. She was his. He kissed her butt cheeks before biting down playfully on them. She wiggled, giggled, and looked over her shoulder at him.
“Trying to leave your mark, Jack?” she teased, her eyes flirting with him as she pressed her lips against her shoulder to hide her smile.
“You taste good all over.” He pushed her legs farther apart and guided his erection inside her. Tight. Very tight. Her walls squeezed his throbbing cock and it felt so good he almost sobbed. He tunneled in, pulled out, sank back in. He hardened even more and his balls tightened and felt burning hot. Growling low in his throat, he stretched out over her, his knees and elbows shielding her from his whole weight. Another few pumps into her tight sheath and he climaxed so hard that white spots flashed before his eyes and it felt as if he blacked out for a few seconds. His own panting brought him back to consciousness and he swept aside the curtain of her blond hair to expose her neck for his kiss. Rolling off her, he stared blankly at the ceiling light as his senses returned and blood flooded back into his depleted brain. He felt her looking at him and slid his eyes sideways to confront her lazy smile.
“Satisfied?” he asked, his voice emerging deep and rasping.
“Totally.” She stretched like a sleek cat. “I suppose I’m not the first woman to tell you that you know how to wield that magic wand of yours.”
“Have I cast a spell over you?” He peeled off the condom and dropped it in the waste basket beside the bed.
She inched closer, pressing her side against his. Opening her mouth, she gnawed gently on his shoulder, making him grin. “By the way, welcome to my home, Jack.”
“Thanks for throwing out the welcome mat for me, baby.” He wrapped an arm around her and she rested her cheek on his chest. “I never thought you’d be a renter. Did you rent from Balfour, too?”
“No. I didn’t live on the property at first. When it was time for me to renew the lease on the apartment I was in, he suggested I move into the pool house instead. At first, I didn’t think it was a good idea, but his health was failing, and I realized it might be best if I was closer to him.”
Closer. Hmmm. “Did you love him, Samantha?”
She curled some of his chest hair around her forefinger, taking a few seconds before she answered, “No, but I was extremely fond of him.”
“Was he in love with you?”
“Maybe a little, but he never acted on it. I’m sure he could tell that those feelings wouldn’t be reciprocated. I appreciated T.L.’s mind.”
“Ugh. That’s not what a man wants to hear. Hey!” He covered her hand with his when she tweaked his chest hair.
“A thinking man is a sexy man, Jack,” she said, good nature flashing in her eyes. “Conversations with T.L. were the best because he was witty and intelligent. He’d met a lot of fascinating people like R.A. Lafferty, Leonard Nimoy, Isaac Asimov, and Carl Sagan.”
“You miss him, don’t you?”
“Yes, but it’s gotten better. Right after he passed, I felt like a deflated balloon. The world seemed so dull, so lifeless without T.L. in it. Going through his things, taking care of his final business, and making sure his wishes were carried out kept me occupied, but it was also depressing.”
An arrow of jealousy pierced him. God, he was jealous of a dead man! He really needed to get a grip. He rubbed his thumb across her knuckles, thankful to have her in his arms and letting him discover more of her, past and present. “So, why didn’t you purchase your own home?”
“I’ve drifted from place to place,” she murmured, then kissed his nipple, sending a hot sizzle through him. “Kept waiting for a reason to put down solid roots, I guess.”
“A reason? Why do you need a reason?”
She was quiet for so long that he thought she might have drifted to sleep. Then she shifted a little against him, her hand fanning over his chest and coming to rest along his ribs. “I guess I’ve always wanted a home – not just a house – and a home to me is more than me and maybe a dog or cat.” She lifted her head, resting her chin on his chest and locking gazes with him. “Not that Taylor wouldn’t be great company.” She grinned with him. “I’m not explaining this very well.”
“No, I get you.” He brushed a lock of hair off her forehead, tucking it behind her ear. “Like I said, you deserve so much, Samantha.”
She wrinkled her nose in a mild rebuke and laid her cheek against his chest again. “I’m old-fashioned. I want to feather a nest with someone.”
A few minutes later sleep claimed him and he dreamed of coming home to Samantha, her arms open, her love for him shining in her eyes. Love. Did she love him? In his dream, there was no question about it. In his dream, life was fair and she was his. All his.
Chapter 12
Catastrophic Failure
He could honestly say that the past month had been one of the best in his whole life. Work had evened out, and although Jack was still a week behind his original schedule, he was pleased that his crew had answered the call and doubled their efforts. What made the month so special, though, was Samantha Striker.
Lucy was back at work two days a week with little Rose in tow. The office resembled a nursery, but Jack didn’t mind. In fact, it was a nice break in his day to drop by there and rock Rose or make funny faces to get her to smile at him. The first week Lucy was back, he’d felt Sam’s absence acutely. Unlike Lucy, Sam had popped up at the job sites in between her office duties, and Jack realized that he’d cherished those run-ins with her every work day.
However, he wasn’t going Sam-less. Oh, no. They had spent almost every night either at his place or hers. All night. Twisting up the sheets, trying out dining tables, countertops, chairs, and even on top of the washer/dryer in his laundry room. She was his tigresse, inside and outside the bedroom. He loved the way she loved him with such ferocity and the way she stood toe-to-toe with him when they disagreed on issues. She was so damned smart, she won most of those arguments, but he regained his championship style in bed or against the wall or in the shower.
He hadn’t admitted it to her yet, but he had been taking her advice about keeping his cool more often when things didn’t go his way at work. Seth had coughed up a discount on the counter mistake, but not because Jack had berated him. That had been Jack’s first attempt at being less nasty. Speaking in a level, albeit firm, tone, he’d shown Seth the original specifications on the blueprint and how this error impacted his schedule and cost analysis. Shockingly, Seth had ponied up and offered a ten percent discount. Jack had suggested – a bit louder this time and between gritted teeth – that fifteen percent was a better number. They’d shaken hands on thirteen percent. Lucky thirteen.
Sam had spent the month conferencing with a family that was looking to hire a foundation administer. They had offered her the position yesterday and she’d accepted. Jack had taken her out for dinner and dancing to celebrate. Today on the job sites, his head was fuzzy from too much champagne and carnal pleasure. Glancing at his watch, he was relieved to see that it was a few minutes after five. Quitting time. Time to hook up with his tigresse again.
His cellphone dinged and he read the text from Sam. I’m having dinner with my new employers tonight at their home. Catch up with you tomorrow?
He frowned, but texted back, Sure. I’ll miss being inside you. Guess I’ll have to fantasize about you while I polish the pole.
Her reply made him chuckle. Nasty boy. Xoxo
Deciding to grab a box of fried chicken on the way home, he sat in the living room with Taylor, munching on drumsticks and wings while watching a movie about World War II fighter pilots. He fell asleep on the sectional before the movie ended. When he roused up, Taylor had finished off the mashed potatoes and three biscuits.
“I hope you don’t upchuck that tonight,” Jack admonished the dog, who didn’t look the least bit chastised. Wagging his tail like a flag of triumph, Taylor trotted to his dog bed, circled three times, and then plopped down with a sighing grunt.
Shaking his head, Jack pushed up from the sectional and gathered the remains of the meal. After cleaning up the mess, he trudged upstairs for a shower and wished that Sam was there with him. Lying in bed without her was crushingly lonely.
“Good God, man, you have it bad for that woman,” he said, spread out on the sheets like a big tomcat, seeking the warmth of the sun on a cloudy day. While he’d danced with her last night, her body molding to his, her hand seeming so small and fragile clasped in his big paw, the thought of asking her to marry him had bloomed in his mind.
Marry him!
Instead of clamping down on the mere notion of it, he’d let it bloom in his mind as the music wove its spell and the woman in his arms made him feel blessed. Maybe marriage could work with her. Their dependence was mutual and cooperative. He knew she could stand on her own and it pleased him that she allowed him to shoulder some of her worries, be her sounding board. She’d told him that T.L.’s nephew and niece had dropped their lawsuit attempts and she hadn’t heard a word from either of them since the parking lot beatdown. More and more, he opened to her, telling her about his troubled childhood and his burgeoning realization that he had been enabling his mother to cover up for his father’s alcoholism. It was a big step for him and Sam had listened without interruption or interference. He appreciated that. This was his burden and his problem to solve. She understood that and allowed him the space to deal with it on his own. Perhaps she’d also understand his fear of harboring the same violent tendencies as his father. Of course, he knew himself better now. He was a grown man and had never entertained the idea of lashing out at a woman. Surely, those urges would have crept into his mind already. But he still worried. If he ever laid a hand on a woman or child or even an animal in anger . . . well, he wouldn’t be able to live with himself.
He rolled onto his side, pushed the disturbing thoughts from his mind, and gave himself over to sleep. He hadn’t been asleep more than a couple of hours when his cellphone chirped on his bedside table. Samantha. She was probably home from the dinner and missing him. Smiling, he switched on the lamp and grabbed his phone. But it wasn’t Sam.
“Mother? What’s happening?” He dreaded her answer.
“Jack, your father is in jail!” Her voice shook with tears.
“Jail? No shit? How did that happen?” He sat up in bed, wide awake now. The old man had been arrested?
“He . . . he didn’t call me, and the bartender . . . he was at a place he hasn’t been before. They didn’t know to phone me when he was . . . sick, you know.”
“Drunk. Yeah, I know. What place? Where was he?”
“Somewhere in south Tulsa.”
Jack pushed his hair off his forehead. Something was fishy. “South Tulsa? What the hell was he doing? He didn’t get hammered around people he works with, did he?”
“No, no. Of course not. A policeman stopped him because he was driving slow. Or something like that.”
“Did he have a wreck? Were others involved? Anyone hurt?”
“No, Jack. He was pulled over because the cop was suspicious. That’s all. Jack, I have the money. Will you come get it and bail him out?”
His teeth clicked together as he clamped down on his automatic response. Not this time. He had to grow balls of steel. “Leave him there, Mother.”
“What?”
“Let him spend the night in the drunk tank. It will do him good.”
“No, Jack. No! Quit talking like that. We need to get him released.”
“No, Mother, we don’t. He was driving drunk. Maybe a night or two in jail will knock some sense into him. Doubtful, but you have to start somewhere. Call Uncle Mel. His neighbor is an attorney and can handle this for you.”
“I’m not involving any other family in this,” she said, shock ringing in every syllable. “No one needs to know, Jack. If you won’t go, I’ll go by myself. I can’t believe that you’d . . . what’s gotten into you?”
He rested his forearms on his knees and let his shoulders slump with the weight of his decision. “I love you, Mother, but I’m not going to clean up his mess anymore. He needs to face the consequences of his disease and his choices.”
“Disease, Jack. That’s right. Your father has a disease and you’re going to turn your back on him?”
“The disease can be treated, but he’d rather wallow in booze than stay sober. He ruined our family, but I’m not going to let him keep fucking with my life.”
“Jack, don’t talk like that to me. It’s so vulgar.”
He chuckled darkly at the irony of her scolding him for his language and allowing her husband to slap and beat her as if that weren’t a vulgarity.
“We gave you kids the best life possible, son. You got a good education and we did all we could for you and your sisters.” She sniffed. “I’m hanging up now if you’re not going to help me.”
“You, I would help, but this isn’t about you. It’s about him and I’m not lifting a finger for him.”
The line went dead.
Jack stared at the phone, going over the conversation, wincing at the stinging feelings of disappointing his mother by refusing to fly to her side and help her through this ugly ordeal. After a few minutes, he checked the time. Eleven-thirty. Instead of phoning, he texted his two sisters with the news. Less than a minute ticked by when his phone chirped in his hand. He looked down at the screen and grimaced.
“Did I wake you up, Natalie?”
“No. I was watching Dirty Dancing for the umpteenth time. He’s in jail? Holy crap, Jack. I bet Mother is hysterical.”
“Yeah. She’s upset. Crying. Making excuses for him.” He fell back on the bed. “God, Nat. Telling her I wouldn’t help was hard.”
“I’m proud of you, Jack. I can’t believe you actually did it! What happened to make you decide to finally quit covering for him?”
“I didn’t see it that way. I . . . I was helping Mother. Making sure you and Margot weren’t involved in it anymore.” He closed his eyes, recalling a certain blond with silver eyes and a heart full of hope. “Sam pointed out that I was enabling her to keep everything under wraps and help her pretend she doesn’t live with a mean drunk.”
