CHAPTER THREE
Sarah
Goldilocks and the Three Bears. That’s what I feel like I’m about to embark on. You know, our girl, “Little G” as I like to refer to her, busts on into that house—one that’s not hers, by the way, so that warrants an instant, “Girl, you crazy!”—and tries out all the different things: porridge, chairs, and finally beds until she finds one that’s just right.
I feel like I’ve been doing that all along; except in my case, it was with penises. Waaaait. Now, bear with me on this one, okay? Penises. If you’ve only seen or been with one, plug your ears because I’ll probably send you into some deep, dark depression, and I can’t have that on my conscience. Otherwise, stick around for a moment.
Here’s the thing. While I wouldn’t classify myself as slutty, I’ve been with my share of men. And each of them had a different “penis story.” One guy—many moons ago—was tall and had huge feet. I thought for sure he’d be well hung. Ohhhh, no siree. I actually had to ask him, “Are you in yet?”
Go ahead and gasp at my misfortune—and his. It’s not like I have a super-sized hoo-ha that could double as some sort of deep abyss or anything. But, right hand to God, there’s not a chance in hell I could’ve told you if his erect penis had delved into my lady cave or not.
Another guy had one of those skinny, pretzel rod penises. It had no girth whatsoever, and while I love me some pretzels (now I’m craving one, damn it!), I sure as hell don’t want a guy’s appendage to resemble a snack food.
Another one had a curved penis. Yes, I said it. Curved. Talk about interesting. I was continuously trying to determine which way I’d have to swivel to get him to hit the right spot.
So you see, I’ve not had that final “Goldilocks moment.” But I have faith Jack’s going to change that. I mean, I copped a good feel to see what I’d be working with. Because let’s be honest. I’ve done some “hard time”—pun intended—in “bad penis penitentiary” and deserve to be released from that prison once and for all. I hope I’m finally embarking on my own “Goldilocks, this one’s just right” penis moment.
And tonight, my friends, is the night.
“You’re heading home?” Maggie asks just as I near where she and Ry are chatting with his parents.
“Yes.” My smug smile is ridiculously wide and cheesy, and my best friend instantly picks up on it.
Her eyes dart around the room before returning to me. She leans in. “You’re not going home alone, are you?”
My smile stretches even wider. “Nope.”
Her expression grows troubled. “You need to be careful. I don’t want—”
I hold up a hand to stop her. “Maggie, chill. It’s all good.”
She steps closer, laying a hand on my arm in concern. “But I don’t want anyone to get hurt.”
“I’m not going to get hurt.”
She gives a halfhearted laugh. “It’s not you I’m worried about. It’s Jack.”
Rearing back in surprise, I stare at her. “You’re worried about him?”
She lifts a shoulder. She looks awesome in her white halter-style dress with a black lace overlay. “I just get the feeling he’s not quite as tough as he seems. And you’re…”
“I’m…?” I raise my eyebrows expectantly, but I’m sure I already know what she’s about to say. That I’m a ballbuster or tough or something to that extent. Which isn’t far from the truth.
It doesn’t, however, mean I’m at any less risk for being hurt than the next girl.
“I just don’t want things to be weird for the four of us, okay?” The look Maggie gives me has me tugging her close for a hug.
“You know I love you, right?” I say as we embrace. She nods before we break apart. “Then don’t worry. We’re both adults. It’ll be fine.”
I receive another skeptical look from Maggie before I hug Ry goodbye and make my way out onto the sidewalk. Although it’s August and the temperatures reflect that, I still tug on my thin cardigan, braving the slight chill in the night air since downtown is much like a wind tunnel.
The moment I spot Jack leaning casually against the large black light post with a soft, easy smile playing at his lips, my lady parts officially speak up, practically hollering, “Put me in, Coach!”
Ohhh, yeah. Tonight’s going to be the night when Jack rounds all my bases before sliding home.
* * *
Have you ever seen that old show on HBO called Taxicab Confessions? If not, go and Google that shit right now. Now. Doitdoitdoitdoit. I’m talking hidden cameras, talking freely about anything and everything sexually related, and individuals getting freaky in the back of the cabs, horny as hell after a night of clubbing or doing God knows what.
Well, Jack and I are teetering on the edge of a could-be episode because he’s got some serious Roman hands and Russian fingers, if you get my meaning. Naughty Jack Westbrook is fast becoming my favorite.
On a quiet gasp, I tear my lips from his and press them to the cords of his neck to feel his rapidly beating pulse. “You’re killing me.” My words sound breathless, mixed with his own slightly ragged breathing.
The hand which has been encroaching on my “homeland” territory flexes, and I feel the slight rumble of laughter run through him. “Ah, but I’m pretty sure you’re the one who’s killing me, gorgeous.”
I raise my head just as he turns his own to peer at me with a heavy-lidded gaze. Taking my hand, he guides it to cup his hardness pressing firmly against his slacks and smirks. “But what a way to go, right?” I catch a spark of naughtiness in his eyes before his head descends, and his lips catch mine, his tongue delving deep inside to war with my own.
I’m greeted with mixed feelings when the cab driver pulls up to his place because holy hellaciousness. I don’t want Jack to stop, but at the same time, I don’t want our cab driver to catch sight of my goods. Nuh-uh. No bueno.
Managing to throw the door of the cab open after Jack pays the fare, we exit quickly, and I practically drag him up the sidewalk so he can punch in his code and unlock the doors to his building. Once inside, we catch an empty elevator, and I shove him against the wall as it ascends.
Making out with Jack Westbrook could be added to my list of things I love. Holy moly. He kisses with just the right amount of tongue. Another Goldilocks moment for me. Not too much tongue, not too little. Just right.
You know those kisses you feel all the way to your toes? The ones that make you shiver in the most delicious way? The kisses that make you feel like you’ve been kiss-starved and need more and more and more?
Jack’s kisses have me feeling that right now.
Finally, we exit the elevator and arrive at his door. He aims his key toward the lock, and I cop numerous feels, distracting him until he finally manages to unlock the door and shove it open.
Boom! Once we’re locked inside, I press my palms against Jack’s muscled chest, backing him against the door. If I thought our kisses in the elevator moments ago were hot, I was sorely mistaken. Because when our mouths fuse again, it’s a kiss hot enough to melt off my panties.
If I still had them on, that is.
My hands frantically unbutton his suit jacket, and he breaks the kiss to peer down, those dark blue eyes watching me with a mixture of amusement and barely restrained lust.
“In a bit of a hurry, are we?”
Without responding, I move on to tackle his belt and quickly unfasten his pants enough to allow me to reach inside his black boxer briefs and feel what I’ve been hoping to get my hands on.
Jackpot, baby. Jack-freaking-pot. Jack Jr. gets my stamp of approval already, simply by judging his size and girth. Ohhhh, yeah.
Shifting with the intention of dropping down to get “better acquainted” with JJ—yes, I’ve already nicknamed Jack Jr.—Jack’s firm grip on my upper arms draws me to a stop. My eyes dart up to his in question, and I find him watching me with the slightest smirk playing on his lips. His eyes are slightly glassy from the number of drinks we’ve had tonight, but he still seems alert and “in the game.”
“Not yet.” God, that sexy smirk combined with the deep, rich sound of his voice sends tingles straight down to my core, making me squeeze my legs together to ease the pressure.
Abruptly, he rids himself of his sharp black dress shoes and kicks off his pants, standing before me in his suit jacket, button-down shirt, and boxer briefs, and I swear to you, my ovaries are practically chanting his name. Jack, Jack, Jack. Suddenly, I’m scooped up in his arms.
When is the last time I had a guy pick me up like I weighed next to nothing—no groaning or anything—to carry me off for sexy times? Hmmm, let me think about that.
The answer is never. Which makes this even more memorable.
“Pulling out all the stops tonight, aren’t you?” My voice is breathless, and I loop my arms around his neck as he carries me to the bedroom. Soft shards of moonlight are streaming through the small slats of the venetian blinds, casting an ethereal glow upon the room.
Setting me on my feet beside the bed, he turns me around, gliding his hands over my cardigan and tossing it aside. Once he removes the clips from my hair, his fingers drape my hair over one shoulder, pressing a light kiss to the nape of my neck. He caresses my bare shoulders before tracing a finger down the middle of my back and sliding down the zipper of my dress. The fabric gives way and falls in a heap at my feet, leaving me clad in only my bra and heels.
He releases a long exhale, and his hot breath washes over my skin. “Your ass”—he slips a hand down, fingertips grazing my skin—“is so fucking hot.”
I’m startled at the sudden nip on my shoulder, but he immediately soothes it with his tongue and lips. Another hand slips around to cup the fullness of my right breast, his thumb dipping into my bra to slide across a pebbled nipple. “I can’t wait to put my mouth on these.” The feel of the slightly calloused pad of his thumb elicits a gasp, and I arch into his touch.
Spinning around, I make quick work of tugging off his suit jacket before tackling the buttons of his shirt with much less grace than I’d like to admit, but time is of the essence here. This man needs to be naked, and I need his skin on mine—stat.
Gazing up into his eyes, heavy-lidded with arousal, I whisper, “You won’t need to go to the gym tomorrow morning, either, buddy.”