“Do you want earplugs?”
While Jenni watches Jacob and Lola entering their bedroom at the side of the living room, my eyes roam over her face, assessing every perfect feature like it’s the first time I’ve seen her. I swear she grows more beautiful every day, entrancing not just my mind, but my body as well. I can’t believe the hold this woman placed on me when she was only a girl.
I was a player, a man at the top of his prime.
She slaughtered not just my game, but my heart as well.
Only twelve years ago, I would have been pissed at my confession. No one wants to be snared in a hunter’s trap—no one but the man lucky enough to snag Jenni’s attention. I should have spotted her hit from a mile out. One kiss and I was fucking done. I didn’t do hearts, flowers, and romance. I didn’t even date. But I gave everything I had to get Jenni beneath me.
That just made matters worse.
Once I had one taste, I wanted another, and then another. I wasn’t just infatuated; I was kicked on my ass. Thank fuck she didn’t put up with my shit. We were just kids when we fell in love, but she is my greatest reward. My band has amassed enough sales to feed the nation for years; we’ve won several awards, hosted gigs for Arabian princes, and could have our pick of any woman in the world. If I knew all of this before pursuing Jenni, do you think my choices would change?
Not at all.
Having someone at your side while riding the hair-raising turns of this rollercoaster we call life is what makes it so much fun. I love having Jenni at my side; she has increased the benefits of my life tenfold, and our kids are the icing on the cake.
“You still can’t believe it, can you?” I ask, taking the empty seat next to her. “Lola is becoming a mom.”
After tucking her feet under her bottom, Jenni swivels her torso to face me. The Christmas shirt she is wearing is fucking hideous, but nowhere near as ugly as Emily and Lola’s sweaters.
“It’s good, just surprising.” The worry in her words forces laughter from my lips.
Jenni and Lola are friends, but they have a weird, unbalanced relationship like Slater and me. I know what spurred the bitterness between Slater and me—I slept with his fiancé, in his bed, with his condom—but I don’t know what caused the rift between Jenni and Lola. Jenni has never said, and in all honesty, I’ve never asked. I doubt it is as bad as mine and Slater’s previous issues, but it has to be something important if it is still going on twelve years later.
“You think Jacob talked her into it?”
Jenni shakes her head in an instant. “No. Lola loves Jacob, but even someone she is head over heels in love with wouldn’t have that type of hold over her. She is only pregnant because she wants to be.” A cheeky glint in her eyes makes them lighter than usual. “Although, I doubt she anticipated twins. I’m sure she’s regretting her decision now. Jacob never does anything halfway.”
“She seems to be handling it okay,” I reply while using one of the oldest moves in the book: the yawn while stretching maneuver.
I can’t remember the last time I used such a corny ploy, but with Jasper and Harper old enough to be grossed out when I show affection to their mother, I’ve barely kissed my wife today, much less done the other hundred or so roguish things streaming through my head.
“Yes, she is,” Jenni agrees.
She isn’t just agreeing to my admission, she is approving my advancement as well. The hunger in her eyes is as potent as mine, her needs just as unquenched.
After filling the minute speck of space between us, I cup her jaw with my hands. My dick throbs in my jeans when my boldness enhances the envy in her eyes. It proves she has missed my touch as much as I’ve missed touching her today.
Well, I think that’s what she is missing.
“Do you miss it?” I ask, pressing my lips to her tiny nose before dropping them to her mouth.
“What? Being pregnant?” She sounds as surprised by my question as I was asking it.
When I nod, she shakes her head. “Not at all.”
I shouldn’t sigh in relief, but I do. I love our kids, but Jenni doesn’t just get sick when she’s pregnant, she gets moody and tired as well. I’m sure it is exhausting carrying a child, but I miss the little firecracker she is in the last three months of her pregnancy.
A growl rumbles up my chest when Jenni suddenly draws back, pulling her mouth away from mine. “Why did you ask that? Are you missing me being pregnant?”
“No!” I swallow the eagerness in my voice before repeating more respectfully, “No, I was just wondering what you were thinking. I like the way things are now. We don’t need to change anything.” Except how much clothing you are wearing.
I wonder if I said my last statement out loud when Jenni scans the room before returning her eyes to mine. It isn’t the yearning in them piquing my suspicion; it is the sneaky unbuttoning of her shirt. My little firecracker is coming out to play.
“What are you doing?” I ask, the heat in my words picking up with my body temp. “Are you hot?”
Please say yes. I only want to hear you say yes.
“Maybe,” Jenni purrs, thickening my dick so quickly, I should be ashamed. Pity a lack of confidence has never been a problem for me. “I was just thinking. . .” She pauses, building the suspense with a seductive rake of her teeth over her bottom lip. “Do you remember when Harper was conceived?”
I groan a long and painful moan. “How could I forget? That was the best fucking night of my life.”
Jenni giggles to conceal her groan. “Even better than seeing your children enter the world?”
“Ah, yeah,” I answer, nodding. “I only saw black during Jasper’s birth, and Harper’s was a close call, but even a front row seat wouldn’t alter the facts. That night, Jenni. Damn. . .” I yank her onto my lap, ensuring she can feel my memories firsthand.
That night was. . . god. I’d do anything to experience it again. Please take me back. . . . . .
The bass throbbing in my eardrums echoes Jenni’s pulse thumping through her body. Her delectable ass is plastered to my crotch while she dances like her feet are on fire. Jenni loves dancing as much as I do. It is the closest we can get to having sex without actually doing the deed. I love sex, but I love this strawberry blonde woman grinding my dick with her needy pussy just as much.
Jenni and I have been together two years now, and the excitement hasn’t faded in the slightest. I am as intoxicated by her now as I was when she sauntered onto the Dungeon dancefloor over three years ago. The sweet curve of her hips and the tiny features of her face already had every man within a three mile radius in a trance. Then she danced. . . fuck.
I went in with a game plan that night; I left with barely a chess piece on the board. Spotting my game from a mile out, Jenni played me in a way I never saw coming. If I weren’t as determined as she was stubborn, I may have never stepped out of my comfort zone. Thank fuck I learned fast what a prize she is. I’d hate to think where I’d be now if I didn’t have Jenni and Jasper in my life.
When Megan told me she was pregnant, my life circled the toilet bowl. I didn’t want to be a dad any more than I wanted to settle down with a wife and a sky-high mortgage. I truly believed my worst nightmare was coming true.
I was wrong.
Nothing hurt me more than when Jenni disclosed she was going to kill our baby. I had fallen in love—head over my fucking boots in love—and the girl who knocked me on my ass was going to abort my baby. That killed me—it honestly stung like a thousand knives being stabbed into my chest. Jasper was a mistake, but that didn’t make him any less wanted. He was the glue Jenni and I needed to sort our shit out. He made me a man as much as he made me a father. He turned what I thought I wanted into a lie and gave me hope that there was more to life than partying, pussy, and making money.
Tonight is proof he was right.
I can feel the eyes of over a dozen women on me, yet my concentration has not once veered from Jenni. I don’t have an ounce of regret with any decisions I’ve made since Jasper was born. Not one.
I wish I could say the same about the months leading to his birth.
I wasn’t just playing on a new field; I was playing a whole new game. Becoming a parent at a young age is tough, but doing it with a psychopath breathing down your neck makes matters ten times worse.
The woman who tried to murder my fiancée and unborn baby is dead. I don’t know how she died or who is responsible for it, but just knowing I don’t have to worry about her hurting my family quells my remorse.
Jenni and I have a long way to go before that stage of our life will stop affecting our sleep, but with every memory we create, the less influence Megan has on our lives.
I hate that my past is still impacting me. I tighten my grip on Jenni’s waist and draw her back. The free-flowing strapless shirt she is wearing sticks to her skin, her body temp as high as mine. The club hosting our afterparty is raging. There are as many Rise Up fans here as there were at our concert tonight. The four levels are stacked with patrons, amplifying the craziness in the air. We’ve been on tour the past three months. It’s a mind-blowing experience, but I’m looking forward to returning home next month. There is a peace I get in familiar surroundings no amount of coin can match.
Mercifully, the scent of Jenni’s sweat-slicked skin is as close to home as I can get.
“Nick,” Jenni breathes heavily when my hand glides down her quivering stomach, stopping mere inches from her heated core. “Please don’t tease me. Slater already killed my mood once tonight. I won’t stand for another delay.”
My jaw ticks. Slater and his constant interruptions are pissing me off. I apologized to the guy—I spilled my fucking guts—yet he still rides my ass as hard as he did when I first pursued Jenni. If I hadn’t seen the way he looked at her, I’d put up more of a protest to his interfering, but thankfully, he cares for Jenni more like a brother than a suitor.
Just the thought of them together. . . fuck. Now everything makes sense. Even if Nikki was as slutty as they come, it wasn’t my place to prove that to Slater. I should have acted like a man instead of a manwhore. I deserved to be knocked out by him, but I’ll never tell the guys that, or they may invoke their one hit rule.
Jenni’s French-tipped nails dig into my neck when my thumb inconspicuously brushes over the warmth barely contained by a meager pair of panties. When she doesn’t stop me, I scan the dance floor. Confident no one is watching, I swipe her clit for the second time.
Her hearty moan swallows the music pumping around us. It is nothing but white noise, a bundle of excitement too great to ignore. Acting like a man who has nothing to lose, I slip my hand beneath Jenni’s shirt.
The flare of her shirt conceals my boldness, but the dampness between her legs triples my resolve. You know that meager pair of panties I referred to earlier? They’re a lie. She isn’t wearing any.
“Jenni. . . fuck.” I want to say more. I have a million thoughts streaming through my mind, but none of them are suitable for a public location. “No panties? When did you take them off?”
My hand cups her pussy when she cranks her neck to face me. “I didn’t take them off. You did. Just before Slater interrupted us, remember?” Her voice squeaks at the end of her confession, my thumb stroking her bare slit inciting her mouse-like tone.
“So you didn’t think to replace them?” My voice is rough, my desire to fuck thickening my throat.
Jenni glares at me like I’m an idiot. “When was I supposed to do that? We went straight from your dressing room to the limo. Besides, I don’t even know where you flung them to.”
Her flaring nostrils reveal she thinks I’m mad, but she is way off the mark. I’m not angry. I’m horny.
Her brows smooth when I slowly notch my finger inside her. Because we are surrounded by hundreds of sweaty, dancing patrons, her heat can only warm my finger to the second knuckle, but it is enough to expose the reason for the drastic drop in my tone.
“Ohh. . .” Jenni mews, her hips gently rolling left to right.
To anyone not in our immediate vicinity, her moves are the same ones she’s been making all night. It is only the wetness dampening my palm clueing me in to her excitement.
“Spread your feet a little wider,” I demand, tapping my shoes against her sparkly stilettos. Jenni is a girly-girl. If it shines or glimmers, she owns it.
When Jenni spreads her feet to the width of her shoulders, I arch her back. Her closeness comes with lots of advantages. Not only can she grind her spectacular ass against my dick, I can thrust two fingers into her soaked core.
The brutal huff she releases when my fingers fully submerge in her heat matches the epic amount of precum seeping into my jeans. I keep still for a moment, giving her time to protest my unexpected brazenness. Her lips twitch, like she is dying to speak, but she remains as quiet as a church mouse. The risk of being caught isn’t just stealing her words but increasing her excitement as well.
“Keep moving, baby, or people will get suspicious,” I murmur when she remains as stiff as a board, her pleasure strangling her senses.
Nodding, Jenni swings her hips, believing every word I spoke. I have no clue what I am talking about. This is the first time I’ve performed a lewd act on a packed dance floor, but if it stops us from getting busted, I’m all for it. I don’t give a shit about my reputation; it was flushed down the toilet a long time before Jenni entered the picture. I just don’t want her reputation stained by my scandalous ways.
My confession leads to an increased pace. I shouldn’t love that I can corrupt her so easily, but I do. Jenni had a noose around my neck since the night we met; it’s about time I returned the favor.
“That’s it, baby, just like that,” I praise when she swings her body in rhythm to the bass thumping around us. Our dance moves are risqué, but not any worse than we’ve witnessed numerous times this evening. If I could veer my concentration away from how good it feels having Jenni’s pussy caressing my fingers, I’d investigate the couple next to us a little more attentively. You get breathless when dancing, but not that breathless.
My focus returns to the task at hand when Jenni’s pussy clamps around my finger. “You close, baby?” I ask, my voice strained through the lust clutching my throat.
Jenni answers my question by squeezing the walls of her pussy. I swear I nearly cream in my pants. The control she has over her pussy is mesmerizing. It is the sole reason we make love as often as we fuck. I never made love before I met Jenni—not once. I fucked, and I fucked well. But I make love to her, because the sexual connection we share during the deed is better than any sex I’ve had, much less the mind-blowing power her pussy has over my dick.
“You need me to muzzle you?” I whisper in her ear when her moans ramp up a notch.
I laugh, praying my husky chuckle will make my desire to come wane. Jenni’s moans are like lyrical gold to my ears, making me the hardest I’ve ever been.
I rock my hips harder when her pussy sucks at my fingers. She milks my thrusting digits like she does my dick. When the slickness surrounding my fingers drips onto my palm, the throatiest moan I’ve ever heard jingles into my ears, husky and ball-tightening sweet.
“Oh yeah, baby, that’s it. Give me exactly what I wanted to steal from you the night we met.”
It is the fight of my life not to yank down my jeans and replace my fingers with my dick. I only hold back the desire because Jenni’s moans have gained us the attention of numerous patrons surrounding us. They aren’t aware what we are doing, but I’m suspicious my cover has been blown. More often than not, Jenni and I dance amongst the crowd. Because no one expects to see a rock star in the regular section of the club, they don’t glance my way once, let alone twice.
I don’t have to disguise myself like Slater and Noah do, as I don’t have their trademark looks. Slater’s dreads make him highly distinguishable, and Noah’s dimples have graced the front pages of magazines as often as our songs have played on the radio the past three years.
Don’t get me wrong; I’m not complaining about a lack of fanfare. Who in their right mind would? I just brought my fiancée to climax in the middle of a packed dance floor. That is too thrilling to complain about.
When the hushed whispers are accompanied by prolonged gawks and finger points, I inconspicuously remove my hand from Jenni’s skirt, curl my non-slicked hand around hers, then guide her toward the VIP entrance.
Since her thighs are still shuddering in the aftermath of her orgasm, Jenni’s steps are slower than usual. We are inundated within seconds, groping hands even more unwanted since I’m still sporting a boner from our risqué moves mere minutes ago.
“Hey. . .whoa!” I say on repeat, my slit eyes issuing the rest of my threat. Just like there is only one pussy my dick is interesting in claiming, there is only one set of hands it wants grabbing it as well.
With Jenni sheltered under my arm, I continue weaving through the frantic mob. With the swell of the crowd growing with every shove, we soon head backward. The crush of people nearly chokes out both my happiness and my easy-going composure.
I shove harder, my anger projected with every grunt and push I inflict. This is fucking ludicrous. We were dancing, for fuck’s sake, not expecting to be mobbed.
“Call Hawke,” Jenni suggests, her worried voice barely heard over the roaring chant of fans.
Nodding, I yank my cell out of my pocket. I haven’t even gotten it halfway out when Hawke’s deep baritone breaks through the screams damaging my hearing.
“Over here!” I shout, tugging Jenni into my side to protect her with my body. I’m not as built as my bandmates and nowhere near as tall, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to stand down when it comes to protecting my girl.
Just as Hawke arrives at our side, Jenni is wretched away from me. A man with a porno mustache and slicked back hair pulls her to his chest by her ass before spinning around. “How about a dance, sweetheart? I’ve got some moves I can show you.” The slur of his words leaves no doubt to his intoxication.
Hawke dives for Jenni, but I reach her first. After yanking her out of the stranger’s grasp, I throw my fist into his face. The man I’d guess to be mid-thirties falls onto his ass with a thud, as unprepared for my violence as I am. I’m a lover not a fighter. I’ve never clenched a fist in my life, let alone thrown a punch, but just seeing his greasy hands on Jenni snapped my levelheadedness. I’ve never been more ropeable.
“Get in here! We’ve got a stampede on our hands,” Hawke screams into the receiver plugged in his ear as the crowd surges in. They’re as eager to see me fight as I want to teach the belligerent man a lesson. No one messes with a Holt man’s girl.
If Jenni wasn’t my utmost priority, I’d answer the silent plea in their eyes, but considering she comes before anyone, I leash my agitation.
While Hawke uses his large body as a barrier from the crowd, I drop my eyes to Jenni. “Are you okay?” I ask, my voice as frantic as my scan of her face. Her pupils are massive, her lips turned down. “Did he hurt you? Are you hurt?”
She lowers her eyes over her body, as if anticipating a bloody wound or mark. There isn’t one. She is just overcome with shock. It isn’t every day you get trampled by a mob in the seconds following an unexpected orgasm.
I shift my eyes to the side when Hawke says, “Get ready to move; we’ve got three men clearing a path.”
Not thinking, I scoop Jenni into my arms. With shock still rendering her immobile, she doesn’t voice a protest. When Hawke gives me the all clear, I carry her through the crowd like Kevin Costner carried Whitney Houston in The Bodyguard. If our close call wasn’t wreaking havoc on my senses, I’d give myself a pat on the back for my smooth moves. But Jenni’s pulse shows she’s on the verge of a meltdown, so I refrain from celebrating. Getting her out of here in one piece is my only concern right now. Showboating can wait.
Even with a group of ten or more paparazzi capturing my every move, the worry curled around my throat loosens its grip when I slide into the backseat of a stretch limo. After slamming the door shut, Hawke bangs his hand on the roof three times, signaling for the driver to leave. He waits for us to merge into a sea of traffic before heading back into the club to calm the hysteria spilling onto the sidewalk.
The club is barely a blip on the horizon when Jenni suddenly slips off my lap. With a hunger in her eyes that mirrors the manic tick in my jaw, she snaps open the button on my jeans and lowers the zipper.
“What the fuck?”
I realize I said my last statement out loud when Jenni lifts her pale blue eyes to mine. “You just punched a man for me before carrying me out of the club like Frank Farmer did to Rachel Marron. Add that to what happened minutes earlier, and I’d say you have the perfect recipe to get your dick sucked.”
“I didn’t protect you for a blow job.” My statement would be more of a confirmation if I weren’t gathering her hair to the side to prevent it from getting in the way.
“Oh, I know. Still doesn’t change the facts,” Jenni replies as she frees my dick from my boxers.
I stare down at her, admiring her strength. I’m usually the one who takes the lead. I wouldn’t necessarily say I am dominant, I just know what I like—I also know how to make the girls scream—so it’s natural for me to take hold of the reins and direct our encounters. But the visual of Jenni on her knees, peering up at me through lowered lashes suppresses the need for control.
When Jenni’s lips hover over my crown, a lesser man would shut his eyes. I’m not a lesser man. I watch her plump lips glide down my shaft like a hawk, my watchful gaze as hungry as her greedy suck.
After rolling her tongue around the base of my dick, she drags her lips back up. The calluses on my fingers from years of guitar playing scrape her skin when I rub the hollows in her cheeks. I smirk, loving her eagerness to consume me.
Smugness puffs my chest when her knees curve inward from spotting my grin. Jenni has always been a sucker for my smirk. I’ve heard her refer to it as “panty-dropping” many times the past three years. Thank god it’s still as effective now as it was the first time I wooed her out of her panties, as the instant I’ve finished pumping my cum down her throat, I’m planning to use it to invade her pussy as well.
“Do you like that, baby? Sucking my dick like you’ve never been fed.” My tone is husky, riddled with lust.
Jenni doesn’t respond, but the increase of her pumps answers on her behalf. My ass lifts off the seats from the greed of her sucks. She draws down on me hard, making my mind spiral. My grip in her hair tightens, widening her eyes with every tug I do. I shouldn’t be so rough considering I just plucked her from a deranged man, but every pull increases the lust in her eyes, which in turn, firms my hold. It is a manic, cock-thickening cycle.
“I’m close,” I warn, my voice as thick as my cock.
Every curse word in the history of profanities filters through my mind when Jenni releases my dick from her mouth with a pop. I stop marching to hell when her thighs clamp my sweat-slicked waist at the same time her clit braces my knob. The surge of electricity zapping through our conjoined bodies is nearly enough to make me come, but I hold back the urge—barely!
“Not hungry. . .” The rest of my smartass comment lodges into the back of my throat when Jenni’s soaked pussy accepts the first two inches of my dick. Her dampness reveals what I’ve always known—she loves sucking my dick.
“Do you remember the wish you made when blowing out your candles last month?” Even though she is asking a question, she continues speaking as if she didn’t. “If my calculations are right, now is not the time for me to swallow.”
When I grip her hips, stopping her descent, her eyes lift to mine. “Don’t you want this anymore?” she asks, fretful I’ve changed my mind about adding to our family. I haven’t; I just want to make sure this is what she wants. Jasper already ties her to me for the next sixteen years at least; does she want to add an additional two years to the tally?
“I want this, but do you? You’re the one who said you don’t want to get married while pregnant. This could delay things.” I shock myself with the calmness of my words. Usually, just the mention of the dreaded M word gives me a case of the hives, but no hesitation hinders my voice. I didn’t ask Jenni to marry me as it was the right thing to do; I asked her because I love her.
For the first time in my life, I nearly come without stimulation. Jenni’s knockout smile sucks the wind from my lungs as effectively as she knocked me on my ass.
“Our kids bind us more than any piece of paper ever will, Nick. My dad is proof of that.”
I cup her jaw in preparation to clear the tears that always fall when she talks about her dad. I’m glad they’ve reconnected the past two years. Even with Michael riding my ass to make his daughter an honest woman, he is a wonderful dad, and an even better grandfather. He and Jenni may not have the same blood, but that can’t stop their father/daughter bond.
“Come here,” I murmur when I’m confident her welling eyes have control of the situation.
When she does as requested, I place a peppering of feather-like kisses along her jaw. My pace is a stark contradiction to the one I used when feeding her my dick. It is slow and controlled, a pace I intend to replicate when sealing our unspoken guarantee.
I’m not going to fuck my little firecracker with a knockout smile. I’m going to make love to her. . . . . .
“Nick,” Jenni murmurs into my ear, returning my focus to a visual as stimulating as the one I was just recalling. She is straddling my lap, her face etched with the same ecstasy it held in that limo nearly ten years ago. “Did you hear what I said?”
I shake my head. I was so deep in memory, I’m having a hard time recalling why her eyes have the faintest wrinkles folded in the corners.
“I said did you want to relive the fun? I heard through the grapevine there is this hot new nightclub only half a mile from here.”
The desire in her tone barely douses her playfulness. She wants to pretend she is teasing me, but the need in her voice weakens her ploy. If I agreed to her suggestion, she’d be running to my convertible. I’m so confident, I’m willing to bet money on it.
“We could get out of here, but I’m thinking of something just as entertaining.”
Jenni’s blonde brow bows, her interest growing.
“Do you hear that?” I ask, nudging my head to the large foldable doors on the back patio of Noah’s cabin.
The natural hue of Jenni’s cheeks intensifies when she recognizes the same faint moans I’ve been hearing the past five minutes. She isn’t blushing with embarrassment; she’s colored with revenge.
“Time for payback?” I suggest, pretending I can’t see vengeance brewing in her eyes.
I realize my brilliant idea isn’t so brilliant when she slips off my lap to prowl toward the back patio doors. If I was at all concerned my devotion won’t be returned tenfold later tonight, I’d demand she return to my lap this instant, but since I know Jenni is nothing but putty when it comes to ignoring my attention, I follow her sneaky steps.
This revenge has been years in the making; nothing could stop it. Not even the man who helped turned Jenni from the mother of my kids to my wife.