On screen, she clawed at his back. He could clearly hear her say, “Yes, more! So good!” She panted once, twice, before her lips feverishly brushed his neck. “Never better.”
Jack shivered in remembrance. Yes, it had been good. Damn good. Spec-fucking-tacular, if he was honest. Damn it, he had no need to fuck her again. Now that he had proof they’d done the deed, this part of his revenge was complete. She’d served her purpose. And there was no such thing as a heart’s mate.
“Jack!” He watched Morgan scream his name, bounce on him, taking pleasure, giving it.
Here in his chair, with his gaze fixed on her flushing body, his balls tightened, broiling with the need to come again. He gritted his teeth against the urge to stroke his cock through his jeans.
But he could also see her holding something back, keeping some part of her separate from him, removed from his touch. Something he hadn’t picked up on with her tight, wet walls closing around his cock and his heartbeat drumming in his ears. He peered in, fixing his gaze on the grainy screen. It remained a mystery. What the hell was that about?
A few buttons later, he’d rewound the footage and played the last few moments again. Still, he couldn’t discern what Morgan had kept inside. He only knew it pissed him off. Filled him with an odd sense of…betrayal. With the need to earn her full surrender.
Cursing, Jack finally spliced the video, just including the last minute, those few moments of Morgan saying she had never had it better, then shouting his name as she came. Maybe Brandon wouldn’t notice that she was holding something back.
It was a thin maybe. Brandon was a son of a bitch, but not stupid.
Still, this was the best footage he had. It would be more than enough to make his point with Brandon. He could deal with whatever Morgan was hiding later.
Before he could change his mind, Jack sent the snippet of video straight to Brandon via email, along with a friendly little note.
How is that career in politics going, old friend? Jack
How long, he wondered, before his “pal” got an eyeful of his former Army Ranger squadron leader fucking his fiancée? And what would he do?
He didn’t fight the cold smile of satisfaction.
But Morgan crept back into his thoughts. His smile slipped when he fantasized about having her spread out, tied up, on his bed for his taking. Utterly at his mercy and utterly his. Wet. Begging. Willing and eager to have him fuck her in every way possible.
And he wondered what he’d have to do to persuade her not just to leave Brandon, but to surrender that part of her she withheld.
He had to know. This urge wasn’t going to go away, and he knew himself too well to believe otherwise. Screw everything else. For now, time was on his side. Morgan was safe at the moment. Her stalker likely had no idea where she was. It was hard for someone who wasn’t Acadian to follow a son of the swamps into this untamed wilderness.
So Jack would seduce and coax Morgan into submission again. And again. She’d leave Brandon. And he would have that part of her she hadn’t given him before. That part he suspected she’d never given to any man. Jack planned to make sure she gave it to him—whatever it took.
CHAPTER SIX
Twenty minutes after Jack slammed the door in Morgan’s face, she stood in front of the antique mirror hanging from the bedroom wall and studied her appearance. She looked remarkably calm for a woman whose knees were still shaking from orgasms so strong, seismic equipment had surely felt the tremors.
Scrubbed face, hair whisked back in a single, severe braid down her back. Nothing sexy…if she didn’t include Alyssa’s tight purple submissive-maiden leather get-up in the picture. That, unfortunately, was hard to ignore.
She wasn’t about to go prowling through Jack’s closet for something else to wear. Too intimate. Chewing her lip, Morgan hesitated. She couldn’t afford to have the bastard to think the outfit was the closest thing to an engraved invitation for sex. Maybe if she gave off her best get lost vibes, he’d buy a clue. If not…
She could find herself screwed—literally—again.
And worse, she’d probably love it every bit as much as she had the first time.
Sighing, Morgan paced the room. What the hell was wrong with Jack, anyway? They had fabulously mind-blowing sex and he ran away? Of course, if he hadn’t beat her to it, she would have darted behind a door and slammed it between them in world-record time. But, still...
Jack was confusing the crap out of her. She should be the one freaked out. After all, she had a stalker after her. She’d just let a dominant man impale her against a door and drive her to two dizzying orgasms—after inspiring the two she’d given herself—all in about fifteen minutes’ time.
Her desire to submit to him, to obey his raspy voice, thick with need in her ear, was so new—yet felt so natural that she hadn’t been able to resist. She’d responded to every whispered command as if he’d poured pure liquid desire all over her skin and let it seep into her blood. In those moments, Jack had made what they were doing feel…amazing. So perfectly normal. So right that she’d ached. She hadn’t just been accepted as she was, but needed because of it. The sense of connection to Jack had swept common sense aside and made her cling to him like a life raft in a hurricane.
She’d barely been able to keep herself together while the pleasure Jack gave tore her barriers down. Something about him demanded the surrender of more than her body. She’d refused, clinging to her defenses by her fingernails—barely. He’d left her reeling and stunned. But not broken.
Then Jack had all but run from her, tearing off her rosecolored glasses. She was in the middle of who-knew-where with a man she’d only really met yesterday, wearing borrowed clothes, with no end to the nightmare in sight. Yet he ran away. Gee, she guessed that having sex with a client was a bodyguarding no-no.
The more she thought about his behavior, the more it pissed her off. And it hurt—way more than she wanted to admit.
With an impatient huff, she turned away from the mirror. Mr. Cajun Macho had another thing coming if he thought they were going to have sex again. So he had a touch that sizzled desire through her blood, intoxicating her like the most potent wine. She wasn’t going to risk addiction with a repeat performance.
But just the thought of it had her body clamoring for more, turning soft and wet at the prospect of experiencing all his determined sexual fire and tightly controlled power again.
So damn stupid. Not only did Jack have temporary written all over him, the only message about him that was even more clear was the one that pronounced him a very bad boy.
Honestly, she didn’t need this!
Down the hall, Morgan heard the click of a lock, the opening of the door. From the heavy footsteps, she knew he’d emerged into the hall. Maybe it was very thirteen year-old of her, but she wasn’t in the mood to face him. Not now. Not yet. Let him see how the rejection felt.
Cringing, she dove onto the bed and quickly feigned sleep as Jack made his way down the hall. He paused at the bedroom door, but Morgan wasn’t about to open her eyes. Seeing that toosexy face taunting her with the carnal knowledge of her body or annoyance—or both—was not her idea of a good time. Let Romeo eat breakfast alone. The thought of food right now held all the appeal of dog shit à la mode.
After a long moment, Jack’s footsteps continued down the hall. She heard a series of electronic beeps, then a ringing. A speakerphone. Who was he calling at seven-thirty in the morning?
She rose and tiptoed across the bedroom to peek around the corner. Jack stood there, cup of coffee in one hand, making toast with the other. And standing by the cracked headset with an annoyed expression.
“Jesus, Jack!” rasped a scratchy male voice. “Is sleeping in against your religion or did you just figure that if you’re up, everyone else should be, too?”