All Jacked Up (Rough Riders 8)
Jack caught her wrist as she stormed into his bedroom. “Sorry. My place isn’t anything remotely cool… Basically it sucks and I’m embarrassed. There’s no personality and I’ve lived here for three years.
It’s like I just moved in.”
“Or are expecting to move out,” she murmured.
He hadn’t thought of it that way.
“Is this your bedroom?”
How he wished he could lie, because this was one ugly-ass, bare-ass room too. A plain boring brown comforter on the king-sized bed. One nightstand. One dresser. Both brown wood. No chairs. “At least the shitty décor in here fits with the rest of the place.”
“You do live here like you’re waiting for your life to start someplace else.”
Another perceptive, yet jarring comment.
Keely moseyed into the closet. “Omigod, GQ. Do you really wear all those suits?”
He squinted at the orderly line of jackets, suit pants and shirts. The dozens of ties folded over tie racks, separated by color. The pairs of dress shoes in black, light black, brown and light brown. His casual clothes were stacked on the opposite side, a considerably smaller selection.
“Yes. I wear them all.”
“Since you don’t have clients come here, when you get up in the morning to go to work in your office, in the next bedroom over, do you actually put on…an entire suit?”
That would seem ridiculous to her. Hell, it seemed ridiculous to him. “Sometimes,” he admitted. “If I have to go out later I usually wear a suit. I’m more comfortable in suits than I am in jeans, Keely. It’s just the way I am.”
“Which is a damn cryin’ shame, because you fill out a pair of jeans very nicely. However, I can hardly see your very fine ass or your impressive junk when a suit coat covers the front and the rear.”
“It conceals a big problem whenever I’m around you, buttercup.”
Keely fingered a pile of sweaters, arranged by color. “I live in jeans. I hate getting dressed up. But I will, when the occasion warrants it.” She jammed her hands in her pockets. “Did you have help organizing your closet? It’s so tidy.”
“I have help choosing my wardrobe, but I manage to hang things up all by myself,” he said wryly.
Keely gaped at him. “Someone helps you shop?”
“I’ve dealt with two men’s clothing stores in Chicago for a few years. My personal shopper knows what I like.”
“I’ve never met anyone with a personal shopper and wardrobe consultant. My God, you must be filthy rich.”
He skirted the rich issue. “Do you think I’m a pansy-ass because I care how I look?”
“No. Those shoppers are worth every penny because you always look smashing.”
“Smashing?” Jack groaned. “Fuck. That word makes me sound like a metrosexual.”
“You’re all hunky, hot, real man, in my experience, so not to worry.” Keely ducked out of the closet to sit on the bed. She wore a strangely pensive look.
Shit. Maybe she did think he was a f**king pu**y because he didn’t have a closet full of Wranglers, shitkickers and flannel. “What?”
“I’m going out on a limb here. You don’t have a revolving door to your bedroom, do you?”
He shook his head, less self-conscious about his pathetic sex life than his dismal apartment. “As a matter of fact, you’re the first woman I’ve ever asked into my bedroom, Keely.”
The look of surprise melted into a look of pure seduction. Keely reached up, wrapped her fingers around the knot in his tie and tugged hard. “Whaddya say we christen the bed?”
“I’m not sure—”
“I am.” Using the tie, she pulled his face closer to hers. “If you’re afraid I’m gonna muss your snappy suit, GQ, you’d be right. But I happen to know you’ve got a whole closet full of replacements, so buck up and f**k me.”
Jack’s dick was as hard as a steel beam upon seeing the wicked gleam in her eyes. He crawled over her and backed her into the middle of the bed. “Strip.”
But Keely flipped Jack on his back. Straddling him, she said, “Nifty trick, huh?”
“With five older brothers, I’m not surprised.”
She kissed him, letting the glide of lips and tongues heat them both up. Between kisses, she whispered, “Let me take care of you, Jack.”
“Anything you want. I’m yours.”
“Then I’ll take you.” Keely rolled off the bed, whipped off her clothes and climbed back on top of him. The woman was something—all naked, soft, bouncy female parts.
Her fingers unknotted his tie. She left it undone beneath his collar and worked the buttons free, spread the shirt open, leaving his chest exposed. Next she unbuttoned, unzipped and removed his pants and boxers.
She nibbled the column of his throat. Her hands mapped every ridge and muscle on his chest.
“Doesn’t this feel naughty with me buck-ass nekkid on top of you, and you still wearing your shirt and tie?
Like I’m your wicked secretary and we snuck off so I could take…dictation?”
Jack laughed softly. “Oral?”
Keely bit down on his left nipple and he arched up from the sheer pleasure of it. “You like the rough stuff, boss?” She bent her mouth to his right nipple and did the same thing.
“Keely—”
“Here’s a memo. If you don’t zip it I’ll stop touching you.”
“Shutting up now.”
She tasted and tormented his upper body until Jack thought he’d shoot like a randy teenage boy if she ever put her hand on his dick.
But she avoided his cock. Even when it was jerking, leaking and begging for her attention.
Keely kissed him all too briefly and pushed up on her knees over his pelvis. She touched his lips with her index and middle fingers. “Open.”
He parted his lips and drew her fingers deeply into his mouth, getting them good and wet.
She murmured, “You do that so well, Jack.” Then she trailed her wet fingers down her slit and plunged them into her pu**y.
His c**k slapped against his belly.
Keely’s free hand pinched her nipple hard. She moaned loudly as she continued to f**k herself on her own fingers.
Jack watched Keely raptly, beautiful in abandon.
She locked her gaze to his and pulled her fingers out of her sex with a wet sucking sound. Then she pressed them to his lips again.
He sucked, growling at the dark, sweet taste of her juices flowing over his tongue.