Jack visibly gathers patience. “I didn’t come here to argue with you. Please, just let me deal with it.”
I open my mouth to argue once again, but he covers it with his palm. My eyes become angry slits.
“Please.” His plea pierces my fury like a needle, and my swallow is lumpy. I’m stressing him out more, giving him something else to worry about. And though I’d love nothing more than to rip his wife limb from limb, I relent, pulling his hand down from my face so I can speak. “I’m sorry.”
“Never be sorry for loving me that much.” His fingers thread through my hair and grip at the base of my neck. “Do you hear me?” I nod, and Jack nods in return. “Good. Now, make us some coffee.” He plants a kiss on the tip of my nose, turns me in his arms, and sends me on my way with a tap on my arse.
I set about preparing us a strong, steaming cup of the good stuff, but I pause as I spoon some granules into my gigantic mug. “Where is she?” I ask, swinging around.
“On her way over for coffee,” he replies flippantly.
I’m not in the least bit amused by his attempt to lighten our moods. “You’re not funny.”
“She’s gone to her parents’.” He rolls his eyes, like I should know that. “We…” His forehead wrinkles a little. “Well, it didn’t go too well when I got home.” He points to the mark on his face, and for the first time I ask myself why she hit him.
Oh fuck, has she figured it out? Yesterday gave a chain of clues. Did she rewind through it all and piece things together? Or did Jack tell her he’s leaving? I start to sweat, and then steel myself to ask the operative question. “What happened?”
“The usual.” He shrugs his big shoulders dismissively. “I didn’t say what she wanted to hear, so the fingernails and screams come out to play. She’s gone to her parents. It’s her father’s birthday. They picked her up and took her home for the evening to join in on the jamboree with all the family, friends, and business associates. The thought of sitting there pretending my life is perfect, pretending to be the perfect couple, doesn’t appeal. Funny, that.”
I spoon two sugars in his coffee—just the way I know he likes it—and stir, watching him, thinking how casually he reeled all that off. Because he’s used to it—the drama, the fights, the lashing fingernails—and that isn’t good. I hand him his coffee and rest back on the worktop, cupping mine with my palms.
“Anyway.” He takes a quick sip and rids his hands of his mug, then proceeds to try to take mine. I put some resistance up, taking a big gulp of caffeine before he can take it away. He laughs under his breath as he slides it onto the counter, and then takes my hips, hunkering down, getting his face close to mine. “Enough of all that. You’re supposed to be my happy place.”
“Happy place?” I ask, slowly pulling back when his palm slides over my waist before drifting down a little and stroking over my inside thigh, just a fraction away from my crotch. I go rigid.
“My happy place,” he declares, restraining his grin.
I gasp, shocked, totally forced. “Cheeky!”
Jack laughs, a true happy laugh that sinks straight beneath my skin and impales my heart. He dips and hauls me up over his shoulder. I yelp, laughing, as he strides out of the kitchen, holding me in place by the backs of my thighs. “My coffee!” I protest, not really giving a fuck about my caffeine, but feeling the need to put up a fight.
“Fuck the coffee,” he scoffs. “I have something far tastier to wake you up.”
I grin like an idiot and hold his hips, eyeing his arse as he hauls me down the hallway to my bedroom. I land on the bed, laughing. Jack pulls off his suit jacket and tosses it to the side carelessly, yanks his tie free, and then his fingers are quickly working the buttons of his shirt. I remain still and happy while I watch him strip down, licking my lips provocatively when he pushes his trousers down his sturdy thighs. He kicks his shoes and socks off, and finally his trousers, leaving him graced in only his boxers. My eyes drop to his groin. He’s hard, the shape of his cock prominent and calling for me. Slipping his finger into the waist of his boxers, he pushes them down and it springs free. I lose my breath, my anticipation building.
I reach for him with my hand, asking him to come to me, but he shakes his head, taking a loose hold at the base. “Take your T-shirt off,” he orders, his voice edgy and firm. My hands go straight to the hem of my T-shirt and I pull it up over my head, revealing my breasts, tipped with pink, hard buds. He smiles, his eyes sparkling. “Now come here.” I’m on my knees and crawling toward the end of the bed, my eyes remaining on his arousal the whole way until the tip of my nose is touching the tip of his cock. He has something tastier than coffee. He wasn’t wrong. My tongue leaves my mouth, keen and hungry, but he pulls away before I make contact, devastating me.
“Want a taste?”
I try to play it all cool and nonchalant. I try. But next thing I know, I’m knocking his hand away and wrapping my lips around his flesh. Jack’s stomach concaves, his body bending over to try and escape my wicked mouth. I don’t let him.
“Holy shit, Annie.” His hand comes to my head and presses me to him. “Fuck!” His bark of shocked pleasure soon changes into a deep moan of ecstasy.
I look up as I move forward, getting comfy, loving the feel of the taut, velvet skin of his manhood gliding in and out of my mouth. His head is dropped back, his throat stretched, showing every hard swallow he makes. And there are many.
He tastes divine. Better than coffee. I’ll take this over caffeine any day of the week. His hands in my hair start to meld against my scalp, and his hips start to rotate to meet the advances of my mouth. I work my hand, too, doubling his pleasure. Then he adds to my pleasure, his hands leaving my hair and feeling down until he has a breast cupped in each palm. It’s me moaning now, my pace faltering for a fleeting moment while I accustom myself to the feel of him caressing my aching boobs and I pump my mouth up and down, the tip of his cock hitting the back of my throat each time. I hear mumbles, I hear moans, I hear barks of pleasure-filled despair. It all fuels me. Sliding my hand down his stomach, I reach between his thighs and stroke his heavy balls tenderly. His body convulses. “Ohhhh…fuckkkkkk.”
I smile and draw back slowly until his cock pops free, then I circle my tongue teasingly around the tip, watching him as his head goes limp, dropping. His eyes are closed, but a cheeky bite of the tip of his cock remedies that. They spring open, low and hooded and clouded with want.
“Better than coffee?” he asks. His chest heaves, his eyes falling to his hands molding my breasts. I should be asking him that question but instead of doing that, and instead of answering him, I start a punishing pump with my fist, ensuring my hold is tight.