Chapter One: Jackie

 

My husband surged up in the bed with a strangled gasp. I held very still. When married to former military who’d seen action, you learned pretty quickly not to startle him.

“Jake?” I asked in a soft voice. Are you with me? Do you know where you are? Is it safe for me to move? I thought those questions and more but dared not ask.

“Yeah,” he said in a hoarse voice. His beard made scratchy sounds as he rubbed his face.

“Everything okay?” I asked. Talk to me. Tell me what happened. More words I kept bottled up inside.

“I’m fine.” He turned on the bedside lamp, flipped the covers back, and swung his legs off the bed.

When I realized he was headed toward the door instead of the bathroom, I asked, “Where are you going?”

“To the kitchen to get a drink,” he said.

“Or...you could stay with me and I can help you forget,” I offered instead.

I didn’t want to push but lately Jake had been drinking too much. Over the last few weeks, it had become nearly a nightly occurrence. Demons rode him, but he wouldn’t talk about it and I refused to nag. He’d had enough of that with his previous two wives. I was Jake’s third wife, and if I had anything to say about it, I’d be his last.

Jake stopped and braced a hand on the doorjamb. “That’s not a good idea. I’m not feeling particularly gentle.”

I narrowed my eyes at his back, determined to win this. “Jake Jacobson, are you saying I can’t handle you? Is that what I’m hearing, babe?”

He stiffened, his posture going rigid. “Jackie.” It came out a growl.

“Never mind,” I said airily. “Go get your shot of whiskey. I’m sure it can do a better job of warming you than I can. I’ll just lay here and mind my own business. Don’t forget we work tomorrow.” I punched my pillow to fluff it, rolled onto my side facing away from him, and curled into my favorite sleep position.

There was a long silence followed by a heavy sigh. “Damn it,” he muttered.

The bed dipped. The covers were yanked off, and Jake dragged me to the center of the oversized king mattress. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Too impatient to wait for me to take it off, Jake gave the front of my skimpy cotton chemise a hard tug. The front ripped most of the way open. Quick hands made short work of the rest, and then he was on me. The feel of his hard body on top of mine always got my juices flowing. Tonight was no different. I brought my hands up to rest on well-defined shoulder muscles. Though in his mid-forties, my husband had the muscular body of a swimmer, and the lethal grace of a ninja.

“No touching.” Jake grabbed my hands and held them pinned by my wrists to the mattress. “I can’t do this if you touch me.”

My husband was a protector to his core. Most alpha males were, and Jake was alpha to the bone. Fortunately for him, this time he’d married a black woman. We were known for our strength. Jake needed a good hard fuck. The kind that would knock him out afterwards and have him sleeping like the dead until it was time to get up for work.

“But I like touching you,” I taunted. I ran my feet up the back of his legs, rubbing my body sinuously against his. “Fuck me, Jake. You know you want to. Ram that big hard dick of yours into me and take me deep and hard.”

He shuddered. “Jackie, stop it.”

I didn’t talk dirty often. My husband liked to control every aspect of our lovemaking. I’d found other ways to balance the scales. Disobeying orders was one. Talking dirty was another. My man loved it when I went earthy on him.

“Come on, baby. My pussy is wet, just waiting for you to fill it. I can feel the juices wetting my thighs. Can’t you feel it?” I arched my cradle, rubbing my core against the steel rod pressed between us.

“Jackie.” Another warning. His grip tightened on my wrists.

“I love your cock. I love fucking it and sucking it. Doesn’t matter whether you’re over me, under me, or behind me. I love the feel of you powering into me.” I licked the column of his throat. “Don’t you love the feel of my pussy, Jake? The way it tightens around you and there’s that initial hint of resistance because you’re so large and my pussy is so tight?  Don’t you love the way it clamps down like a vice and milks you dry when I come?”

“Got damn it, woman!” Jake broke. He pulled back his hips and plunged into me. Then my husband released my wrists, grabbed my hips to angle me into a better position, and rode me like a two-dollar whore. I held onto the bedframe and gave as good as I got.

Sweat flew. We heaved and humped against each other. The sex was raw and gritty, and I loved every second of it. Mike, my husband’s business partner and best friend, would say my freak flag was flying. My great aunt had taught me the way to keep a man was to be a lady in public and a whore in the bedroom. She’d buried three husbands and every one of them died with smiles on their face, so I think she knew what she was talking about.

“Can’t…get…deep…enough,” Jake grunted. He pulled out, flipped me over onto my stomach and knees. A hard hand landed in the middle of my shoulder blades and shoved. My face and breasts flattened against the mattress and my ass waved in the air.

Jake mounted me and slammed home. If I thought he’d been deep before, now he really bottomed out. “You think you can handle me?”

“Yes,” I gasped out.

“Handle me, then. Take…every…last…inch.” Each word was punctuated with a thrust.

I dug my fingers into the sheets, closed my eyes, and held on for the ride.

“Whose pussy is this?” Jake demanded.

“Yours.”

“I can’t hear you.”

“Yours!” I shouted.

“That’s right. This is my pussy and I can fuck it however I want. Can’t I?”

“Yes!”

“This sweet cunt only gets wet for me. Isn’t that right?”

“Yes. Jake!”

“That’s my name.”

“I need…I can’t…”

“You want to come?”

“Yes!”

“Beg.”

Damn, he really was feeling mean. With Jake, I felt no shame. He would never hurt me or lord anything I did over me. So, I begged. I pleaded. I damned near cried before he gave me relief, and when the orgasm came, I screamed.

Jake thrust twice more before plunging deep and holding still. A deep groan filled the air. Then he collapsed on top of me, a deadweight. Mission accomplished. He’d be out for the rest of the night. Hooking my fingers through his, I turned my head to the side, took as deep a breath as I could manage, and let sleep take me.

 

Chapter Two: Jackie

 

When I woke the next morning, Jake’s side of the bed was empty. I peeked one eye at the clock. Seven a.m. Groaning, I dropped my head back onto the pillow. Various twinges and aches from that small motion warned my body wasn’t a happy camper. Moving was going to hurt.

I worked for J & M Consulting, a small, private consulting firm run by two best friends: Michael “Mike” Michelson and Jacob “Jake” Jacobson. My title was Administrative Assistant, but my job was that of an office manager. I held things together while they were out of the office, made travel arrangements, handled payroll for the twelve contract employees who worked for us, and generally made sure the bills were paid. Since I was married to the boss, surely I could get away with being late, just this once. 

Who was I kidding? After his initial concern, Mike would tease me to no end. The man had been in bed with us the first time my husband and I had sex, so Mike had no boundaries where Jake’s and my sex life was concerned. Jake would go all alpha protector on me, and it would be months before I could convince him to lose control with me again.

With a muffled oath, I crawled out of bed and hobbled my way into the bathroom for the longest shower on record. I didn’t worry about using all of the hot water. Jake liked to get up with the birds, go for a five-mile run, and then hit the gym at the office for a workout. He’d shower there and meet me at the office.

I showered and put on a dress that managed to be loose and comfortable, yet still somewhat sexy as it flowed over my curves. I’d styled my hair in a loose updo. Leaning close, I examined the roots of my box plaits. They would last another week, maybe two if I pushed it, and then they needed to come out. I’d have to give my shoulder length, curly black hair time to breathe before putting it in another protective style. After brushing my teeth, I applied a light coat of makeup to my face and checked the results.

My complexion was fair – neither too dark nor too light. Perfectly arched pencil eyebrows sat atop dark brown eyes. My lips, nose, and face were full, and my high cheekbones hinted at Native American ancestry. My husband, with his year-round tan, was barely a shade or two lighter than me.

I turned from side-to-side, examining the fit of the dress. I was a comfortable size twelve and most of it was breasts and hips. I had womanly curves. A few more than when Jake and I first married. It was all of the cooking I did. My men loved to eat, and I got a kick out of feeding them. Always had.

I left the bathroom, slipped on my heels, and went into the kitchen. After turning on the television to check the weather, I glanced inside the fridge to see what I wanted for lunch today. The forecast called for rain and wind. Sounded like a soup day to me. I gathered all of the ingredients and put them in a tote bag for the crockpot at work. There were enough leftovers for dinner tonight, which was good because I was running out of time.

The office was located in a corner suite on the twelfth floor of a downtown high-rise. I still had to deal with traffic. I turned everything off to conserve electricity, gathered my belongings, and set the alarm as I walked out the door.

Thirty minutes later, I swiped my badge in the door, waited for the light to turn green, and the small snick that signaled the door had unlocked. Some days I was the first to arrive. This morning, both Mike and Jake had finished their workouts and beat me into the office.

My desk sat in the reception area located between the two bosses’ offices and the entrance. Our suite of offices also contained a breakroom, conference room, bathroom, copier room, and an additional small office where contractors could update reports and complete paperwork. I dropped my purse onto my desk, hit the start button on the computer, and unforwarded the business line from the afterhours answering service we used. 

That done, I collected my tote and went into the breakroom. One of the guys had been at the coffee pot again. With a sigh, I dumped the sludge they called coffee and made a fresh pot. While it brewed, I reached inside of a cabinet and pulled out the seven-quart crockpot I kept in the office. Ten minutes later, I had all the ingredients for chili assembled.

Two strong hands caught me by the waist and a face leaned over my shoulder. “Whatcha cooking?”

I grinned up at Mike and relaxed into his embrace. “Chili. It felt like a chili kind of day.”

“Mmm, did you bring garlic bread?” he asked.

“It’s in the bag on the counter,” I said, motioning with my head.

He grumbled. “I don’t know how you expect me to get any work done with the smell of this cooking all day.”

Laughing, I stood on tiptoe and kissed his hairy jawline. “You’ll survive.”

Mike was a good guy. He had an upbeat personality and easy-going smile that almost disguised the sharp intelligence in his eyes. Where Jake was golden—gold hair, gold skin, and gold rimmed eyes—Mike was dark. He had dark hair, dark eyes with thick eyebrows, and a neatly trimmed beard and mustache. His gold-toned skin hinted at a Mediterranean or Middle Eastern heritage. He was tall and had the bulky musculature of a man who lifted weights and liked to stay active and fit.

He squeezed my waist. “I should have married you. I’m going to tell Jake I want a do over.”

“It will never happen,” Jake said from the doorway. “And what have I told you about hogging my woman.”

My husband placed his empty coffee cup next to the coffee pot and freed me from Mike’s embrace. Tugging me close, Jake swooped in for a quick kiss. “You’re late. I was getting worried.”

I draped my arms around his neck. “Overslept.”

His eyes narrowed and he dropped his hands to my hips, cupping them in large masculine hands. Kneading the muscles of my ass, he asked, “Sore?”

I rolled my eyes. “Nothing I can’t handle. How’d you sleep?” I asked before he could start in on me.

Jake released me and stepped away. “Fine.”

As Jake turned toward the coffee pot, which had stopped brewing, Mike caught my eye. “Problems?” he mouthed.

I glanced at Jake. “It’s all good,” I mouthed back.

I went back to the crockpot, made sure the lid was sealed, and that I had it on the right setting. “I ran into the bakery downstairs and grabbed some danishes. They’re in the fridge.”

I usually only brought in baked goods on the days we had meetings. The rest of the week was fend for yourself. I heard the lock on the front release and knew the rest of the staff were piling in. “I hear the guys. Better grab what you want quickly before they figure out there’s food in here.”

As Mike took the bakery box out of the fridge, I said, “Pass me the hazelnut creamer, please.”

“Don’t you know the best way to drink coffee is black? Anything else ruins the flavor,” he grumbled as he passed me the cream.

I patted his chest. “Not all of us like it strong enough to put hair on our chest.”

“Hey, you love the hair on my chest,” he complained.

I laughed, as intended, even as my gaze was snagged by Jake’s. He held his coffee cup to his lips and examined me over the rim of it. That knowledgeable gaze catalogued everything from my hair, to my shoes, and the way I moved. Fortunately, the shower had gotten rid of a lot of the stiffness.

Bringing the creamer with me to the pot, I poured in cream and sugar before adding coffee. Jake continued examining me, and I could feel Mike scrutinizing both of us. Mike had been instrumental in bringing Jake and I together. He wouldn’t hesitate to stick his nose into our problems if he thought it would help.

I gathered my coffee and the blueberry muffin I preferred and walked to my desk. I felt Jake’s eyes on me the entire way. It was nearing the end of the week. The guys who’d finished their cases began filtering in. A few went to the extra office with the workstations set up for them to complete paperwork. The rest went into the conference room.

“Don’t forget to fill out your expense logs and time sheets,” I reminded them as I sat in front of my computer.

Jake sauntered past and disappeared behind the closed door of his office. Mike perched a hip on the corner of my desk. “How’s it going?”

I took a sip of coffee before smiling up at him. “Fine.”

Mike cocked his head to the side. “You sure? You know you can tell Uncle Mike anything.”

“It’s all good. We’re all good. No need to worry,” I assured him, praying I was right.

He studied me. “Okay, if you need me, I’m here for you.”