Monday night, it takes me forever to pick my clothes for Tuesday. I fuss and fuss, trying things on and discarding the losers on the floor of the guest room.
“Wow,” Jack says from the doorway. His gaze flicks from the pile on the floor to my nearly naked body—lace bra and panties—and back to the clothes before he settles on me and gives me a thorough visual going-over.
But I’m too sweaty and frustrated to melt under the heat in his eyes. “I don’t have anything fun to wear out tomorrow night.”
“Why does it matter? It’s just Sienna and her girlfriends. Besides, you look sexy in everything. You’re sexy in sweatpants.”
“That’s exactly why it matters. I can wear anything and you’ll think it’s sexy. But they’re women. They actually have opinions about fashion.”
And it’s been a really long time since I had a group of girlfriends. People to hang out with, go out with.
“Just go like that.”
“I’m serious. I want them to like me.”
Jack sits on the edge of the bed. “They’re going to like you, Maddie. Sienna already likes you. Always has. You don’t have to dress to impress. But, okay. Show me what you’ve got.”
I start re-trying on the least egregious of the rejects. No matter what I put on, he takes it off with his eyes and tell me it’s sexy. Not helpful. And yet—
Really, really good for the ego.
“That,” he says definitively.
I’m wearing a pair of bright-red satin leggings and an oversized white button-down.
“You need black boots.”
I raise my eyebrows.
“What? Just because I’m a straight guy doesn’t mean I’m not right about this.”
I dig in the closet for my boots and pull them on.
“Fuck yeah,” he says. “Now. Take it off.”
The hard command in his voice goes straight to my core as a rush of heat. I kick the boots off and peel myself out of the satin pants, which I’ve miraculously spared, although my panties go into the corner in a damp wad.
“Boots back on.”
I give him a WTF look and he looks right back at me, eyes flinty. I feel more moisture slick my sex. I reach for the boots and tug them back on. There something about it, the boots stiff and confining on my feet, the melting at my center, that amps me up even more, my nipples tightening, my breathing coming faster.
“Mmm,” he says, eating me up visually. “Yeah. Just like that.”
He leans back on the bed and just stares. Like I’m his own private porn movie. So, what the hell. I start unbuttoning the buttons of the white shirt, one by one. And then—because what’s a strip tease without a dance?—I roll my hips a little. My core clenches around emptiness and I whimper.
“Yeah. Yeah.”
His voice is rough, husky.
I run my fingertips across my collarbone, down over the slope of one breast, stroking lightly over the tip of one nipple through the lace of my bra. A little sigh escapes my lips, and Jack’s hips buck.
“Touch that nipple again,” he says. “But just like that. So lightly you can barely feel it.”
I do.
“The other one.”
There’s moisture on my thighs now. I want him to come close and slip his fingers into it, spread it all around, find my hard clit at the center of the mess I’ve made of myself. But he doesn’t. He just watches.
So I do it. I let the white shirt slip off my shoulders. My fingertips follow the upper outline of my bra, dip over the lace to flick a nipple, and then brush down the center of my chest, past the flirty little satin bow of my lingerie. Usually when I touch myself it doesn’t feel as good as when Jack does it, but this time, with his eyes fierce and fixed on me, it’s like it’s his fingers. His hand behind my back, unhooking my bra, letting it drop, releasing my breasts with a last caress. The rough flat of his palm over my belly, his fingers dipping into my curls, smoothing my wetness everywhere.
Jack groans from the bed. His cock has raised a bulge in his jeans and my eyes want to linger there. But his hand cups it, covers it, so instead I watch the impatient, rough way he handles himself while I touch myself, gentle as a butterfly.
I raise my eyes from the spectacle at his fly and our gazes meet, spark. His eyes are so dark and hungry, almost angry in their intensity. And I want to push him harder, dare him more, make him crack. I raise my fingers to my lips, slide them in my mouth, and suck, hard, my eyes never leaving his—which means I can watch the heat flare there.
A moment later he’s off the bed, kneeling at my feet, his mouth covering me as he coaxes wave after wave of orgasm out of me.