The breaking point was four in the morning; people began straggling out of the club, bleary-eyed, drunk, wrinkled, sated.
Justine didn’t have any money to get home, she discovered Or any sense, if she stopped to think about what she had done tonight in Jillian’s name.
She couldn’t even look at herself in the rest room mirror as she put herself to rights. No, no, no. Not me. Dear God, what was I thinking?
Someone took her arm as she emerged from the ladies’ room.
Doug Rawls, his expression still impassive, speaking words that for a moment were incomprehensible to her. “You’re coming with me.”
Oh, she’d totally misunderstood him. “I’m what?”
“You did your club girl thing, now it’s time for something different.”
“You know it,” he said, propelling her toward the entrance.
“Can’t you just give me money for a cab?” Really what was the point?
“I don’t think so.”
Justine was too tired to argue. It wasn’t as if he were dangerous. Zach would not have paired Jillian with anyone questionable, she was certain of that.
“Whatever, I’m too tired.”
“I’m sure all that breast-feeding wore you out.”
She clamped down on a quick response. “You’re just in town for the event, right?”
“No, actually I just came along for the ride.”
“And now you want to ride me,” Justine muttered, with a touch bitterness.
He hesitated a moment before he said, “So to speak.”
She made a sound. She didn’t want anything else to be about sex tonight. Particularly with him. Especially with him. He’d made his choice.
She didn’t have to acquiesce to anything. Or anyone. Not him. Especially him. Particularly him. Not even for Jillian.
Because it was too easy to be easy, and too hard to say no after.
“Where are we going?”
“To my hotel.”
“Out of towner, are you? That’s good. Leaving when?”
“Probably not fast enough for you,” he said grimly. “But ... that’s the way it is, Jillian. And you knew it the minute we were introduced.”
She didn’t acknowledge that comment. She felt dank and used. She needed a shower. A soft bed. A long-time lover. But those didn’t exist any more.
And what had she learned to help Jillian?
Nothing. Just that fast fucks were about as filling as fast food. Not.
And expensive hotels didn’t make the man. They just made things more difficult. Like, why had she agreed to come with him?
Well, agreed wasn’t quite the word. She felt railroaded. But it didn’t matter — she was going to sleep, no matter he wanted, said or did.
They were silent in the elevator and down the hall, silent as he opened the door to his two-room suite that epitomized the status of a Jillian client.
“In the bedroom.”
“Now listen ...”
He bent his head and gave her a long level look. “In the bedroom, Jillian.”
“Fine.” She stalked into the bedroom and looked at him defiantly.
“Good. Now just take off your dress.”
“I don’t think so.”
“Take — off — the — dress.” That was the CEO on a rampage tone of voice, dangerously quiet, menacing, and meant to get his way.
She slipped the straps off her shoulders, still holding his gaze, and let them drop so the dress slowly slid down her naked body and pooled at her feet.
She heard the faint catch of his breath. She wished suddenly she hadn’t done anything sexual with anyone ever in her life just not to disappoint him.
It was the strangest feeling, born of a certainty about him that she couldn't possibly possess. Her whole body unfurled in a subtle recognition of him.
That hard blue gaze saw everything from the tip of her toes still in the strappy sandals to the curve of her hips, the lift of her breasts, the shape of her arms, the slope of her shoulders, the riotous tumble of her hair, her defiant eyes.
And all he’d said was, take off the dress.
But she was Jillian now. What would Jillian do when confronted by those eyes and that man who was slowly stripping off his clothes?
Jillian would climb into his bed in a heartbeat. Or she’d make him crawl to her. And Justine was Jillian, and bound to act exactly how Jillian would act.
She turned, climbed into his bed, sandals and all and positioned herself with one leg bent under, and the other bracing her body as she spread her legs.
She could have sworn his penis elongated still more. Well, the longer the better, the thicker, the more — of everything. If he came near, she’d bite into him and devour him. And he would come. The Jillian in her knew it. Felt it. Tasted it.
She ran her tongue over her lips, waiting, holding his eyes. She could outwait eternity if it took that long for him to come into bed.
He said her name, his voice rough. “Jillian.”
Not her name. Jillian. Her persona, her character. The naked woman in his bed. “I hate waiting,” she murmured with just a touch of irritation in her voice. Like Jillian. Just like Jillian would. “Don’t make me wait.”
He erupted then, he grasped her legs and pulled her toward him, the gesture so abrupt that she fell flat on her back, her body canted against his, her legs braced on his chest, before she even comprehended what he was doing.
He knew exactly what he wanted. He positioned her at the precise angle for maximum depth. Without foreplay and without another word, he thrust himself hard between her legs and planted himself deep inside her.
She levered herself up to watch. His hips undulated to reach deeper.
“Don’t move.” The CEO voice again. The impassive face. The rampaging craving to sexually consume, suppressed and expressed all at the same time.
She had never felt such a hunger to possess someone. He couldn’t rut deep enough, far enough, tight enough to satisfy her.
He pulled her tighter, until she felt as if his penis was the one thing connecting her to anything, to him, and the center of her world.
And then he drove into her. Hard, slick, hot thrusts, purposeful, deep, dark, pounding; she heard the sounds at the back of throat, jolting, convulsing as her orgasm hit, and her body couldn’t contain it.
His orgasm boiled up and gushed out. She wanted to bathe in it. She wanted to rub it all over her body. This was no party trick to titillate and excite. This was a real, palpable need, something that felt all consuming and inexorable.
Had Jilly ever slept with him? A surge of pure jealousy suffused her body, nearly suffocating her. Not him. Not him.
But the way he said her name ... She buried her head against his shoulder as he inched his penis tighter and deeper and thrust his finger into her from behind so that she was trapped front and rear.
She didn’t know which pleasure point made her swoon more. She never wanted to move; she wanted to stay joined like this forever.
And his mouth — hot, rough, almost involuntary, as if he couldn’t help it because he would if he could.
She just held on. Her body stretched, bound as if she were in restraints, at the mercy of his indomitable sex, his questing fingers.
He was as hot as a blowtorch, blasting, forceful as he thrust into her, and alternately bit her lips and kissed her deeply.
She went molten in his hands, her orgasm suddenly, explosively shooting up in red flame and then pouring out like lava, thick and incandescent moving like molasses through her veins.
He came a moment later, hard and forcefully, still all deep in her mouth, deep her body, and all over her.
All over. Except he was still embedded between her legs. He whispered again, barely a breath, “Jillian”
A whisper. “Jillian.”
Jillian. Jillian’s sex. Jillian’s man whenever he might contact her. The thought caught her, in the backwash of all that pleasure, like a kick in the gut.
“Shhh ...“ He kissed her. “It’s not enough. I want more."
“There’s more,” she whispered.
“You don’t have anywhere else to go.” It was a statement, not a question.
Not today she didn’t, maybe not tomorrow, but .. her other life, Jillian’s life, would soon intrude.
“You went away.” They were on the bed, entangled in each other, and he was back between her legs, planted in her like a thick tree, watching her face.
“I’m here. I just don’t know what day it is.”
“Does it matter?”
Their bodies, slick with semen and raw carnal need, felt bonded. Her lips were swollen from his kisses. She felt as if he owned her body. No, it didn’t matter. “No,” she whispered. “Fuck me.”
He moved, undulating his hips to bore deeper inside her.
“I like it hard,” she breathed.
He kissed her. “I know how you like it. I know everything about you.”
“Good.” She kissed him. “I’d live naked with you.”
“Then we’d be fucking every minute the day.”
“Is there something wrong with that?”
“I like having a permanent erection.”
“Yeah, I like a permanently erect penis too.”
He whispered against her lips. She thought she heard, God, I can’t get enough of you. But it was too soon after a one night all night overnight fuck.
His body tensed. “I’m creaming for you.”
She caught her breath as he convulsed and let it rip.
“I’m not done.” He took her again, waiting on her orgasm, His mouth seduced her, sucking her tongue until she tipped into a long slow orgasmic slide.
After which she wanted nothing more except to stay coupled with his body for — for as long as possible.
She awakened hours later to the closing scene of a bad porn movie. In the filtered light of the nightstand lamp, she saw he was talking on his cell, staring at the overcast sky, and in the last stages of dressing.
Something in her caved. Over.
She levered herself onto one elbow. And then she saw the wad of bills on the nightstand and she almost stopped breathing. Please, no —
He turned, sensing she was awake. “I have to go. You can stay, have breakfast — check out is at one. Zach will come get you.”
She sat up and swung her legs over the bed. Only they were too shaky for her to stand up yet. It was just past ten a.m. and she needed to parse out the puzzle of where Zach fit in. “You spoke to Zach?”
He didn’t need to confirm that.
Her disappointment bubbled up. “What else did he say?” She didn’t know why she asked; it was a question that might reveal things she didn’t want to know.
“That you were major hard core.” He reached for is jacket. “He was right. You were worth every cent.”
She froze and then slowly got up from the bed, so suffused with a roaring fury that she could barely speak. “I could say the same about you.” She scooped up a handful of bills. “In fact, let me pay you for your services, you bastard.” She threw the money at him. “Worth every dollar,” she sneered. “You’re one high flying son of a bitch — but, for me, fucking you wasn’t worth what you paid. Zach should have asked for more.”
He said nothing, and she felt her fury rising in counterpoint to the look his eyes, the look that knew everything about her, the truth and the lies.
She grabbed the rest of the money. “Don’t ever approach Zach again.” She thrust past him toward the bathroom. “Don’t ever come near me again. Don’t ...”
He grabbed her wrist as she started to wind up. “Right, and if I threw more money at you, all your scruples would add up to how much and where.”
“Try it. See how far your money goes.”
“It’s going right down your hot hole.” He was unzipping his trousers even as he held her tight. “Get down on the bed.”
She jammed the money down his waistband.
“I have it on good authority I'm well worth it.” He pulled her over to the bed and thrust her down onto the mattress. “On your belly, lady — I still have an hour on the clock and I intend to use every minute of it.”
Even fully, expensively dressed. He didn’t care at that point — his anger was as volcanic as hers, and she couldn’t combat it. She hated him, hated that he didn’t strip and she was buck naked. Only his penis was naked as he pulled it hard and throbbing from his pants and hauled her up, mounted her, and rammed himself into her furiously.
God, she despised him. He sprawled on top of her, covering her, holding her wrists, canting his body to give him purchase to pound her body unrelentingly.
Her orgasm came thick and slow, seeping down between her legs, and knotting tightly at her center to trigger a hard rocketing grenade of pleasure.
She needed no more from him. Wanted no more, and yet, with all his banked fury, he wanted more.
He poured himself into her, and then slowly withdrew the heat, the hardness, the pleasure from her body, leaving her bereft.
“When and where,” he whispered. “You’ll come whenever I wave the money. I just proved it.”
She rolled over onto her back.
“I’ll never come for you again,” she hissed.
She jumped up off the bed. “Ever.”
She stalked into the bathroom, slammed the door behind her and collapsed onto the toilet seat, appalled her anger, shamed at how much she had given him, and degraded by how much she’d let him take from her.
That was not Jillian talking. Nothing of Jillian in those words. All her. Her sex, her greed, her need. Her undiscovered country, her sexual voraciousness.
Oh God. Not so far from Jillian after all.
SEX, LIES & SECRET LIVES