Wicked Ties(100)

Morgan hesitated again. Swallowed. But she nodded once more. “Yes.”

Jack eased off the bed and stood beside it, drilling her with a hot stare that demanded

understanding and obedience before he bent to retrieve the lingerie they’d discarded

earlier with the intriguing cutouts he was dying to explore. He thrust the garments into

her hands.

Her wide, wet eyes were a blue beacon, drawing him to the vulnerability shining

there. She looked so fucking young with bare, tear-stained cheeks. Damn, he’d done his

best to bring her out gently, break her just a bit. Now it was time to remake her, if she

could just trust him.

Morgan reached out and grabbed his hand, squeezing as she tangled her fingers with

his. As he reached out to stroke her cheek, Jack saw something new on her face. He saw

resolve.

Now, he permitted himself the smile he’d held in earlier.

“Put these back on, along with the black stockings. Knock on the door of my

playroom. Ten minutes. I’ll be waiting.” #

Squaring her shoulders, Morgan lifted her hand to the closed black door and knocked.

As the sound echoed down the shadowed hall. She pushed what she was, or rather

wasn’t, wearing out of her mind. No more thoughts of Andrew or her mother. Their

opinions couldn’t matter. She wouldn’t let them.

Jack had opened her eyes.

Her mother had been a shriveled woman, bitter toward all men, thanks to Senator

John Morgan Ross breaking her young heart. And her former fiancé, she realized,

focused his energy on frustration. Andrew had elevated angst to an art form. He didn’t

want to be happy or fulfilled. Their relationship had always been an emotional roller-

coaster ride, towering highs and crashing lows all in one day—one hour, if Andrew could

swing it. People on the Turn Me On set had called him a drama king. He’d been

threatened by any show of strength on her part, any strong opinion she expressed.

Rejecting her sexuality had been his way of creating the next calamity and making her

every bit as frustrated as he’d been.

Yes, she could still hear their voices, their slurs, in her head. She just wasn’t going to

give either of them the power to make her miserable anymore. If she was still not

completely comfortable with her sexuality, Morgan suspected time and another man like

Jack—he wasn’t hers to keep—would turn around her reluctance.

She pushed aside a sharp pang at the thought of no longer having Jack.

Instead, she concentrated on her body, the cool air on her exposed nipples, the bra

lifting up her breasts like a proud offering. She focused on the crotchless panties that

didn’t quite cover her ass or stop the gush of moisture rushing from her vagina to coat

her inner thighs. She felt the thigh-high stockings hugging her in every way,

emphasizing the small square of cloth covering her damp curls.

Nervous, yes. But far more aroused. And determined not to examine what she and

Jack did or judge their actions. If it aroused her and felt good, she’d just do it.

That all sounded good, but without any idea what Jack might want—demand—from

her, Morgan waited, aware of the ache of erotic fear and need building, building inside

her.

Jack opened the door wearing black leather pants—and nothing else.

His gaze walked all over her, starting at the swollen mouth she’d been chewing on for

the past ten minutes, down the pale slope of her breasts, gliding over the flat of her

bared tummy, then zooming in right between her thighs, framed by lace, silk, and

fishnet.

She watched his face. The heat raced to his eyes. The firm lines of his jaw grew tight.

Her gaze skipped down past the bunched golden muscles of his wide chest and

shoulders, down farther to the thick erection that grew at record speed.

Despite her nerves, Morgan smiled.

“I wouldn’t be too happy yet. I’m going to make your earn my cock and your orgasms

tonight.”

Her smile faltered. If he noticed it, Jack said nothing.

“Come in and sit on the table.”

“But—”

“No speaking unless I give you permission. Is that clear? Either nod or shake your

head.”

Stern, intense, beautiful. Morgan supposed she should have been furious with his

high-handed attitude. Instead, she was curious and wet and wanting. And filled with an

electric thrill.

She nodded and made her way into the room.

Jack swung the door wider to accommodate her, and it felt symbolic. A door opening.

She would just embrace this part of her without judging it, without dwelling on what

others would say.

“Sit,” he barked. “I won’t repeat myself again.”

Morgan snapped to attention and brought herself back to the present. There would be