Owned: A Mafia Menage Romance (47 page)

I wanted to sneak up behind him and touch him, run my fingers down the silky valley between his shoulder blades, but I didn’t want to startle him. I cleared my throat gently just to let him know I was there.

“Oh, I heard you,” he said softly and grabbed a handful of grape tomatoes from the carton to slice in half. “Hungry yet?”

“Starving,” I admitted. As soon as the word was past my lips my body remembered that I hadn’t eaten and started clamoring for food.

Jackson flipped on a burner and dove for an omelette pan in the cupboard.

“Sit,” he commanded. “I’ll make you something.”

“You cook?” I said incredulously as I walked to the opposite side of the island and pulled out a stool. The cleaning lady Miranda arranged for us usually cooked a couple meals for the day for us, and I tended to eat like a college student: always on the run.

He shook a pat of butter in the pan. It bubbled in circles, covering the bottom.

“I do, a little,” he said modestly as he cracked eggs into a bowl, added some salt and pepper and a little milk, and started beating the mixture with a fork.

After tossing in a handful of vegetables, he pressed his lips together adorably and flipped the pan several times. His pecs clenched and then settled. I wondered if I was going to be allowed to each lunch off his chest.

Jackson didn’t look at me, though I knew he could tell I was watching him. If it had been Declan, he would have asked me to narrate every thought so he could preen and flex for my adoration. Jackson was more reserved in general. He was always sweet and thoughtful, and more tender. He only pulled my hair when he came, and he loved to stare into my eyes for a long time after.

Declan was more commanding and forceful and didn’t make a big show of emotion either. I felt like a toy in his hands. Sometimes it was a little frightening, being with someone so enthusiastically curious about my body, so willing to push my limits. But he always come back.

Declan was “Naughty” and Jackson was “Nice.” I thought of them as either “Naughty and Nice” or “Nice and Naughty,” depending on which facet was more prominent in my mind at the time.

And here he was, all Nice, making me lunch. Beautiful, sleek, strong. He poured the eggs over the lightly sauteed vegetables and covered it with a lid.

“Feta?” he asked. I nodded. The aroma was making my mouth water, and I tried not to salivate like a dog. He held a bunch of herbs in his fist and chopped them to smithereens with lightning fast strokes.

“Where’s Declan?” I asked casually to distract myself. He shrugged, but I thought I saw a flicker of resentment cross his features. Or was that jealousy?

No way. Couldn’t be.

“I think he’s swimming. Or sleeping next to the pool. He’s out there.” He pointed toward the pool with his square, smooth chin. Though he hadn’t gotten dressed yet, his face was freshly shaved. I thought about his cheek sliding down my waist and the little kisses he liked to give me between my hip bones. A sigh escaped my lips.

“What are you thinking about?” he asked, smiling sweetly.

I stretched my arms over my head and gazed at the ceiling coquettishly. It felt marvelous to sense all the tension from painting seeping away from my muscles like the tide going out.

“Oh you know…” I sing songed. “The usual. Back rubs… Pedicures… Your lips all over my body.”

“Oh yeah?” He cocked an eyebrow. His blue eyes twinkled underneath his dark brows and I could see his cheeks reddening.

“Uh huh,” I replied, nodding. “Just another day in paradise, the usual.”

He nodded as his smile turned to a full grin. After sprinkling the open face of the omelette with chunks of feta and a flurry of fresh herbs, he picked up a plate and slid the steaming disc out, flipping the end expertly to fold it over. Then he sliced it with a spatula and placed half on another plate.

Sliding it in front of me, he murmured, “Careful, it’s hot.” I inhaled the steam and almost swooned with hunger. The fragrance was amazing.

“Baby, this looks gorgeous,” I said, swallowing the torrent of saliva that filled my mouth.

He shrugged. “Oh it’s nothing. Just another day in paradise, the usual,” he added impishly.

As he sat down next to me, I feasted my eyes on his skin. Just the sexiest sprinkling of sable-colored hair covered his pecs, making them so deliciously soft to nuzzle. Compared to his brother’s tawny, phoenix shaped hair pattern, the dark, thick pelt Jackson had was comforting and sensual.

I caught myself mentally comparing their bodies and chuckled silently. When did that become normal? It was a marvel - so many things I would have never even considered just a few months ago were now common daily activities for me.

Sleeping with a billionaire? Check.

Sleeping with his brother? Check.

Oh, how about both at the same time? Check and
check
.

Chucking aside a whole career and style and replacing it with a brand new one? Checkity check check check.

It is amazing what you can talk yourself into,
 I reminded myself.

Jackson leaned over to me and kissed my forehead, pushing a strand of hair behind my ear. His eyes were filled with tenderness.

“You look hungry,” he said as he sat back in his chair.

“Starving,” I admitted.

He looked at his steaming plate and blew on it. His full, pursed lips spoke to my sweet spot in a secret language. Instantly I was wet and squirming in my chair.

“I think it’s still too hot,” he said.

“Probably,” I agreed.

“So what are we gonna do?” he asked without looking at me.

I giggled coyly. “Well, I would love to, but this smells so delicious… We should eat first.”

“No,” he said turning to me and staring at me hard. “I mean, what should we
do
?”

I swallowed.

“About what?”

“About this,” he said slowly. “About us.”

I sat completely still. His face was intense and slightly flushed. I could see his pulse fluttering in the hollow between his collarbones.

Was he scared?

Because I was fucking terrified.

“Well,” I said weakly, clearly stalling, “I don’t know. I hadn’t really thought about it.”

“Oh,” he said, clearly disappointed.

“This is all just so new, Jackson. I’ve just been… uh… getting used to it.”

He nodded. “Living in the present.”

“Right!” I agreed, a little too loudly. “Living in the present. That’s a good way to describe it.”

He picked up his fork and poked at the omelette cooling on his plate.

“Jackson,” I said quietly, “baby, you’re leaving tomorrow. There’s nowhere else to live but the present, right?”

“I’ll be back in a week.”

“And Declan?”

“I don’t know what he’s doing,” he said, looking at me again. The force of his gaze was so powerful I barely kept myself from looking away.
 
“But
I’ll
 be back in a week.”

Why is he doing this?
 I thought.
Everything is going so great.

“Margot?” he pressed gently. “Do you want me back here? When I come back?”

Well? Do I?

“What are you asking me?” I said quietly. I wasn’t really sure he was saying what I thought he was saying.

He knuckled his chin in concentration and looked away. When his eyes met mine again, the intensity was just as startling. It never wore off.

“I’m asking you if I can come back here. To be with you.”

I looked at my plate. That omelette was a thing of beauty. I forked a small bite and put it in my mouth, expecting to awkwardly choke it down like the conversation we were having. But the herbs and rich butter exploded on my tongue as soon as my lips closed around it. I found myself unable to stop. It was so delicious. Every bite was a different flavor combination: the tartness of the feta, the bursting ripe tomatoes, the perfectly tender-crisp zucchini rounds. Before I knew it I had torn through most of it.

It warmed my heart to hear him laughing quietly instead of sulking about the unanswered question that must have hung over my head in a cartoon thought bubble.

“Damn, woman,” he muttered, and speared a tomato from his plate. In a few seconds he was eating as ravenously as I.

Well at least he doesn’t pout like his brother,
 I thought with relief.
Oh there I go, comparing them again.

“You didn’t save any for me?” Declan teased as he walked through the poolside door.

Jackson shrugged. “Snooze you lose. Make your own,” he said. Was it my imagination or was there a bitterness in his tone?

“Nah,” he drawled. “At least you saved some of
this
 for me.” He came up behind me and pushed his hand into the back of my hair, grabbing it gently and pulling my head back. Then he dove and bit at my neck and shoulders. He smelled like salt and oil and the sun.

I submitted, letting him push me off-balance in my chair, knowing he would catch me if I started to fall. His other hand slipped under my cotton tank top and cupped my breast, rolling my nipple between his fingers until it was as hard as a pebble.

I sighed luxuriously as he bit my neck, cautiously avoiding leaving another mark. Still, I wanted him to, probably because it was impossible. I wanted him to ravage me, leave bruises and teeth marks, tear my clothes.

Maybe Bridget had a point, after all?

Soon I felt something else, and realized hands were on my knees, squeezing, pushing them open. Though I knew it was Jackson, it felt strange to not be able to see what was happening. Hands roved over my skin, detached from their owners. Declan’s kisses had pushed my head so far back I could only see the beamed ceiling. Soon I felt tiny bites along the inside of my thigh.

“Oh yeah, that’s right,” I heard Declan murmur, and he pulled my right leg up, opening my thighs for Jackson. He supported me with his left arm under my shoulders and kept nuzzling the upper swells of my breasts so I couldn’t see.

Fingers pushed against the crotch of my cotton panties, lightly tracing up and down. I suspected that was Jackson because he knows that winds me up so quickly. To feel him so close, yet so far away… It was maddening. A moan escaped my throat and I pressed against the sensation.

At the same time there was a hand stroking my belly, crossways. All the hairs stood up on my hips as the fingers trailed lightly back and forth. Jackson’s hot breath warmed my nether lips through the fabric and I wriggle plaintively. I didn’t want to beg because I knew Declan would take that dare and torture me until I was near-screaming with frustration. That’s the Naughty way. But Jackson would want to please me and be Nice. I was very much hoping for Nice.

The velvety lap of a curious tongue slid smoothly along the leg opening of my panties and I waited patiently, knowing more was coming. The inability to watch heightened my other senses. I could feel fingers upon fingers, all over me. Pressing, kneading, teasing. Declan bit lightly at my nipples one at a time, flicking them with his tongue, then sucking harder.

Jackson’s hands trailed from my calves to my thighs, over the leg that Declan still held open. I was helpless, exposed, and loving it. Every inch of me expected and demanded pleasure, and every inch of me received it.

Fingers slipped over the bows at the sides of my panties and I felt the ribbons being tugged.

“Yeah,” Declan said. “Get those off her.”

Jackson said nothing, but I felt the cool air on my open, exposed lips as the panties were pulled away. His sigh floated up to me, a sweet sound of pleasure and affection, and I felt his warm breath caressing my swollen, dripping lips.

“Taste her,” Declan muttered as he pinched my nipples. A second later there was a hot, tentative tongue lightly licking all along my furrow from the top to the bottom. He was going very, very slow. I reminded myself to be patient as my clit throbbed in bright vermilion electrical arcs of need.

“Here,” Declan sighed, pulling my leg open even more. He angled his left arm so that I leaned even farther back. I was totally helpless, one hand clutching the granite counter and the other clawing Declan’s shoulder.

“Shhh, baby,” he whispered to me as my back arched and I tried to wriggle against Jackson’s tender lapping. Declan held my whole left breast in his strong, wide palm, kneading it firmly.

“You want more, don’t you?” he asked me. I nodded,
yes
.

“Tell him,” he whispered. “Tell Jackson what you want.”

“I... want more, Jackson,” I whispered in a breathy stutter.

“He can’t hear that, baby,” Declan scolded me. “Tell him louder.”

I took a breath to get a clear voice. Jackson’s tongue plunged deeper with every stroke between my lips but he was not yet licking my clit, and I wanted that so bad.

“Jackson,” I said, probably too loudly. “I want more.”

“Tsk, tsk, ask nicely.”

 “Please!”

As if in answer I felt his tongue go hard and spear me two, three times in my opening, then retreat and rise to flick my clit over and over. The cry came out of my mouth so fast I almost choked on it. But then he stopped.