Page 70 of Wanting What’s Wrong

Six

Mina

N apping is impossible.

How Jack thinks after what just happened downstairs I could fall asleep, I have no idea.

He was so intense then, so distant now. It’s like a rubber band snapping with him. He’s so sweet, all the gifts and the your mine and the safe feeling he gives me. Then, he turns growly and angry and I’m not sure it’s even about anything I’ve done.

It’s like some PTSD or whatever and let’s be real, he could have some horrible trauma in his past and I wouldn’t know, would I? For all I know, he could be some stalker that kidnapped me.

Maybe he’s a psychopath with plans to keep me tied up in the basement as his sex slave…

I punch the pillow, flopping onto my back.

Maybe there’s a silver lining after all.

As I tossed and turned in this massive, beautiful bedroom in the big empty bed, all sorts of stories tumbled around in my imagination.

Is he a football player at all? Yes, I believe so, because the nurses and doctors recognized him. Jackson Sanders, USC quarterback.

Go Trojans!

If I had some internet access, I could do some recon, but even on my phone, the internet browser is deactivated and there are no computers in the house. Weird but okay.

But, that doesn’t mean the gorgeous, all-American football hero doesn’t have some other skeletons he’s hiding. But, in my heart, I doubt he’s dangerous. A little hard edged, sure, but that’s sexy as heck.

Though I’ve ‘known’ him for less than 24 hours in this amnesia brain of mine, deep in my sub-conscious, I’ve known him for years. I know because he said. And even with my limited knowledge about myself, I don’t strike me as the kind of girl that would stick with a psychopath or someone abusive.

I blow out a breath, throwing my legs over the side of the bed, tossing the freakishly soft cream bedding to the side.

Jack said he was going to go blow off some steam after he stripped down to his boxers and pulled a pair of athletic shorts from the small bag he brought inside.

I watched in awe as he stripped off his shirt and pants, standing there like he was carved from bronze.

Every angle of his torso was im- pecc -able.

I imagined running my tongue through every muscular valley.

The memory of his fingers dancing around in my wetness making the clenching down deep erupt again.

There’s truth to the idea that mating is some primal need. It’s got to be in our DNA because these feelings are not just fleeting. I want his dick inside me. Full. Stop.

That’s blunt, but it’s the truth. It’s all I can think about as my face flushes and a sheen of sweat covers my body the sun sneaking in through the closed drapes from the summer day outside.

When he kissed the top of my head and tucked me in, I wanted to reach out and grab the clear outline of his hard-on and tug at him until he was balls deep.

Alas, his super Daddy patience won out, and he left me needy and whimpering as he walked out the bedroom door headed for the workout room he said was downstairs.

I pad over to the closet where there are bags of clothes and other gifts strewn all over the floor.

I hold up a few pieces of lingerie but decide to go in a different direction, grabbing a pair of white cotton panties and a tank top with the words Brat Mode Activated written across the chest.

Seems fitting, since I feel a tantrum coming on if I don’t get my way. And soon .

Who would have thought it would be me pressuring a guy like Jack to do the full dirty deed? His patience is infuriating. He’s touched me, and yes, he gave me that little, baby, tiny taste of the tip of his cock, but I think that was him teasing me and it worked.

I’m wound so tight, one push and I’m going to fly apart into a zillion pieces.

I tug my hair into a messy bun and spread some of the cherry lip gloss from one of the bags onto my lips. The tank top is a bit obscene over my triple D braless boobs but that works in my favor.

I wiggle into the panties, my ass cheeks peeking out of the elastic in the back as well. I’m a thick girl and although I think Jack and I are a bit of a mismatch, I vow to use my curves to my advantage instead of shrinking with the feelings of not being good enough.

With a few more last-minute words of encouragement into the mirror, I make my way to the bedroom door and down the hall to the stairs.

The house is silent except for the icemaker dropping some cubes inside the freezer and the ever-present seagulls over the lake outside.

I tip toe through the cool kitchen to where there is a stairway to the basement.

The first floor is pretty open and logic and intuition tell me if there’s a home gym, it’s in the on the lowest level.

By the time I hit the fourth step down, I know I’m right. The low thump of rock music drifts upward as well as grunting sounds.

I slip down into the main area which is pretty empty outside of a pool table and a comfy looking sectional couch. A bar is along one wall and there are glass sliding doors that look outward to the lake, making me itch to get Jack out there for some skinny dipping…

But, first things first.

The grunting stops as I approach the open door, bright lights streaming into the other room. There’s a whirring sound then a rhythmic thumping as I reach the door and peer in, putting my plan together on the fly.

My heart pitter-patters watching Jack shirtless on the treadmill, pounding away at the belt as he pokes a finger to the control panel, sweat wetting his caramel-brown hair and running down the indent between his pectoral muscles, making my girl parts clench.

I have a fleeting memory of a video clip on TikTok. It’s odd what is clear about my past and what is an utter void. There’s a guy on a treadmill, supposedly there’s a woman in a gym taking a video without his knowledge. He’s wearing gray athletic shorts and clearly, nothing else.

The video centers on his generous junk flinging around under the thin gray fabric and I do remember, it was mesmerizing in its own way .

That pales in comparison to what I’m watching right now. Jack’s cock is clear under the white shorts he’s wearing and yes, it’s doing this sort of circular loop but it’s half hard and darn near as long as my forearm.

I know from kissing the tip, grinding on him and all the times I’ve seen his harness through his pants that things downtown are im press ive.

But, there’s something about the thin fabric of his shorts, the fact that he’s obviously commando, and it makes me want to explode.

“I know you’re over there, lil’ mint,” he grumbles, not missing a stride. “You’re supposed to be sleeping.”

“I’m not tired.” I sashay into the workout room, running my fingers along a long metal bar on a bench, popping my lips together, then settle on some medieval looking piece of machinery with an inclined sort of deal and some handles out in front.

“I want to be close to you.” I shrug, gripping the two foam-covered handles about chest high, my legs straddling the bench, my knees falling open, tip toes on the carpeted floor.

I’m starting to sweat myself but it’s not from exertion.

Watching Jack move, I’m hypnotized. His every muscle shifts and flexes.

His biceps tight, fists clenched, jaw square.

He’s solid and fluid at the same time. He’s made of brick and mortar, and I want his walls around me, keeping me safe forever.

“Yes, but I told you to stay in bed. You’re teasing me again and sometimes, daddies need time alone. You’re going to learn to listen. That’s another rule, when I tell you to stay somewhere, you do it. It’s for your own safety and wellbeing.”

I shrug, pushing at the mechanism, watching my boobs raise and lower, pushing together as I work the mechanism.

Conflict twists on Jack’s face. I saw it before when he went from sweet, caring, here’s-a-thousand-gifts to the other side of the Daddy coin.

Hard and filthy. So unpredictable, but that danger is heady and compelling. I want to see how far I can push to get what I want.

“Am I doing it right?” I ask, pushing my chest forward, spreading my knees unnecessarily wide then adding a little grunt on the end of my effort.

The loop, loop, loop of his cock has stopped. It’s more a slap, slap, slap as it stands straight, pushing on the elastic waistband as he knits his brows together. I wiggle on the bench, licking my lips, unable to keep this naughty, tempting vixen inside me at bay.

Jack pounds on the console of the treadmill then jumps off, making me whine at the sight of his strength and arousal, but something in his eyes tells me I’ve pushed and it’s going to be Mean Daddy time again.

“You want to play?” he says, wiping his hands down his gleaming chest.

Heat courses over my skin. Every inch of me is hyperaware and on alert.

I feel like if he doesn’t touch me, I’ll die.

He’s close, close enough the tang of sweat and his cologne assault my nose as he squeezes his chin and a small dark spot appears where the tip of his cock is clear at the top of his shorts.

“I…I like playing,” I stutter, knowing what he’s planning may deviate slightly from what I hoped would happen.

“Then we’re going to play,” he murmurs as he walks by into a small closet.

I follow him with my eyes. When he reappears, there’s red rope draped around the back of his neck and he’s opening a small white box, withdrawing a thin pink object that looks like rubber of some kind and somewhere deep in my sketchy memories, I know this is not a children’s toy.

He sets the object on the black vinyl of the bench. I give the machine one last push as Jack leans down and presses his lips to mine then withdraws, those silver eyes pinning me in place.