Wild Boys, Jackson

By: Melissa Foster

Everything’s naughtier after dark…

Book Three

After Dark Series

Chapter One

JACKSON WILD PUT his cell phone on speaker mode, set it on the coffee table, and shoved a few extra protein bars into his backpack as he listened to his younger brother and business partner rattle off their schedule for next weekend’s photo shoot. They owned one of the most prestigious photography studios in New York City, and both of them enjoyed the perks of the business—leggy models and actresses who loved to party. Jackson had never missed an event, but that didn’t stop his overly organized brother, Cooper, from confirming for a second time.

“Sage Remington’s gallery opening is Friday night. Are you sure you and Erica will be back by then?”

Jackson flopped onto his leather couch and kicked his bare feet up on the table beside the phone.

“Yeah. We’re coming back Thursday night.” Gazing out at the city lights, he thought about Erica Lane, who had been his best friend—with benefits—since high school. Everyone except Jackson called her Erica. He’d given her the nickname Laney the very first time they’d met, when she’d been a tough, mouthy, and beautiful teenager.

“You’ve got Mom covered while I’m away?” Jackson asked. Their father had been killed while trying to ward off an attack on their mother in the middle of the night, right in their bedroom. He’d rushed the attacker, but he was no match for the two bullets that tore through his chest and stole his life as his wife suffered a savage beating that left her blind. Now Jackson and his three brothers took turns visiting their mother on a daily basis, making sure she was safe and taking her on outings and to run errands, and in general, ensuring she continued to have a full life after losing their father and her eyesight.

“Yeah. No problem,” Cooper assured him. “How’d things go with those two girls from the bar you took home Wednesday night? They were smokin’ hot.”

“Let’s just say—” Jackson turned at the sound of his front door flying open and slamming against the doorstop.

“Get your clothes off,” Laney hollered as she burst through the door carrying an armful of red roses and the biggest box of chocolates Jackson had ever seen. She slammed the chocolates and roses on the counter that separated the kitchen from the rest of the open living space. Several roses tumbled to the floor, leaving a trail of petals as Laney glared over her shoulder at him.

“Come on. Strip,” she demanded. Her blond hair was wild, as if she’d run from wherever she’d come from, and her cheeks were red with anger, but it was the look in her eyes that had Jackson’s blood boiling. They were damp, as if she’d been crying.

He strode across the room, forgetting about Cooper, and grabbed her by the shoulders. She glared up at him with her jaw tight, her eyes shooting daggers as she tore at the buttons on his shirt.

“Get this off. I need to get laid.” She was five foot four to his six three, with full, pouty lips, an angular, tipped-up nose, and big hazel eyes, which could look innocent or wicked, depending on her mood. Currently they were watery and angry, which had his gut fisting into a knot. She shifted away from his gaze as she fumbled with his buttons and said, “Fuck. I can’t—”

Jackson pressed his hand to hers on his chest and felt her trembling.

“Talk to me, Laney. Why were you crying? What happened?”

“Nothing. I wasn’t cryi—” She pulled her top off and wiggled out of her miniskirt, which left her in a pair of black heels, a sexy black lace bra, and matching panties. Jackson had seen her naked and in just about every stage of undress one could imagine hundreds of times, and still, he was rock hard in seconds. She had no idea how hot she was, with full breasts straining against her bra, her taut stomach begging to be licked, and hips made for holding on to while she rode him hard. But Jackson knew just how hot she was. Damn did he know.

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