Rock My World

He tasted of Guinness, and man, and something so irresistible she couldn't name it.

His fingers, callused from years of guitar playing, slid around her waist, over the bare skin at the small of her back, holding her against him. He was hard, and the muscles in her thighs loosened against the unmistakable arousal under his jeans. This was nothing like kissing Mortimer. He didn't inspire lust at this level; arousal that was so sharp, so dark, so overwhelming that all she could think about was falling into bed with him. She didn't protest when he slid the fingers of his free hand under her hair and cupped the back of her head. She didn't fight him when he used his grip to change the angle of the kiss, sliding his tongue between her lips to seduce hers. She didn't fight him, because God help her, she couldn't.

It was the sound of Mike clearing his throat that brought that jarring return to sanity. Her spine stiffened instantly and with her arms still wrapped around Jack, she turned her head.

"Kiddies," he said in that Irish lilt of his, "as enjoyable as this display is, and believe me it is, you're distracting the customers. You're distracting them SO much they're forgetting to buy drinks, and that's bad for business! So if you must do what you're doing, find somewhere a bit more private, will you?"

"That's the best idea I've heard all day," Jack said, his arm locked around her waist.

Before she could respond, Mike rushed inside. Lola turned to Jack and glared. "You got your kiss, now let me go."

Jack's grip tightened.

"You said you'd back off if I kissed you. I kissed you. Back off!"

"I never said I'd back off," Jack countered, "I said I'd step away from the door, and I did."

They were still leaning against the car, his arm locking him to her, but he was no longer blocking the door.

"Don't make me hurt you," she said irritably.

"All right, tell me your real name."

"Screw you!"

"Fine," Jack said, shrugging his broad shoulders. "We can stay here all night, but that vest you're wearing can't be very warm."

"Oh please!" Lola had enough.

She finally loosed the fist she'd been holding ready since he'd turned her down, and punched him smartly in the stomach. While he gasped for breath, she shoved him away and got in her car. As she gunned the motor, she rolled down the window.

He looked stunned, and pissed, and adorable. She decided she'd reward him.

"The name's Lola," she said with a smile, and with those words, she drove off.

***

It had been a long night.

First, she went to the concert, then she got in a fight with concert security, and then there was the performance, and making out with Jack against her Jeep. God she'd been stupid!

What the hell had possessed her to do that?

Lola's hands tightened on the wheel. Boy did it feel good. The scent and taste of him, all those hard edges against her; it was nothing like Mortimer's soft tummy. She needed sex, and soon. When she realized where her thoughts were going, Lola stopped short and shoved them brutally aside. She'd convinced her fiancé that she was the no sex before marriage type though she'd secretly lost her virginity to a horrible lay, just to get it over with. Unwilling to completely deceive him, she'd been respectfully celibate in the many months she'd been with Morty, and now . . .

Dammit! Damn it to hell!

She was frustrated, and hot, her temper raging as she pulled into her driveway. Then she saw Jack's motorcycle parked in front of her house, and there, sitting on her stoop, was Jack, grinning like an idiot.

"Aren't you going to ask how I got your address?" he asked. She didn't look all that surprised to see him.

"What would be the point?" Lola shrugged irritably. "You're here aren't you?"

Jack resisted the urge to tell Lola she was beautiful when she was angry. Her cheeks were flushed, her breasts rising and falling with every breath, but remembering that blow to the stomach, he wisely held his tongue. She'd been SO angry, grumbling and pounding furiously on the wheel of her car that she didn't see or hear him follow her.

He couldn't decide what had shocked him more, that gut wrenching punch or the make out session that had sucked the blood right out his head and had it pooling firmly, permanently in his lap. It had been a lucky guess on his part as to which house was hers.

He didn't know what to do now that he was here.

He was hoping she'd make a move. Lola could argue until she was blue in the face, but she was a willing participant in what had happened outside Mike's bar. She'd grabbed at his hair and groped his chest and kissed him back, all but melting against him. She'd arched her hips and clutched at him and moaned in a way that told him she wanted him as badly as he wanted her. So he waited as she moved up the walkway and up the stairs, stopping until she was so close he could only see her calves, encased in shiny black leather. She waited for him to stand, and move backwards so he was facing her on the porch, and then, with a hand on his chest, she pushed him aside and opened her front door. As she stepped inside, he waited for the door to slam in his face, but it didn't.

To his surprise, she paused in her foyer and said something to the effect of: "Oh to hell with it!" and in that very instant her hand snapped out, and he was yanked inside.

On a laugh, Jack stumbled, and was brought up short as she shoved him brutally against a wall.

Her mouth was on his instantly. Her tongue pried his lips apart as her greedy fingers forced the jacket off his shoulders. Jack had thought he couldn't get any harder. He was wrong. As Lola's hands moved frantically over his chest and down to his stomach, he fought for control. She was trying to rape him, he thought, smiling against her lips as she jerked his shirt out of his waistband.

He couldn't have that.

With startling speed he grabbed both her wrists and rolled, pinning her against the wall of what appeared to be the beginning of a stairway. With his mouth locked to hers, he reached between them and pulled her vest open with both hands. Jack broke the kiss and looked down. She wasn't wearing a bra. Her breasts were incredible, round, and just big enough to fill his long fingered hands, topped with pinkish brown nipples.

"God," he said with obvious pleasure, and grabbing both her wrists, he pinned them against the wall while he bent his head and tasted her. As he ran his tongue over her nipples, Lola's back arched. She gasped with every breath, hissing when he teased her with his teeth. "Where's the damn bedroom?" he demanded, unsure of how long he could wait.

"Up the stairs," she said on an uneven breath.

Jack didn't want to take her there just yet. He let Lola jerk his shirt off before dropping to his knees in front of her. With his teeth, Jack yanked the button of her jeans open and pulled her zipper down. He reached inside her jeans, past red velvet panties, and deep inside her. She was dripping wet, and as he found her g-spot and rubbed gently, she screamed softly. She clamped around him and began rocking her hips violently against his fingers. Jack waited until her inner muscles became vise-like around his fingers, until he knew by her gasps and how taut she held herself that she was on the brink. As she clamped around him and silently begged Jack to relieve the tension, he jerked her jeans down and put his tongue on her clit.

She came instantly, violently, and in that moment he heard it. The thing he'd been looking for the woman destined to be his bride.

When she gasped and convulsed and arched against him, it was HIS name she screamed.

She only did it once . . . but once was all Jack needed.

It felt as though his heart had been squeezed, and with a smile, he rode out the last of her convulsions and kissed his way up her body. He paused only once to savor her gorgeous breasts before scooping her up into his arms and carrying her up the stairs. She wasn't all that heavy, but limp as a wet noodle.

"Don't you DARE fall asleep on me, Lola. We're not finished yet."

Lola laughed against his neck. "I hope not," she said breathlessly, and then she giggled. "The bedroom's that way," she added, pointing in the opposite direction to where he was heading.

Jack was there in a heartbeat, standing in front of her king-sized four poster bed. He set her on her feet in front of it, and seeing a couple of heavy candles on the bedside table, he whipped out his lighter. He wanted to see her this first time, watch every mood on her face. As the tapers filled the room with soft light he went to her and pushed the vest off her shoulders. In a surprising burst of energy Lola smiled, her full lips curving and shoved him back on the bed.

Her boots were off and she was on top of him in seconds. She sat on his waist, pinning his wrists above his head.

"You had your chance, Jack Slade. It's my turn," she said, kissing him fiercely.

Jack relaxed instantly, submitting to her touch, loving the feel of her smooth gold skin against his. Lola relinquished her hold on his wrists to run her hands over his shoulders, chest and waist. Jacked sucked in a breath as she opened his belt with both hands and jerked his jeans open, rolling off of him to pull her jeans and underwear off. He watched as miles of golden, slender leg emerged in the dim light while he sat up to chuck his own clothes. The minute he was naked Lola climbed on top of him, pinning his arms. She eyed his length with interest before bracing herself above him and slowly sinking down.

"Oh sweet Jesus," she hissed between her teeth.

She was full to capacity. It was overwhelming, almost painful, but incredible all at the same time. She was no expert on size, but this was amazing. Beneath her, Jack watched her with eyes hazed with lust . . . but there was something else. He looked at her as though she was the only woman in the world. It was flattering, arousing; the man had thousands of women at his disposal, and yet, for whatever reason, he'd gone to a crazy amount of trouble to get in her bed.

On a moan she moved, arching her back, knowing instinctively how to rock her body so the head of his cock rubbed her g-spot.

Lola moved slowly at first, loving the feel of him inside her, treating this one incredible fuck like he was her last meal. In a way, Jack was a last meal. In two months she'd have to give it all up; the band, the music, the bar, and this addictive sensation between panic arousal that Jack Slade had been causing since the moment he rode in.

She did everything she could to prolong the pleasure, loving the slide of him inside her, his every gasp and moan, and the feel of those guitar calluses on her skin; caressing her breasts and holding her hips.

When the feeling became too much; when Jack began arching his hips upward, Lola gave in to herself and moved her hips quickly, frantically, until she was overcome. She moved like a woman possessed, riding out the shakes like a ship in a storm. As the contractions subsided, she bent down and kissed him, welcoming the salty taste of his sweat, and the feel of his lips and tongue against hers. She let out a strangled sound of protest when he rolled her beneath him, instinctively locking her legs with his. Jack held himself deep inside her, but he wouldn't move.

It didn't make sense; he hadn't come yet. In confusion, Lola opened her eyes.

"This isn't going to end tonight," he said softly, pinning her arms when she began to struggle.

This couldn't continue after tonight, she thought in a panic. She had a life to get back to and just as her thoughts began racing even faster, Jack moved inside her, purging every thought but the feel of him inside her. He kissed her neck, licking and biting her as she arched. He looked deeply into the darkness of her eyes with the icy blue of his until her whole world became one of sensation and icy intensity. She came several times underneath him, arching her hips and grabbing his butt with both hands, frantic from those slow, deep thrusts inside her. It was only when she was completely devastated that he sped up, moving quickly, violently until he thrust once, twice and held before collapsing on top of her.

After a moment, he rolled off of her, and instead of passing out, Jack pulled her against him.

"Well," Lola said. Jack was really only lover number three. She never knew what to say to a man after sex. "That was . . . "

Jack chuckled.

"Incredible? Amazing? How about earth shaking?"

"Alright," she said cautiously. She wasn't used to post coital banter.

"Hmmm," Jack said. "You sound unsure of yourself. As a man it is my honor bound duty to fix that," he declared, rolling on top of her.

"Wait a second! I didn't mean . . ." Lola was laughing, giddy from all the orgasms.

"Yes you did," he said, running his hand from the side of her breast down to her hip.

"You're hard again," Lola said, not bothering to hide her surprise. He braced his weight on his arms and slipped his legs between hers, spreading her wide and pulling a gasp from her.

"I have incredible powers of recovery, Lady Death. Get used to it," he said with a grin, and then he slid deep inside her.

It was several hours before either of them got to sleep.

***

Jack had never felt better in his whole life.

He had found his dream girl, and had spent the last several hours in bed with her. She was smart, sassy, talented, and hell on wheels in bed. Long after she'd passed out, he watched her sleep, loving the serenity on her face as her breasts rose and fell with every breath. How could he have ever thought she wasn't beautiful? She had perfect cheekbones, full lips, rich dark eyes, and hair that slid like corn silk through his fingers.

But she wasn't his yet. There was still the matter of the fiancé to deal with. He looked around the room. There wasn't a trace of him anywhere. No picture, no nothing. Whoever this guy was, he clearly didn't mean that much to her, and that meant he wouldn't be that hard to get rid of. With those thoughts in mind, Jack blew out the candles and slept.

***

Jack woke slowly to the sound of someone muttering and cursing. On a yawn, he rolled, reaching instinctively for her. His hand met empty air, and with a childish sound of disappointment, Jack opened his eyes. Lola was entering the room wearing a prim button down shirt and long skirt. Her hair was tied neatly to the back of her head, and on her nose was a pair of wire rimmed glasses. He saw the contact lenses case on the night stand and briefly fantasized about her wearing nothing but those glasses.

He expected her to greet him with a smile, but she didn't, she simply tossed him his shorts.

"This was fun, Jack, but my fiancé's due here in an hour. You have to get out of here."

Jack stared at her for a second as he pulled his shorts on, and then at the plate in her hands. It contained what looked like eggs and fried rice.

"Filipino breakfast," she explained, handing him the plate and pulling a fork from her pocket. Jack took a bite, and smiled wide. A body like that and she could cook too! He'd never felt so lucky.

"Filipino, huh? I thought you might have half been Latina, but I guess I was wrong. Tell me about this fiancé of yours."

From the look on her face, he might as well have been speaking German.

"Why?" she asked suspiciously.

"I want to know what I'm up against," he replied.

"You're not up against anything," she argued.

"Great!" he said brightly. "You're dumping the guy!"

Lola laughed. "No, you dumb fuck! You seem to have gotten it in your head that last night was more than what it was."

Jack arched a brow as he chewed on his food. "What was it?"

"Amazing sex" she said with a smile, and then her head popped up, as though she remembered, and picking last night's jeans off the floor, she retrieved her engagement ring. She stashed the jeans, vest, and leather boots in her closet, along with a bag of makeup and slid the ring onto her finger.

That said more to Jack than any argument she was going to make.

The fiancé was obviously planning to marry the demure, homemaking woman Lola was trying to be. Jack knew better. At the bar, rocking with her band, she radiated power and life. Puttering around her room, tidying up, she looked stifled, angry and frustrated. It was all but coming off of her in waves.

"Jack, finish your breakfast. I don't have time for whatever it is you're contemplating, so please get out of my life."

"I ought to turn you over my knee for that, Lola," he said, rubbing his hand over the sudden ache in his chest, but he grabbed his jeans and pulled them on. "Where's my shirt and jacket?"

"Downstairs, near the DOOR."

"I'm not leaving," he decided.

"I'll call the cops."

"No you won't. I won't stay long. I just want to meet the guy."

"How am I going to explain you?"

"What do you do for a living?"

Lola looked embarrassed. "I sell children's clothes."

"Great! I'm your boss!"

"You can't be!"

"Why not?"

"Because my boss is my father in law to be, that's why!"

Ah, Jack thought, one more piece of the puzzle. "C'mon Lola . . . let me meet the guy. You look like a smart woman . . . "

"I AM!"

"Think of an excuse."

It looked like Lola was going to fight him on this, then a slow smile spread across her unpainted lips. "Fine; you really want to meet him? There's a brunch at Mortimer's parent's house on Sunday, are you free?"

Mortimer? Jeez, even his name was dorky. Sunday was his only day off, but he wanted to meet the guy, so he had to oblige.

"Sure, what should I wear?"

"White shirt, black pants; I'll tell the catering company I'm sending them some extra help."

Twenty minutes later, Jack was out of her house, a 1920s style duplex that had been converted into a single family home. Judging from the photos on the wall, it had been a family inheritance. As he mounted his motorcycle, he saw a fancy Lexus pull into her driveway. The man who got out of it matched Lola's outfit but not her personality. There was nothing striking about his dishwater brown hair, sallow skin, and timid slouch. He was dressed sedately in khakis and a collared shirt and had padding about the middle. The man turned and stared at him for a second through thick glasses, eyeing Jack's jeans and motorcycle with more than a little contempt. The guy had nouveau riche all but tattooed on his forehead. Mortimer turned to the door as it opened, greeting Lola with a sedate peck on the lips.

Jack didn't feel a twinge of jealousy; because he read her easily. It wasn't all consuming passion on her face, but that kind of condescending, impatient affection one would usually have for a bratty child.

Until Sunday, Jack thought, and with those thoughts in mind, he went to meet his band.

***

Every time Lola walked into one of Mortimer's family functions, it was as though she'd stepped right into the re-make of Ira Levin's "The Stepford Wives." His sisters, sisters in law, female cousins, and mother all sported blond hair in nearly identical styles and all of them wore blouses and skirts by whichever designer was famous that day. None of them worked, even though most of them had servants to care for their kids, and every single one of them gave up their right to intelligent conversation the instant they sat down at the hundred foot table Oswald Grayer had ordered custom made for his dining room.

"Where was their personality or their sense of self respect?" Lola wondered.

She wanted to shake them all, slap them across the face and scream, "WHAT ARE YOU DOING!" but she pushed the thought aside. She'd probably have to bleach her hair after the wedding, and burn all her pants. She supposed it could be worse. Unlike the women around her, chatting about such trivialities as what such and such was wearing at such and such an event, Lola had gotten an education; her mother had insisted on it. She had her own mind and her own politics. So what if she'd have to keep her mouth shut about them from here on in? At least she had them.