The Jared Enigma

By Jake Malden

He's back, and he's as bad as you remember - rock-and-roll rogue Jared Morgan, the small-town boy with big-city attitude and a cock to match. 'The Jared Enigma' takes the man you think you know to new heights of pleasure and depths of debauchery, all in the name of helping the women he meets embrace their wild side. Watch as he disarms a cynical waitress with his breath-taking honesty. Gasp as he provides a curious young sweetheart with the full tour-van experience. Wonder as he shows a frustrated trophy wife the error of her ways. But get ready for the big finale - when Jared's red-headed nemesis takes him on a crazy erotic trip he'll never forget (with a little help from her friends). 'The Jared Enigma' - think you've got the measure of this guy? Think again.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jake Malden
• Release date: Jul 28, 2015
• ISBN: 9781311115980

Jake Malden

Jake Malden is a freelance journalist and writer based in London. He has been experimenting with erotica both on the page and off for some years and has several titles available on Smashwords, the most recent of which is 'Gabrielle and the Devil'. His first full-length novel, 'The Tempting of Neely J', will be available later this summer.

Book preview

The Jared Enigma

by

Jake Malden

Table of Contents

Prologue: Fifteen Minutes With Jared

Jared and the Reluctant Groupie

Jared’s Brat School

Jared and the Cherry Project

Epilogue: Another Fifteen Minutes With Jared

Extract from The Jared Effect

Extract from The Tempting of Neely J

Extract from Daniella Bound

Published by Jake Malden at Smashwords

Copyright 2015 Jake Malden

Cover Design: Ker Dukey

Editor: Paula Radell

Stock photos supplied by Shutterstock

By the same author:

The Jared Effect

Copyright 2012 Jake Malden

Daniella Bound

Copyright 2015 Jake Malden

The Gavin McClain Stories Vol.1

Copyright 2014 Jake Malden

Extra-Curricular

Copyright 2014 Jake Malden

The Tempting of Neely J

Copyright 2013 Jake Malden

Gabrielle and the Devil

Copyright 2013 Jake Malden

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. It may not be sold or given away to others. If you would like to share this book with someone else, please purchase an additional copy for that person. You may not reproduce this work, in part or in its entirety, without the express written permission of the author.

Jake Malden is a part-time writer, hoping to make the creation of exciting erotic fiction his full-time profession. If you enjoy this ebook, please help him in achieving this goal.

All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Prologue: Fifteen Minutes With Jared

There was no hint at the start of Abbey’s evening that before her shift had ended she’d experience the fuck of her life to date.

Dennehy’s bar was its usual dingy self, clientele the same rowdy bunch of jocks. The atmosphere was noisy and on course for closing time’s usual drunken mayhem.

The music, however, was a cut above normal. Who are these guys? she asked Angelo, that evening’s head-barman.

"The Devil’s Rejects," he called above the din.

Pretty hot! She poured frothing glasses of beer.

What, all of them?

The music, dummy! She grinned and returned to her job—serving drinks and deflecting the attentions of college boys. A college junior herself she had no time for their idiotic come-ons. Or for the posturing of rock-star wannabes, come to that. These Rejects were a pretty tight outfit, though, and the lead guitarist definitely drew a second glance.

He wasn’t conventionally handsome—features a little too angular for that. It was more the way he leaned into those riffs, the effortless movement of his fingers on the frets. This guy was playing more for love than for show. And yes, her interest was also to do with how sweat highlighted the definition of his near-naked torso. Such a shame about her self-imposed rule on bands.

I’m not a one-night stand kinda girl.

Much good it had done her that past year. Her commitment to Brad had been firm, his to her not so. The rows it had caused … the words he’d used—they’d been frequently spiteful, and affectionate only when it suited him.

No one’s going to have that kind of power over me again. Not ever.

Hey—musicians get any preferential treatment?

Abbey was drawn first by his voice, then his smile. The latter transformed the guitarist, lighting up those steel-blue eyes. She returned the smile, the full white-toothed one that she held back from the jocks. Yup—one beer, compliments of the house.

She was handing over the bottle when he grabbed her arm, fingers sliding around her wrist, gripping tight. Instinctively she made to yank back her hand, but he held on, pulling her across the bar counter towards him.

The things I’d do to you …

The moment to whack his grinning face came—and went, as that blue-eyed gaze drilled into her, smile fading into a look both hard and earnest. His fingers brushed back strands that had fallen from her ponytail. Then he let go of her wrist, his fingers tracing hers, before he turned away and headed for the dance floor.

Abbey stood amid a throng of customers, shuddering. Something had happened, unique and scary. She could still feel his touch—harsh on her wrist and tender on her face. She recalled his penetrating eyes, his voice raw with promise. There was something about him, dark and delicious. Something she wanted, instantly and badly.

Customers need serving! Angelo’s voice shattered her reverie.

She stared at him, her heart pounding. Gonna take my break.

Now?

That okay? Back in fifteen.

In the bathroom she scrubbed her hands and stared in the mirror at the pretty green-eyed girl thinking wicked thoughts. Daddy’s pride and joy.

God, what are you doing? But something within her knew. Hell with it. I’ll never see him again. She tugged her shorts so that they sat below her hips, barely meeting her tank-top, then she spun on three-inch heels, left the bathroom and made straight for the dance floor.

She had walked no more than ten feet when he grabbed her by the same wrist that he’d seized at the bar.

Thought I might have scared you off. She glanced at the tattooed arm, the muscled upper body scantly covered by a leather waistcoat. She’d gone looking for trouble and it had found her.

I don’t scare so easily, she said, but her show of calm belied a cantering heart rate. Hot chills coursed through her.

Oh really. He smirked, and she stared into his eyes again. Thunderclouds were building in that calm sky. Then he was gripping both wrists, guiding her down the passageway from the bathroom, his body pushing her up against the cold brick wall. Darkness closed them in, but still she panicked. Brad has friends here. If he knew …

Whatever that thought is, he whispered, let it go. Let your body do what it wants. His voice was so calming. Instantly her body gravitated to his, legs parting, one foot inveigling its way between his. Fuck what anyone thinks. Fuck Brad. Here’s a better idea—fuck this guy.

That’s it … His knee prised her legs wider, that tall frame bearing down on her elegant five-foot-nine. Warm lips pressed to her neck and worked their way to her mouth. As she succumbed, kissing in return, one hand let go her wrist and shoved its way up her top, pushing the strap off her shoulder and yanking down the lace of her bra. The ripping sent new shivers through her.

Come on. I gotta set to finish and you gotta shift.

The door through which he propelled her led to the manager’s office. He flipped the light switch, but she had little time to take in the grungy space before he gripped her shorts in both hands and wrenched them down. She stumbled as he untangled her feet. Reaching from kneeling, he gripped her waist to steady her. His mouth planted kisses on her hips, her stomach and her ribs, hands pushing the tank top up her body. He rose, peeling the top and torn bra free of her, his tongue flicking over her nipples.

Heat surged within and she grabbed recklessly for his zipper, but he swatted her hand away and pushed her, flailing, onto the room’s busted sofa. He shrugged off his waistcoat, then in a few swift moves ripped all else free of his body.

Naked and proud.

Abbey could not prevent her gasp at his cock. It rose to a good eight robust inches—thick and hard and angry. Way bigger than anything she’d had inside her to date.

Scared now? That cocky smile again.

Scared you won’t fuck me before my break’s over. Damn—those were careless words when confronted with that massive fuck-stick.

That’s all I need to know. He was on her in a heartbeat, tongue parting her lips, shoving deep into her mouth. Both hands grabbed her panties as the kiss continued; she crooked her knees so that he could tear them right off. They were both naked now. Without warning he shoved two fingers into her soaking cunt and she broke the kiss to catch her breath. So ready, he said, and she wrapped one leg around his waist in panting agreement.

He wasted no time—grabbing her ass he pulled her under him. He pushed her knees to her chest, pinned her wrists above her head with one hand and thrust his rock-hard cock. She gasped her shock, but he did not even stop to let her pussy adjust to his size, shoving and ramming until he was completely inside her. She bit her lip to keep from crying out and he withdrew virtually all the way, driving in again to the balls. Christ, what a whole lot of dick for a girl. And Abbey was ready for it all.

Don’t stop. Give it …

I will. Right until you come, girl.

He fucked her with full, hard strokes, his body straining, teeth clenching as his momentum built. A pumping piston-rhythm sank him deep inside her, all that length and girth filling her over and over. Abbey’s thighs closed, her heeled feet clutching his ass. Her body’s surge approached; she wanted to bathe his cock in her juices root to tip. His grip tightened and he gave it to her relentlessly until she screamed, her muscles contracting around him. Fuuckkk …

He shafted till she was done and some moments beyond, then pulled out, his cock shiny with girl-cum. Quick. Suck it. He dragged her up by her ponytail and she opened wide to swallow that beautiful length. Controlling her throat muscles she pushed past her own gag reflex and sucked with gusto. He tensed within seconds and exploded in her mouth so that her cheeks bulged and salty cum leaked out both sides. She gulped him down gallantly and licked his messy cock clean for good measure, eyeing him boldly.

When he cupped her face and kissed her, it was surprisingly gentle.

Enough with bullshit. Sometimes a girl just needs a good honest fuck, right?

Did this guy read minds? Yeah. She does.

They dressed quickly and he made for the door. Gotta go play.

Gotta go serve bar.

It’s been intense …

Abbey, she informed him, picking up on the fishing in his inflection. You?

Jared.

"Jared. It’s been fucking intense."

What are the chances of more after?

Maybe if you’re lucky, Mr. Rockstar.

They shared a grin.

She sat on the couch a full minute once he’d gone, regaining her composure—pussy throbbing and his taste still on her tongue. Then she went and completed her shift, eyeing the horny fucker on stage. Angelo’s look questioned, but she only shrugged, smiling the secret smile of a dirty girl.

How right Jared was. Sometimes the perfect medicine was a good honest fuck.

THE END

* * * *

4/17/13 – 10:17 EST

‘A good honest fuck’? You really said that? Wait a minute, what am I thinking? This is you, so of course you did. I’ve got to hand it to you, pal, you have an amazing gift for satisfying your own cock and then passing it off as a life-lesson to the girl it’s been inside. I’m sure the hot bar-chick in question will go forward with twenty-twenty vision thanks to your valiant work on top of her.

Okay, okay, I asked about your exploits, so I guess I shouldn’t make fun when you tell me.

I’m listening to IT, by the way, hell I downloaded a copy. I know you’d prefer it if I bought a CD or probably vinyl, Mr. Fucking Old-school, but it’s playing now on my iPod and I’ve got to say, buddy, it’s pretty damn good. Now doesn’t my saying that just give you a hard-on? You know, I’m kinda proud of you. You actually took enough time out from chasing tail to record something!

Halcyon Days, the debut album by The Devil’s Rejects. On a grungy independent label with that down and dirty sound. I’m even willing to bypass those lyrics—you didn’t write those, did you? I mean was your upbringing really that tough, poor baby? Angry posturing so doesn’t suit you—I’m guessing you spent way too much time in your teen years bouncing small-town girls on your dick while they begged you to take them away with you to be that kind of disenchanted. Or have I got you all wrong?

You can tell me anytime you’re near a computer next. I know it causes you pain to have much to do with social media. But if the band is going to get out there—I mean I fully expect you to be a global over-produced mega-band five years from now, trashing your fucking mansions. Don’t forget this struggling artist when you get there.

Oh and spare a thought for me next time you’re laying waste to some little hottie’s virtue in the back of the van. You do bang ‘em in the back of the van, right? I’d be so disappointed if you didn’t …

Vanessa

4/23/13 – 18:06 EST

Come on, Red, I sold my soul to the Devil so I could play guitar. I’ve got no soul left for the record company suits. Unless the price is really worth it, then I’ll scrape a bit of soul up from somewhere.

Glad you like the album. And hey, there’s a lot you don’t know about my childhood. All that hot raunchy fucking is a balm to my suffering soul, don’t you see? I should be pitied, not mocked. Between us, most of the lyrics are written by the lead singer Max. He went to the same posh school as Mick Jagger, so you can see life has burned him. Hey, so long as my guitar’s still making you wet, right?

Gotta say, for someone who takes cheap shots at my lifestyle, you talk about it a helluva lot. Good memories are they? I know, I treasure that night too. And not just cos I got to do two of you at once.

You know I’m gonna give some girl a tour of the van tonight in your honor, Red. And I’ll spare a thought for you while I’m shafting her every which way. She doesn’t know who she is yet and neither do I. How much fun is that?

Later ;-)

* * * *

Jared and the Reluctant Groupie

So this band is called what? Kareena wasn’t sure she’d heard right.

The Devil’s Rejects.

And we’re going to hear them because they’re—what—the band most likely to make my mom have heart failure?

And your dad too. Lacey grinned. That and the fact that they’re supposed to be shit-hot. It’s an all-round result.

The parking lot to the Brewhaus was studded with potholes and several of the neon letters had blinked out, rendering it the ‘rewha’. Cars had filled it up, however, despite the run-down outer appearance of the venue. Music fit to rip the night apart was sounding from inside. Kareena’s trepidation was matched by her excitement. It poured out through the door and consumed her senses when they entered the shack.

Inside the light was murky-yellow and rock was driving hard. The bar’s atmosphere was electric like the searing guitar being played at the other end of the dingy room. Some of the drinkers were shouting above the noise, but most had given up or were actively enjoying the lead guitarist’s jagged assault on their ears.

We need some of that brew! Lacey called over the noise, and Kareena watched as the girl wriggled her lithe form past several uncomplaining guys at the bar.

Small wonder Kareena’s parents didn’t like her spending too much time in the company of her sexy cousin. That one would lead our girl into all kinds of trouble given a chance, she’d once overheard her Dad to say, as he’d sounded forth on his sister-in-law’s parenting skills. Kareena’s a good girl, but she looks up to that one way too much.

It’s my damned sister’s influence, her Mom had sighed. There was an edge to her voice—the resentment of a woman who’d spent her life trying to prove you could take the trailer park out of the girl. The behaviour of Kareena’s aunt suggested differently, and her daughter had long been considered a malign influence by both her parents.

If they could have seen their niece’s progress as she sidled past the Brewhaus’ grungy clientele in that clinging black vest, his worst fears would have been rubber-stamped. The manoeuvre got Lacey swift service, that was for sure.

They’d have been unimpressed with the on-stage entertainment too, with or without the band’s devilish moniker. It wasn’t that her folks were wildly religious, but they did have a suburban sense of decorum, which these Rejects would have stomped into the dirt. The bar had a fervid atmosphere that spring evening and it was drenching the long-haired performers in their own sweat. The crowd, a raucous mix of teens and young adults, couples and rowdy flirty singles, were responding physically to the music’s driving engine, shedding early evening reserve and getting into its rhythms.

Kareena had that all-too-familiar sense of alienation from it all and was glad when Lacey pushed the bottled beer into her hand. She swigged in hope of some swift alcoholic relief from her social unease. As the beer cooled her throat, she noticed that her cousin had brought back two drinks apiece.

Courtesy of a new friend we made, she said, smiling back at some unshaven older guys in baseball caps.

"You made, Kareena said, laughing nervously. Those guys are all yours and good luck."

Share and share alike, Lacey said as she clanked one of her bottles against Kareena’s. We’re gonna have fun tonight, I’ll see to it. Nothing else is allowed. They both downed a couple more slugs, then Lacey’s face set with resolve. C’mon, let’s get to the front. These guys are fucking hot.

What, already? We only just got here.

"Yeah, and we’re late. We’ve got catching up to do. Don’t waste this. She indicated the outfit on which she’d advised Kareena. C’mon, you’re gonna shake it for the band."

She drained one of her bottles, set it aside and seized Kareena by the arm. There was no fighting her cousin when the party spirit had taken the girl. She allowed herself to be led through the melee to the sweating back of the bar, where The Devil’s Rejects were bringing one song to a crashing finish. The crowd, which included a scattering of dancing t-shirted girls, cheered their approval.

I’m feeling the love, Springfield, Illinois! the lead singer yelled as the crowd noise intensified. His accent was—what—Australian? English? This is the title track of our new album—CD copies available after the gig for the laughable price of five dollars …

"Laughable," the lead guitarist reiterated, shaking his head, and there was something in his attitude as he said it that made Kareena laugh.

Absolutely, the singer said. Kareena was sure now he was English. "This is Halcyon Days!"

Everyone cheered again, however well or otherwise they knew the song, and they both dived into a jagged intro on their guitars before the lead guy cut loose with a series of high-pitched screams from the frets. The music was immediate and captivating, more so because Kareena knew her parents would hate it, along with knowledge of her presence in this dive of a bar. It was guilty and reckless, but fun too. She wasn’t quite sure what they were singing—something about kicking up back-streets looking for action—but they sang it with such passion that she loved it. Passion appealed, more so when projected by such attractive artists.

The singer was lean and would have been clean-cut in his good looks had it not been for the great wavy mane of black hair and his raggedy black t-shirt. Kareena liked him instantly, but was also drawn by the lead guitarist. Maybe it was the latter’s virtuosity on his instrument, maybe the unpretentious way he went about playing it. Or maybe it was that rock-hewn sweaty torso so much of which was on display under his scant leather waistcoat. God, look at those tattoos. How much must it have hurt to get them done? His long hair was tied back to show off that sweating angular face—not as straightforwardly handsome as the singer’s, but appealing in a harder, more masculine way.

The other band members were good too. Kareena’s understanding of rock music was limited, but she knew this group of guys worked well together. The shaven-headed bassist had his head down, exhibiting an almost grim focus, and the drummer was having a ball. The youngest of the group, he was a fresh-faced guy of around Kareena’s age with blond hair and an attitude that he was simply glad to be there with these other talented players. His joy was apparent in every thrashing blow he applied with his sticks.

The hard sexiness of the music was infectious. Lacey was dancing already, writhing her bottom shamelessly—and directly in front of the band members. She’d knotted her vest around her stomach to show off her slim-fitted jeans to best effect, one which was not lost on the musicians. Kareena’s similar outfit daunted her at first. Like Lacey, her plaid shirt was knotted at her tummy; the absence of a belly-button piercing was the sole source of contrast between them. The denim skirt, her cousin’s present on her nineteenth birthday, was skirting her thighs and clinging to her ass like a second skin. It was hardly a surprise, then, that her hard-wired reserve plagued her as she danced.

Unbutton some more, Lacey had urged when the taxi dropped them off, and Kareena was thankful that she’d resisted all prompting to show off further cleavage. With two of the band members feet away and looking down from a raised platform as they played, it was comforting to know they couldn’t see right down between her breasts. She was sure she caught the lead guitar guy trying it on a couple of occasions; it distracted her as she attempted a sedate version of Lacey’s moves.

So, which one do you want? her dark-haired cousin inquired in her ear.

What?

These two. Lacey gazed up with no hint of discretion at lead singer and guitarist as they harmonized on a refrain. I talked you into coming here, so it’s only fair you get to choose. The girl was kidding, right? She was merely adding a little more provocation to the evening. I can’t have both, Lacey said with a follow-up smirk. Well I could, but I’m not gonna be greedy. So tell me, which?

The main singer, Kareena might have expected herself to say if playing her cousin’s game, but strangely the crazy guitarist guy was what sprang into her mind that evening. Not my type came hard on the heels of the first thought, but there was something so damn magnetic about him that all her notions of ‘type’ seemed blown apart. Ultimately she said Why not let them decide? even if it was a bit of a side-step.

"They might both choose you with how damn hot you look tonight," her cousin said, and Kareena’s head spun at the thought of fending off so much masculine delight. She threw herself into her dancing, trying not to appear reticent while wearing such a skimpy get-up, yet looking away sharply any time a band member caught her eye. Lacey had a way of putting thoughts into her head that scared her.

Just because she’s L’il Miss Trouble, she wants me to be the same. But Kareena hadn’t put up much of a fight in coming along to a shady shack like the Brewhaus, or in dressing to match her cousin for sluttiness. Nor did she feel like complaining about their proximity to these sweaty musicians as the guys thrashed their instruments.

Lacey’s body was a sinuous river as she crossed her wrists above her head and shook her ass for the band. The girl’s raven-dark hair was flicking around her face and shoulders, her lip-biting look of concentration an enormous come-on. Kareena tried to ignore it and dance like the music was recorded, but she couldn’t shake the knowledge—that these were real guys mere feet away and her naughty best friend was intent on making a very personal connection.

Shake it, girlfriend! Lacey’s glance was unmistakable in its meaning and something in the music insisted that she take the cue. So she swayed her ass in her little skirt, not quite daring to turn about and proffer it to these Devil’s Rejects, thanking the Lord that her well-developed bosom was grasped tight within the plaid. Check me out—I’m sexy-shmexy, like she is! Her sandy-blond hair brushed her neck as she danced, and the moment claimed her so fully that she began to match the moves of her dance-partner. They were laughing together and bumping asses, shaking it shamelessly, to the obvious enjoyment of the band.

The song crashed to a finish and both she and Lacey clapped and cheered. For a moment Kareena actively soaked up glances from both singer and guitarist along with her cousin.

Then the English front-man asked his lead guitar player, Dedication time—who’s it going to be?

Gotta be the hot sisters, Mr. Lean-and-Brawny rock guitarist replied, aiming two devilish digits at Lacey and Kareena. They’re workin’ it harder than we are!

Hot sisters it is. This one’s all for you, girls!

The crowd cheered and Kareena sensed the blush creeping up her neck as the guys launched themselves into a new raucous wave of music. Hot sisters? Whatever. All she could do was laugh and clap and dance along with Lacey, and try to ignore the pissed-off stares from several other girls in front of the stage.

Oh my God, they think we’re a couple of … of groupies!

The thought appalled then amused her. Then she saw Lacey’s gratified smile and achieved ‘appalled’ all over again. They want us, those crinkling lips were saying, and her cousin’s intentions were clear. So were those of the band, if their lyrics were to be taken at face value.

"If you can take it, I can give it. You needn’t fake it, come on and live it … Good-time girl …"

Kareena wasn’t sure whether or not the words made sense, but the spirit behind them was unambiguous. Thank God she and Lacey were far enough out of town that she needn’t worry about being recognised. It’s a game, that’s all, she told herself, as she gyrated in response to the Rejects’ raunchy sentiments. Lead singer and guitarist were grinning to each other, combining voices on the refrain—Live in this moment … Get it on, good-time girl. Then the lead guitarist, the guy that was so not-her-type, turned his grin on Kareena, and her stomach flipped.

He transformed in that moment and in doing so, he transformed her as well. He was still every inch the hard-edged rocker; yet there was something so innately likeable in that smile that she returned it enthusiastically. Then she looked away, smitten shy and blushing so she felt it all over her body. I know you’re as scared as you’re sexy, his look had said, and that’s okay. Or maybe she was making that up. For the rest of the set, at any rate, she was dancing for him—hoping he wouldn’t grant that look to anyone else, craving another glance like it. Fleetingly it occurred to her to undo a shirt-button, but that would have been a step too far. She was simply playing, after all, not serving it up on a plate like her companion.

When the guys completed their final song and the bar applauded, she clapped along, with Lacey jumping and whooping beside her. But applause gave way to a vacuum with no more music to fill it. She was perspiration-slick and exposed before guys with no further songs to sing, unable to meet anyone’s eye.

Let’s go get a drink, she said to her cousin, desperate to get away.

Lacey was having none of it. She was fixed on the guys as they set down their instruments and chugged beers they’d set stage-side. The lead singer, Kareena realised, was eyeballing the girl in return.

"You are sisters, right?"

Maybe in some kinky fantasy of yours, Lacey replied. Cousins.

Close enough. Kissing cousins?

There you go again. Maybe that’s what cousins do where you come from.

We get up to all sorts of things where I come from. I could tell you stories …

Kareena could sense that some understanding had already been reached between Lacey and this guy. She was also aware of bitchy female glances from the side-lines and wanted out of the place urgently. The he entered the conversation, mopping himself with a towel. Where the hell’s all your Brit courtesy, Max? Are we gonna get these girls a drink? He shot Kareena the same smile as before and she returned a more faltering version.

You’re right, the long-haired singer said. My bad. Why don’t I go with …

Lacey, Kareena’s cousin said on cue.

Why don’t I go with Lacey and get some more beers in?

Both girls still had a bottle in hand, but that, Kareena realised with a flash of panic, was scarcely the point. Good call, buddy, the guitarist said. Then I can get to know Miss Shy-but-Sexy a bit better.

Looks like they’ve decided for us, Lacey sang in Kareena’s