Jackson: Her Dominant Boss, #4

By K. R. Max

At home, or what passes for it, I'm trapped, and it's becoming more than I can bear. But right now, in this small space, this man's hands and mouth running over my body, for the first time in a long time, I feel free... 

 

Innocent Summer Keene knows she's way out of her depth when it comes to billionaire nightclub owner Jackson Dane. His world of exotic, erotic adult clubs is one she's never imagined, and the sensations aroused by his touch, the combination of danger and safety evoked by his control over her body, are things she's never dreamed of. 

 

A woman like Summer is the last thing Jackson expected to find in his club, Carnal Sin. So sweet, so pure. She's an angel in this dark place, and it's obvious she needs protection from the predators of the world, including her so-called friends. 

 

Healed by his care, Summer begins to rediscover her sense of self. But when Jackson's angel wants to spread her wings, it threatens his need to control his world, to keep his lover close and protected from the seedy secrets that touch his life. When Jackson's business rival, a degenerate man, wholly without conscience, sees Summer's innocence as the chink in Jackson's armor, he'll stop at nothing to exploit it, and her. Can Jackson gain her trust and save them both?

 

Dominant alpha men, sweet, strong women, and lots of very hot and dirty shenanigans. No cheating or cliffhangers and a guaranteed happy ever after, all in an intense read which is sure to raise your body temperature. If this sounds like your happy place, scroll up now and click that button! Then lock the door and grab a glass of wine (or ice water)! It's about to get hot in here!

 

All my books are standalones and can be read in any order, but you may get more out of each story if you read them in the order of publication, due to previous couples sometimes being mentioned in later books.

• Language: English
• Publisher: SkyTint Books
• Release date: Mar 31, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201682989

Book preview

JACKSON

Her Dominant Boss #4

by

K. R. Max

All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book, or portions thereof, in any form.

http://krmaxromance.com

Cover design by KR Max.

Author's Note: This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Want more dominant heroes and steamy, dirty romance? Sign up for my mailing list and get a lava-hot short story for free!

18163416695048

Hot books. Great deals. No spam.

JACKSON

SUMMER

GOD, SUMMER, you’re no fun at all. Just put on a damn dress, it’s not that hard.

I duck my head to hide my wince. I don’t want to go out. I’ve run two loads of laundry today, cleaned the entire apartment, cooked three meals and cleaned up afterwards, and I just want to sit down and look at job listings. The only time I can truly relax is when Laura and Karen go out. I was looking forward to just chilling this evening while my two best friends go out and paint the town red, but it looks like that was just wishful thinking.

It’s an ungrateful thought. I should be more appreciative of them. The apartment isn’t big, only two bedrooms. I’m lucky they let me crash here after we all graduated college, and I’m even luckier to still have a place to stay three years later, just for the cost of a few chores.

It would be nice to have a bed to sleep in, instead of an increasingly lumpy couch, but beggars can’t be choosers, and I’m definitely a beggar. I can’t even buy food. That’s how broke I am.

Come on, Summer. You never go out, you never do anything fun, says Karen in a wheedling tone. You won’t have to pay for anything. We’ll pay the cover and your drinks. Maybe you’ll find a hot guy to pay for those, though.

Laura grins. Yeah. Maybe you can finally get laid. Twenty-four is a little old to still be hauling a V-card.

I grimace. She’s not wrong there. But when you’re already on a full ride scholarship, you don’t dare slack off studying to make time for boys, and when I graduated, well, let’s just say I had other priorities.

Come on, says Karen, clapping her hands. We’re out of here in thirty. Get dressed, put on some makeup, do...something...with your hair. She waves a slim, elegant, perfectly manicured hand at me and I admit defeat. There’s no way they’re leaving me here on my own tonight. I should be grateful, really. It’s nice that they’re willing to pay for me to have a night out for once.

Fine, I say, doing my best to smile. Give me a minute.

I only have one pretty dress left, a short, white, sleeveless number that shows off my curves to their fullest extent. I haul it out, shake out the creases, and head into the bathroom to put it on. I have a few cosmetics, hand me downs from Laura and Karen, mascara they didn’t quite like, lipstick that wasn’t right for their skin tone. I don’t use what doesn’t suit me either and that narrows the field of possibilities so that make up only takes a couple of minutes.

I step out of the bathroom and for a moment, both my friends’ faces twist into expressions of pure hatred. But then the scowls are replaced by brilliant smiles and I tell myself I must have imagined it.

Wow, says Laura, gesturing for me to turn. You’re definitely getting laid in that.

I smile and blush. I very much doubt it, but maybe she’s right. I don’t know how I feel about just hooking up with a random stranger purely for the purpose of losing my virginity, but Laura won’t take no for an answer, and she’s right about one thing. Twenty-four is very old to still be wandering around a virgin. Honestly, I’m so uncool. I have no idea why these two still let me sleep on their sofa. The chores are tiring but really, I have a pretty good life.

I sit on the couch and buckle my shoes on, white to go with the dress. Laura fits a devil horn headband over her hair and brushes some red glitter over her cheekbones. Karen is already sporting a tiara. I don’t have any fancy dress stuff but hopefully the dress is enough.

Put these on, says Karen, holding something out. I take it, then jump as she slides a finger under my chin. Stay still.

She brushes something over my cheekbones, down my nose and over my chin, then steps back and eyes her handiwork. Perfect.

Her sly smile makes me a little uncomfortable, so I focus on the stiff pile of fabric she just gave me. Letting it unfold, the mystery is solved - angel wings. Soft and snowy white, a flexible wire frame covered in downy feathers, there’s even a couple of straps to go over my shoulders.

Well, put them on, snaps Laura, picking up her purse.

Oh, right. I shrug the straps over my shoulders and then follow Laura and Karen out of the apartment. The mirrored door of the elevator closes in front of us and I stare at my reflection. A curvy angel stares back at me, face glittering, regal, with legs that go on forever.

Something flickers on Laura’s face, just over my left shoulder, and I shiver. She looks very satisfied, and I’ve learned to be wary of that look. It always shows up right before she pushes me right out of my comfort zone. It’s always for my own good, but that doesn’t mean I enjoy it. Still, we’re just going out to a club. What’s the worst that can happen?

It doesn’t take long for me to realize something else is going on. The club is called Carnal Sin, for a start, and I’m the only person wearing white. People are staring, and it would be flattering if they didn’t look like they wanted to eat me. Or hurt me.

My stomach drops lower and lower as I register the amount of leather and chrome on display on and around the dance floor. Karen bore me straight to the bar as soon as we arrived but it’s taking a while to get served. Laura disappeared almost as soon as we got through the door, but looking around, I see her near the dance floor. She’s already found a guy.

Except, he’s looking at me while she murmurs in his ear. This guy makes me uncomfortable. I should be flattered. He’s tall and kind of cute, with messy black hair and studs in his ear and lip, but the look in his eyes…

I look away, trying to scout out the bathrooms, or indeed any dark corner I can hide in. A quick peek has my belly in knots—they’re headed my way, and the intense look on the guy’s face isn’t getting any more reassuring. I touch Karen’s shoulder.

I’m just going to the bathroom, I yell over the music. I turn away and jerk back with surprise as her hand closes around my wrist like a manacle. What is it?

She nods at Laura and the strange man approaching. Not yet. There’s someone we want you to meet first.

I swallow. I don’t know, Karen. I really need to go, and I don’t think he’s my type.

Her eyes narrow, but then her face clears. Don’t be rude, Summer. He’s a friend. Be nice. Let him buy you a drink, at least.

And then he’s there, right in front of me. Even in three inch heels, I have to tip my head back to meet his eyes. I regret it immediately. Ice blue orbs stare right back at me, sliding down my body and up again. I feel dirty, like he’s run his hands all over me and come up with a price tag.

Hi, he says, in a smooth voice which somehow slides right under the music. I’m Simon.

S-Summer, I stammer, taking his outstretched hand. He kisses my palm, then sinks his teeth into my flesh. I can’t help flinching, trying to pull my hand back, but his grip tightens to the point of pain. I look at Laura, hoping for some help, but she’s smiling. In fact, she looks strangely pleased. Oh God, what have I gotten myself into?

***

Jackson

I wave the hovering waitress away. My whiskey on the rocks sits untouched on the low glass table in front of me. I learned a long time ago not to drink when I’m having an off day, and today is an off day.

More like an off week, though, or even an off month, if I’m being honest with myself, and I try to be. You don’t get to my position by lying to yourself. It’s the quickest way to get taken for a ride, and I’m never the chump. So I can admit, as I look around my flagship club, the first one I owned, the first of a chain of fifteen across the nation, that I’m bored.

Bodies gyrate on the dance floor below, or writhe in the shadows like snakes in the dark. Women and men alike search me out from below, casting come hither looks from eyes as hard as the floor they dance on. Flirtation long since ceased to be of interest to me. These people only want one thing, or two. Sex and money. My money. The sex, well, I have a certain reputation after all these years, and yeah, I have very specific tastes, but it’s been a long time since I indulged them.

There’s nothing new here, nothing fresh. Everything is old and dark and dirty, including me. Oh, not physically. I can afford a different bespoke Italian suit for every day of the year if I want it, and personal hygiene has always been a part of my routine. But mentally, I feel old. Jaded. And I don’t like it. It’s dangerous for a man like me, a man with the money and power to indulge any whim he likes, no matter how wrong, how perverted.

Dane, old man, you look sad. How can I help?

I barely restrain myself from sneering at Tarquin Carruthers, a British asshole who personifies everything I don’t want to become, and everything I fear I might. He’s an object lesson on legs, a man to whom nothing is off limits, and no one is safe. Oh, he looks the perfect elegant aristocrat, but I’ve been to his parties. Well, one of them. Never again. Not that he’d have me. Some people take exception to being punched out in front of all their upper crust guests, and even more so to losing their ‘playthings’, as he calls them.

I call them women. Or rather, girls. Girls too young to be doing what he was making them do.

Who do I have to fire for letting you in? I drawl at him. It doesn’t pay to let someone like Carruthers know when he’s hit a nerve. He’ll slide a fire poker against the spot over and over, and he’d love to make me lose control. It gives me great pleasure to deny him the satisfaction, which is why he’s still allowed into my clubs, but only if I’m there.

Oh, dear boy, it’s always possible to get in, even when someone says something’s off-limits. Just a matter of offering the appropriate motivation. 

I force myself not to react. Anyone would think he was referring to the club, bribing my staff. He’s not. He’s reminding me why I hate him.

Where’s the fun in hanging out where you’re not wanted? I ask him, lifting my drink to my lips. Are you really that hard up for company? I thought you could afford the best.

His eyes glitter and I smile at him, glad to see I landed a blow this time. It’s a little frustrating, having to trade words instead of punches, but I have a reputation as an upstanding businessman to maintain. My company and my employees won’t be helped by me losing my shit, even if it is over this excuse for a shitstain standing in front of me wearing an honest-to-God pocket watch.

Still pissed I closed the deal on that location in London, huh? I ask, knowing full well he is. The property in question is a prime piece of real estate, just off Leicester Square. The sixteenth Carnal Sin location will be a hit in London, but I’m almost as pleased about preventing him from securing it for himself. No one needs more Carruthers clubs in the world.

Except Carruthers himself, that is.

I suppose life is getting rather boring for you now, he drawls. All you’ve got is property and employees. You really need some companionship, my dear man. Maybe something new, a palate cleanser, as it were. Maybe I can help. I’m always acquiring new...toys. They really do make life so much more interesting.

I can’t hide the narrowing of my eyes. Is this asshole for real? Walking into my club and offering me...whatever the fuck it is he’s offering me? I don’t even want to know.

When I want to shop out the bargain bin, I know where to find you, I tell him, and I smirk as his knuckles whiten on the handle of his ridiculous cane. The man’s only five years older than I am. 

Of course, it’s not for walking. The distinctive shape of the head is reminiscent of something else altogether, and there’s a reason for that.

He looks past me and for the briefest second, something flickers across his face. Against my better instincts, I turn to look out over the dance floor and catch my breath.

A vision in white, an angel, stands near the bar, holding her friend’s hand, looking around with a mixture of curiosity and apprehension, like she truly fell from Heaven and has no idea where she is. A man steps up to her and takes her hand, kissing her palm, and my gut tightens. He’s standing too damn close for my liking. No one stands that close unless they’ve got the right, and even though I only just spotted this woman, I don’t want to believe she’s with anyone else.

Her hair is a rich, soft blond, cascading around her neck in lazy curls. Her curves make something else tighten besides my gut, and her legs are showcased by spike heels, lush lines disappearing under the hem of a dress which hugs her like a second skin. I want to pull the guy off her, and I shove the impulse away. Has it really been so long since I was attracted to a woman that I’m ready to do violence to someone just for standing too close? They’re clearly together—

Looking closer, I realize something else is going on here. The blonde isn’t holding her friend’s hand, her friend is holding her. My angel is very discreetly trying to twist free, but her friend isn’t having any of it. The guy also seems to have a tight grip on my winged goddess. Maybe her friend is trying to keep her from leaving with him? If that’s the case, she doesn’t need my protection. She’s got her friends. And if she’s here, in this club, she probably doesn’t need anyone’s protection, least of all mine. People come