Free House Rules: The Jack Gordon Story by Liz Crowe Page A

He’d made a project of Jack actually, grooming him, he
claimed, for greatness.
    He
grinned and took a step closer to the alluring, sexy Jenna as they stood in
line for coffee. He could smell it on her like lingering smoke—her plain-as-day
willingness to submit to him. She looked up and met his gaze.
    The
moment that should have been awkward made his cock slam into the back of his
zipper. He smiled at the sensation. A corner of her full lips tilted up in a
way he thought he understood. He figured that was the final sign. He was no
expert yet but well on his way. While sensing the sexual energy of every female
in a room was sometimes tiring, now that he could channel it, figure out which
of them would actually provide him the outlet he required, it seemed that it
all led him to this precise moment. And to Jenna.
    She
leaned closer to him in a way entirely inappropriate for having just met. Yet
it was perfect. “I don’t want coffee, really. I’ve been watching you all
semester. Let’s go to your place.”
    He
swallowed hard. Something was off, or shifted to the left, just far enough for
him to sense it and hesitate. He looked down into her deep blue eyes. Saw the
way her breathing had ramped up. The pulse in her throat caught his gaze,
beating, beating. And those lips…dear god they were tempting.
    He
forced himself to smile in a friendly, non-committal way. “I don’t know, Jenna.
Maybe I’m not ready.” He raised an eyebrow. This was his scene. He was not
about to let her call the shots.
    “Oh
I think you are.” She turned just enough to shield her hand, the one she put
right on his crotch.
    He
didn’t move or shift away. He did, however, narrow his eyes at her on purpose,
making sure she got the gist of his displeasure. “I’m not sure I said you could
touch me yet, Jenna.” He kept his voice low and slow, but his brain was
starting to hum with a familiar sense of rightness. She lowered her gaze,
tucked the offending hand back into her jacket pocket, and started to step
back.
    He
gripped her arm, loving the way the heat transferred from her to him, and shot
down his spine. “Don’t move.” He glanced around then, and put his mouth near
her ear, taking in a fresh breath of horny female. “I can sense that you know
what I like…Jenna….” Her name felt exotic, unique, on his lips. “But just
because you want it does not mean I’m giving it to you. Are we clear?”
    Keeping
her eyes downcast, she nodded. Then looked up fast, surprising him. Later, he
would realize that was the moment he should have known, should have figured out
Jenna’s manipulative tendencies. If he had been more mature, more at ease with
his powers of perception, or at least in tune with his gut feeling to run away
from her as fast as he could, he might have avoided a shit ton of head and
heart ache.
    Instead
he smiled at her boldness, liking it and wanting to tame it—thinking he could,
which was mistake number one.
    “You
don’t have to…Sir,” she whispered, not tearing her gaze from his. Something
about her rubbed him both ways—wrong and right. He could not figure it out. Her
neediness—that familiar aura he’d come to know and understand those nights at
the club that first summer—was tinged with something else, something a little
ominous. He ignored it. And let his overwhelming urge to control her shove away
the worry.
    “I
know that. Let’s sit. Have coffee.” He grinned at her exasperated look. Yeah,
control this scene, Gordon. Otherwise she would and something told him that
would be very bad.
    “After
you.” He grabbed their cardboard cups and nodded toward an empty table in a sea
of students drinking, reading, talking—doing all the normal things. He zeroed
in on Jenna and the many subliminal possibilities she was tossing his way.
    “So
Jenna,” he said stretching his legs out under the table and letting his calf
make contact with hers. He sensed her flinch ever so slightly at the touch.
“Where are