Jaw Breaker (Forbidden Flowers Book 3) Read online

  Jaw Breaker

  A Forbidden Flowers Story

  Donya Lynne

  Jaw Breaker©

  Forbidden Flowers, book 3

  Published by Phoenix Press LLC

  Copyright 2020 Donya Lynne

  Cover by MW Designs

  ISBN: 978-1-938991-51-6

  This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be re-sold or given away to others. Thank you for respecting the hard work of the author. To obtain permission to excerpt portions of the text, please contact the author at [email protected].

  References to historical events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Licensed material is being used for illustrative purposes only and any person depicted in the licensed material is a model.

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Books by Donya Lynne

  Find me…

  Chapter One

  Dr. O’s Office . . .

  There are three kinds of women: those who love big dicks, those who want nothing to do with them, because “that shit’s too big for me,” and then there’s Katherine Clayton-James.

  As a psychologist specializing in women’s sexuality and conducting research for my second book on the subject, I’ve heard my share of big-dick stories, but none quite like Katherine’s. Usually, women complain when confronted with a dick the size of a toddler’s toy baseball bat. Katherine is the type of woman who complains because a bat-sized dick isn’t big enough.

  “It’s a miracle we even met each other at all,” she says of Greyson, her husband of three years, as she caresses her very pregnant belly.

  She’s sitting across from me in the small hotel meeting room I reserved in Denver for the week. Over one hundred women in the area responded to my call for subjects willing to discuss their most memorable sexual experiences, and there were twelve I wanted to meet with. But of all the women I look forward to meeting with in Denver this week, Katherine is the one whose story intrigues me the most.

  “Why do you say that?” I ask, crossing my legs and propping my legal pad on my lap, pen poised to take notes.

  She gives a dismissive wave of her hand and rolls her eyes as if she has no idea how she avoided making the biggest mistake of her life. “I had reached the point of completely swearing off men. I was done dating. No more of that shit for me.”

  “Why? What happened to make you want to stop dating?”

  Why? is a question I ask a lot. But for such a simple question, it often garners the most profound and interesting answers.

  “I was married once before.” She rolls her eyes again as if just thinking about her ex-husband taxes her mental limits. “Phil was a mess. Still is.”

  “How so?”

  “Phil has a lot of problems, but the biggest is that he has no concept of fidelity. He wouldn’t be able to remain faithful even if someone offered him ten million dollars.”

  “So, he cheated on you?”

  “Oh, yeah.” She releases a caustic laugh. “And the asshole knew no bounds about who he cheated with.” Then she adds under her breath, but loud enough for me to hear, “And, apparently, neither did my sister.” She sets her handbag on the floor beside her chair and pastes on a forced but pleasant smile. “But that’s a story I can bore you with another day. If I start going down that road, we’ll never get to the reason I’m here, which is to tell you how I met my husband.”

  “Actually, you’re here to tell me about your most memorable sexual experience.”

  She crosses one leg over the other as gracefully as she can at nearly eight months pregnant, waving her hand like we’re mincing words. “Tomato tomawto. The story’s the same either way.”

  It’s easy to see the savvy company executive Katherine used to be when she ran her family’s business. She’s a woman who stays on point and doesn’t believe in wasting time. No doubt she navigated her way through hundreds, if not thousands, of management meetings in the same manner she’s maneuvering this interview.

  “So,” I say, getting us back on course, “you had sworn off men.”

  “Pretty much.”

  “What changed your mind?”

  Her eyes dance upward, as if she’s recollecting fond memories while searching the ceiling for the right words. “It was a combination of things, really. My best friend’s persistence. Fate. Maybe even the tiny sliver of hope I was still clinging to and hadn’t quite tossed into the trash.”

  “Tell me more about that. How did your best friend factor in? How did fate and hope play into you and Greyson meeting?”

  She settles into her chair and absently trails her palm down her round belly. “After my divorce, and before I met Greyson, I used to have these summer flings. Phil had moved to California, and my kids spent the summers with him, so I took that time to, you know, have a little fling. It was never anything serious, just something to remind me that I was a woman who had sexual needs of my own.”

  Some women I’ve interviewed—especially those with children—would have phrased that statement as a question, as if they were asking me for permission after the fact to engage in no-strings-attached sex. Katherine didn’t do that. She owns her sexuality, holds no guilt for her actions, and doesn’t need permission or forgiveness from me or anyone else. She’s quite comfortable with the choices she’s made.

  “But I never let any of those flings interfere with my kids,” she continues. “I ended every single one of them before my kids returned home at the end of summer. And, frankly, they were easy to end. Boring, monotonous, uninteresting. And the men simply couldn’t deliver in the bedroom.” She gestures toward her file on the table. “You saw my questionnaire. You know why I’m here. I need a big man. The bigger the better. I am anatomically disadvantaged to accommodate anything shorter than ten inches and thinner than a roll of salami.”

  I think she might be exaggerating a bit, but from the serious expression she’s sporting, it’s only slightly.

  “Anything smaller just gets lost down there. Seriously, my gynecologist says that some women are just made bigger than others. And, well, I guess I’m one of the lucky ones who puts the word bigger to shame. Then I gave birth to two watermelon-sized babies when Phil and I were married, and not even Kegels will tighten that shit up. It’s more like a cavern than a tunnel down there now.” She laughs and pats her belly. “I swear, this one’s just going to slide out when I go into labor. I won’t even need to push.”

  I like Katherine. She’s got a wicked sense of humor and doesn’t take herself too seriously.

  “Anyway, that’s another reason why I was ready to throw in the towel,” she says. “I’d just sent my kids off to their philandering father’s house for the summer, and I dreaded another summer of disappointing sex with a man whose cocktail wiener flopped around down there without ever hitting home.” The visual almost makes me laugh. “The whole point of those summer flings was to have fun and put my vibrator away for a few months, and that wasn’t happening.

  “So I decided to forego the humiliation and spend that summer getting caught up on my reading and joining a cycling club, but my friend Jess was having none of that. She talked me into giving my summer fling one more try. So I went out and bought a slinky yellow dress and agreed to go with her to Alesca, the hottest club in Denver. Everybody who was anybody went there, and the place was packed every night of the week.
I figured that if I couldn’t find the man to spend my summer with there, I wouldn’t find him anywhere.”

  “And you found one?”

  “Oh, yeah. I found one. The one. I just didn’t know at the time that he and I would end up here.” She glances down at her round tummy. “So much could have gone so wrong and almost did.” She laughs as if she’s in on some personal joke she can’t put into words. “My God, Dr. O, if we had more time, I’m sure I could put every story you’ve heard from every other woman you’ve talked to in the history of your practice to shame. Greyson and I didn’t just have a troubled relationship. Ours was like a nuclear explosion going off every time we turned around.”

  I’m obviously curious. Who wouldn’t be? But we’re not here to discuss the personal mountains and emotional ravines she and Greyson had to navigate to get where they are. My research is strictly centered around the sexual relationship between them.

  “Is that when you had your most memorable sexual experience with him?” I ask, scanning her questionnaire to refresh my memory of the details. “On the night you met?”

  “Yes,” she says, her eyes growing pleasantly distant and a little smoky. “Every time with Greyson was—and still is—the best sex I’ve ever had, but that night was what started it all. And it was definitely memorable. Probably because I don’t think either of us was ready for the other. He was worried that I would be just one more woman who would be too terrified at the size of his dick to have sex with him, and I was worried his dick would be too small to have sex with.” She laughs at the absurdity of their concerns. “We were both wrong.”

  I set down her questionnaire and check to make sure my digital recorder is getting this. “Are you ready to tell me about it?”

  She looks at me like I’m in for a real treat. “I’m ready, but I warn you, you’re going to need a cold shower when I’m done.”

  I knew from the moment I reviewed her completed questionnaire that her story was going to be a good one, but I’m a professional. If I’ve heard one sex story, I’ve heard a hundred. Which means it takes a lot to get me hot and bothered. I’m confident I’ll be fine.

  Little do I know as she starts telling her tale how wrong I am.

  Chapter Two

  Katherine’s Story . . .

  Katherine couldn’t believe she’d agreed to wear lingerie in public.

  Okay, so it wasn’t lingerie. The skimpy, pale-yellow cocktail dress Jess talked her into buying for tonight just looked like lingerie. Classy lingerie, yes, but still lingerie. It was a wonder the spaghetti straps holding the shiny satin bodice over her ample breasts didn’t snap under the pressure and provide a photo op for the paparazzi gathered outside Alesca. Damn vultures.

  But a wardrobe malfunction in this dress was an irrational thought, because this dress was haute couture, not some Blue Light Special she had grabbed off the well-browsed clearance rack at Kmart. The thread used to hold this hot little number together was probably made of the strongest gold-plaited silk on earth, given the amount she paid for it. And for that reason alone, the dress was built to last. There wouldn’t be any boob-flopping in this getup, no way.

  Pleated yellow satin created a wide-belted empire waist under her breasts that reminded her of a baby doll nightie. Below the waist, layers of butter-colored chiffon created a playful, swishy skirt that hit just above her knees, which was a lot shorter than she was used to. She was way outside her clothing comfort zone. If anyone at the office saw her showing this much leg, they would bust something.

  “You look stunning in that dress,” Jess said as they cut through the crowded club to the bar.

  “I feel naked in this dress.” She had to shout to be heard over the thumping techno beats.

  How old was she again? Too old to be at Alesca, for sure. And yet, here she was.

  Platforms were built around the interior at various levels, some for dancing, some for lounging. Winding staircases led from one to another with catwalks crisscrossing the levels at a variety of angles. Their gleaming gold and silver railings reflected the strobing lights hanging from the ceiling and behind the DJ booth. The effect was both opulent and artistic. Eighties excess in a modern motif.

  Bass-heavy electronic beats reverberated through the speakers, the atmosphere charged and magnetic. She was drawn in, consumed by the vibes pulsing around her, slowly detaching her from reality and sinking her into the hedonistic energy spinning the patrons into a gluttonous mass. Everyone was there to forget who they were and become someone else for a few hours. Celebrities and politicians became everyday nobodies, while the everyday nobodies became VIPs. Even Katherine was there to become someone she wasn’t. Otherwise, she wouldn’t have worn this dress.

  Jess shoved a turquoise cocktail into her hand and grabbed her forearm. “Let’s go scout our options.”

  Katherine nodded and dutifully followed her into the belly of the beast.

  God, the place was crowded. And vast. And somewhat like a maze. It would have been easy to get lost in here.

  Jess and Katherine weaved their way to the edge of the dance floor, which was just as packed as the rest of the club. It felt like every square inch of floor space was occupied by a warm body.

  As the music changed, the hairs on the back of Katherine’s neck prickled, and she turned and looked up, sucking in her breath as her gaze collided with that of a strikingly handsome man seated at a table on the balcony along the opposite wall. With a jaw made of steel, neatly scruffed beard, and thick brown hair, he was exactly the type of man she was attracted to.

  She knew that look he was giving her too. The one that said he was already imagining what it would be like to have sex with her. He wasn’t overtly lewd about it, though. He was more understated. Cool. Maybe even a little ashamed that his mind had shot down that path before he’d even gotten to know her.

  How curious. What kind of man would feel guilty for thinking about having sex with a woman he hadn’t even met yet? One worth getting to know better.

  She tore her gaze away from the tall glass of cool water on the balcony who had been eye-fucking her for the past minute and nudged Jess.

  “I think I found him,” she said.

  “Who?” Jess glanced around then met her gaze. “Oh!” Her eyes grew wide, her mouth dropping open. “You mean . . . Mr. Manhunt?”

  Tonight had been all about finding a man worthy of a summer fling. A man Jess had jokingly nicknamed Mr. Manhunt. A name Katherine wasn’t exactly keen on.

  “Where?” Jess asked. “Where is your potential stud?”

  “The balcony.” She bobbed her head in that direction. “Gray shirt. Dark-brown hair. The one with a jawline that can cut glass.” Of all the men she’d chosen for her past summer romances, this guy was the hottest yet. The question was, was he packing? If his dick was as puny as all the others, she might as well call it quits right now, go home, drown herself in a pint of Ben and Jerry’s, and call the convent.

  Jess frowned as she inspected the men on the balcony. “Where? I don’t see—” Her gaze dropped and locked on something—or someone—behind her. “Oh . . .”

  A shiver raced down Katherine’s back. She knew by the look on Jess’s face that Mr. Fuck-Me Eyes was standing right behind her.

  “Excuse me.” His voice was deep and authoritative, making Katherine’s stomach drop before it buoyed back up against her diaphragm.

  If just his voice could elicit that kind of response, imagine what the rest of him could do to her. Or perhaps she was merely being hopeful. She had to remind herself that for all the potential of her last four summer flings, none had lived up to the hype. What made her think this guy would be any different?

  That voice and the pure confidence that comes with it.

  She turned, and he was even more striking up close. Taller too.

  Sometimes men were more attractive from far away, but when you saw them up close, not so much. When they were right in front of you, it was easier to see the imperfections. The pocked skin. The
stained and crooked teeth. Or maybe they had an off-putting scent, perhaps from their cologne.

  With this guy, there were no imperfections. His teeth were straight and white, and his rugged, weathered complexion told her that he spent a lot of time outdoors. There was absolutely nothing off-putting about him, and based on the width of his shoulders and his tapered waist, he enjoyed such he-man activities as chopping through ten-foot-wide tree trunks with an ax, logrolling, and throwing boulders. He was obviously chiseled under his gray button-up and black slacks. Were those Armani?

  As for the way he smelled, Katherine felt like she had stepped into a crisp, clean waterfall in the rainforest. She just wanted to run her nose up the side of his neck while inhaling like a cocaine addict.

  His smile widened as his hazel, gray-blue eyes narrowed slightly, and she realized she was staring.

  “I was hoping I could buy you a drink,” he said.

  It was simple as far as pickup lines went. Simple and polite. She liked polite. It meant he wasn’t a jerk. Or at least not a total jerk. She didn’t know him well enough to say for sure. Or maybe he was just a smooth operator, but she didn’t think so. There was a gentle kindness in his eyes, as if he’d been rejected one too many times and, while he wasn’t willing to give up, he was more cautious now about the women he approached.

  The question was, who would reject this handsome, perfect man? Even a blind woman would be able to appreciate his assets.

  Which made Katherine feel even more special that he’d chosen to approach her.

  Her turquoise cocktail was almost empty, so she smiled and placed the glass on the polished bar. “Sure, okay. You can buy me a drink.”

  “And your friend?” He gestured invitingly toward Jess as he flagged down the bartender.