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Insatiable 2 (Insatiable #2)

By:J.D. Hawkins

Insatiable 2 (Insatiable #2)
Author: J.D. Hawkins





Chapter 1

Jax

They say the bigger you are, the harder you fall. Well, when it came to women, I was a fucking giant. And when it came to Lizzie, I fell real fucking hard.

Just a little over a week ago I was screwing more women than a sexist hiring policy. I would make girls come so hard it took them weeks to remember what normality felt like. I'd make fantasies they never even knew they had come true.

I was the sharp-suited shaman that could fuck all the problems out of them. The dangerous drug that got them shaking and sweating for more.

Now I'm sitting in a booth at what used to be my favorite bar, staring into the bottom of an empty whisky glass, wondering where it all went wrong. When Joni Mitchell's 'Don't know what you got 'til it's gone' comes on the bar speakers I know two things for certain: One, I've been in the bar so long it's well past the dancing hours, and two, the universe is most definitely fucking with me.

Ain't karma a bitch? Hell, if anyone deserves it, it's me. I've been a very bad boy for a very long time.

They say the devil comes as a beautiful woman - and I was sure I'd met a few of them. Girls who fucked like they weren't sure whether they wanted to come with me or kill me. Women with eyes so intense they could fuck you from across the room. Women who were into every kink known to man – a few of them known only to this man.

But I never thought Lizzie would be the one to really tear me apart. She wasn't supposed to be that girl. She was the one with the big brown eyes and the goofy sense of humor. The one who needed a few drinks to dance. The one who was all coy and innocent until I got her in the sack.

I should have known she was trouble when she asked me to teach her how to fuck. Well, I must have done a damn good job, because right now I feel like the entire cosmos just fucked me.

She's given me the works. Turning the cheek when I go to kiss her on the lips. The 'we can be friends' and the 'you'd really like him' and the 'it was great.' Shit. God may have given men dicks, but he really overcompensated when he gave women the ability to fuck with our emotions.

What was his name again? John? Jim? Jackass? James. Met him in a grocery store and hit it off. I know it's the whisky talking, but I would like to meet this guy. I'd like to ask him politely to take a trip to a distant continent, and if he refuses, hit him so hard he'll wake up there anyway. Who does this guy think he is?

Lizzie was meant for me. Sure, I've never actually dated anyone. The week of daily (and nightly) fucking I just spent with Lizzie probably constitutes the longest relationship I've ever actually had. And yeah, you don't need to be a psychologist to realize I'm as likely to stick around as a sunset, especially when I was the one who said 'no commitments, no feelings.' But that's exactly why this is the hardest kick in the balls I've had since a possessive ex-hookup caught me kissing a Victoria's Secret model in the parking lot after months of not replying to her texts.

I was ready to change. Ready to try this 'dating' thing out and see what all the fuss was about - but only for Lizzie. She was hot enough, funny enough, smart enough, and again, hot enough, to make me feel like I wouldn't be missing out.

Instead, she met someone else, just when I was about to tell her. Just after I taught her how to be the best damn fuck in all of LA.

"You lucky son of a bitch, James," I say, raising my glass to the empty bar and downing the last drops.

The bartender is by my side in seconds.

"Jax?" he says, like I just beamed out of thin air. "I never see you around this time. Something up? Where's your … ?"

I wave away the question before he can finish it. "It's a long story. Get me another."

He shakes his head like I've seen bouncers do with guys in bad shoes. "It's way past two AM. No serving alcohol. I can get you a Coke or something?"

"Can you put a little whisky in that Coke?" I say, raising my finger to my lips, poking myself in the nose, and realizing just how utterly wasted I am.

The bartender shakes his head again, this time like a mother disappointed in a bad report card. "Sorry, man. You sure you're ok? I can call you a cab."

"I just. Need. A drink," I grind out. You'd think I was speaking another language, the way he's looking at me all crossways.

"Plenty of booze at my place," comes a husky voice from somewhere beside the bartender.

I thought I was seeing double, but when I squint a little I can see a tall redhead standing beside him – the same woman I blew off last week when I brought Lizzie here to dance. My one night stand from days of yore.

The bartender leaves, and I slowly take in the redhead's figure.

She's the kind of woman that looks like she eats men for breakfast, and doesn't spit any part of them out. She's got more curves than a race track packed into her tight black dress. Though it has a high neckline, they don't make many dresses that can disguise tits that glorious, and you can see every eye-catching jiggle as they struggle to get free.

It's the kind of body that you can't get at the gym; it's been sculpted by plenty of ferocious, hair-pulling sex. My eyes roll around curves so crazy they make me dizzy, before I return her green-eyed gaze. It's the kind that hungry predators have when they spot their prey.

I rack my brain for memories of the rendezvous I had with this woman way back when, but I get nothing. No name, no idea where she lives or what she does. What I can tell just by looking at her now is that she's a little older than the usually twenty-somethings at the bar, old enough to have a few tricks up her sleeve, but young enough to still be able to pull them off. And I'll be honest, I've always been partial to slightly older women, because I like someone who knows what

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