Charlene didn’t leave that night.
Not after the table. Not after the second round on the bearskin rug in front of the fire, when Jack had bent her over with her heels still on, his hands gripping her hips like he was anchoring himself to the earth. Not after she’d clawed his back and whispered dirty memories in his ear from their one wild night all those years ago.
She fell asleep on his chest, tangled in a worn flannel sheet, her lipstick long gone, her body humming with satisfaction.
But when morning came, Jack woke alone.
At first, he thought she might’ve gone to the bathroom or out for coffee—Charlene was a woman who liked her mornings sharp and hot—but when he stepped into the kitchen, he saw the note on the counter. A single sheet of thick white stationery. Her scent still clung to it—vanilla, musk, danger.
“Had to take care of a little business in town. Don’t get started on another table without me. I want to help you break the next one. —C”
Jack smirked, sipping his coffee slowly, staring out the window at the forest that wrapped around his property like a secret. He liked a woman who left him wanting more. And Charlene always had.
By mid-afternoon, she was back.
But she didn’t come alone.
Jack was sanding down a reclaimed cedar bench outside when he heard the tires again. Slower this time. Not crunching gravel so much as gliding over it. A sleek black coupe with out-of-state plates pulled up behind her SUV.
Charlene stepped out first—black jeans this time, a white tank top, her hair pulled up into a high, bouncing ponytail. Sunglasses shielded her eyes again, but the smirk was unmistakable.
The passenger door opened, and out stepped someone Jack didn’t expect.
A woman. Younger. Maybe late twenties. Curvy in a softer way than Charlene—thick thighs in olive green leggings, a loose off-the-shoulder sweater slipping down to reveal one bare, freckled shoulder. Auburn hair tied in a messy bun, her cheeks flushed from the ride.
She was beautiful. Not in the polished, sultry way Charlene was—but in the way that made Jack’s hands itch to sketch her. Capture her softness. Her quiet strength. Her curiosity.
Charlene rounded the car, placing a hand on the younger woman’s lower back as she leaned in close. Whispered something that made the girl laugh—nervous, shy, biting her lip. Then Charlene turned to Jack and called out:
“Hope you don’t mind. Thought I’d bring a little dessert.”
Jack raised a brow, brushing the sawdust from his forearms. “Charlene… who’s your friend?”
The younger woman stepped forward, holding his gaze for a beat too long before glancing away, her voice soft. “I’m Tessa. Charlene’s… assistant.”
Charlene snorted. “Among other things.”
Jack grinned slowly. “Well. Pleasure’s mine.”
He offered a hand, big and rough. Tessa’s was smaller, cool, trembling just slightly when he closed his around it. Her eyes flicked to his chest, the sweat glistening down between his pecs, then darted away.
Charlene noticed, of course.
She always noticed.
“I told her all about you,” she said, stepping behind Tessa, brushing her lips just barely along the shell of the girl’s ear. “About your… craftsmanship. Your attention to detail. Your stamina.”
Tessa’s breath hitched.
Jack didn’t move. He just stood there, letting the weight of the moment settle between them like fog.
Then: “You planning on staying a while, Tessa?”
She hesitated. Looked to Charlene. Then back to him.
“If you’ll have me,” she whispered.
Jack’s eyes darkened.
“I always make room for guests.”
—
That night was different.
Charlene was the flame. Wild, crackling, untamed.
Tessa was the kindling. Shy, slow to catch—but once she did, she burned just as hot.
It started with wine. Low jazz on the radio. Candles flickering in the corners of the living room. Tessa sat between them on the couch, her cheeks pink, her breath shallow. Jack’s arm stretched along the back of the sofa, his fingers just grazing her shoulder. Charlene crossed her legs, her heel brushing Tessa’s calf.
“Sweetheart,” Charlene purred, “tell Jack what you told me. About what you’ve always wanted.”
Tessa’s voice was barely a breath. “I… I’ve always wanted to watch. To be watched. I like the way people move when they know someone’s looking.”
Jack leaned in, his voice a low rumble. “You like to watch, huh?”
She nodded, eyes wide.
Charlene kissed her—softly, slowly—then leaned back and turned to Jack.
“Then show her something worth watching.”
Jack stood. Peeled off his shirt. Walked to Charlene, unzipped her jeans and tugged them down, then stripped her bare. She stood, full and radiant in the candlelight, turning for him, her hands in her hair. Jack kissed her neck, her shoulder, then bent her gently over the arm of the couch.
Tessa sat frozen—breathless, thighs pressed together, lips parted.
Jack slid into Charlene from behind, his hands gripping her hips as she moaned, loud and unfiltered. Tessa watched it all—his muscles flexing, the way Charlene gasped and bucked against him, the way Jack murmured filth into her ear, slow and deep.
And when Charlene turned her head to look back at Tessa, she didn’t hide the pleasure on her face.
“You watching, baby?”
Tessa whimpered. “Yes…”
Jack pulled out, slick and hard, his chest heaving. He turned to Tessa, extending a hand.
“Your turn.”
Charlene helped her undress. Tender, coaxing. Peeling her sweater off, guiding her leggings down. Kissing every new inch of skin. Tessa trembled, eyes locked on Jack the entire time.
When she was bare, Jack stepped closer.
“You sure?”
Tessa nodded, whispering: “Yes. Please…”
He kissed her softly first. Not like he had with Charlene. This was slower. Gentler. Like he was mapping her. His big hands cupped her face, then her breasts, then slid down her waist. And when he finally laid her down on the same table he’d taken Charlene on the night before, he moved with a reverence that made her moan before he even entered her.
Charlene watched from the couch, her hand between her legs, eyes locked on Jack and Tessa as they moved together—first slow, then harder, then rough.
Tessa cried out his name when she came, arching off the table, her body wracked with pleasure.
Charlene walked over and kissed her softly. “Good girl.”
Jack looked down at both of them—sweaty, gorgeous, satisfied.
He’d built many things in his life.
But this?
This was a masterpiece.
Jack’s Page