Break So Soft: Break So Soft Duet

by Black, Stasia

  Jackson gently tugs the suitcase from her and she throws her arms around me again.

  I stand there a bit uncomfortable.

  All right already. Enough with the touchy-touchy feely-feels stuff. I’m ready for this day to be over. Done. Finis.

  I nod gratefully into her shoulder and then pull away to climb into the car. I vaguely hear Jackson and Shannon’s voices talking while they finish loading up the car and then Shannon climbs in the backseat and Jackson in the driver’s side.

  Shannon reaches up from the backseat and hands me a toothbrush, tube of toothpaste, and a bottle of water. I huff in surprise at her thoughtfulness. “Thanks.”

  I brush my teeth vigorously as Jackson pulls out of my parents’ driveway, making a point of squealing the tires as he peals out. I hope it leaves dark rubber prints on their pristine driveway. At the same time, underneath the anger and weariness, already I can feel how raw I am.

  No matter how much I intellectually understand why my parents are the way they are—they’ve become so accustomed to their lifestyle, it’s just unthinkable for them to accept anything that might bring it all crumbling down… But still. I’m their daughter.

  A tear escapes my eye and I try to swipe it away before anyone sees. It’s not supposed to happen like this. In the TV specials, when you tell your parents about the horrible secret you’ve been keeping, they believe you. They support you. The entire message of those shows and books is just to get you to tell someone. It’s a given that the parents will listen.

  I turn my face away from Jackson and Shannon and watch scenery pass by out the window. There’s not much to see since it’s night out. That’s fine with me. I’m good with losing myself in the darkness for a little bit. Numbing myself, inside and out. Not feeling. Not thinking. All of that takes so much energy and I’m tired. So tired.

  I only look up once the lights of the small airstrip come into view. Jackson maneuvers the car down the small driving lane to the fourth hanger, the same one we landed at. We drive straight into the hangar and pull to a stop about twenty feet from the back of the plane.

  All the lights in the plane are on and it looks ready to go. Jackson must have called or messaged at some point to get it prepped and ready, though I didn’t catch him doing it. We weren’t supposed to leave until late tomorrow afternoon.

  I close my eyes and breathe out a long breath. Well, thank God Jackson took care of getting the plane prepped ahead of us. This means that in a little less than an hour, we’ll be back in San Jose and another half hour after that, I could be curled up in my own bed. Perfect.

  Then I can take all the time I need to process everything that’s gone down. My parents. McIntyre. What Gentry’s demanding of me. Then there were those unsettling thoughts I had about Jackson. Not to mention that Charlie’s custody trial is now just two weeks away.

  Christ. I scrub my hands down my face. Yeah. Sleep. Napping for a week is obviously not in the cards, but maybe a solid ten or eleven hours? With a Benadryl, I can probably swing that.

  “Love you, Cals.” I hear Shannon’s voice from behind me and then the pressure of her hand on my shoulder. When I open my eyes, she’s getting out of the car and heading toward the trunk.

  Right. Back to the real world.

  I reach to unlatch my seatbelt, but Jackson’s large hand blocks me.

  My eyebrows narrow in confusion as I look up at him.

  “Shannon’s going to take the plane back but you and I are driving the car.”

  “Huh?” I ask. Brain too tired to process over here.

  “We’re going to drive back to San Jose.”

  “But that would take six and a half hours.” My eyebrows scrunch as I search out the clock on the dashboard. “And it’s already eight o’clock at night. That doesn’t make any sense.” I reach to push open the door, but all the doors suddenly lock.

  I try to push my own door unlock button, but apparently Jackson has the master lock because nothing moves mine. I turn back to him with a glare. “What the fuck? I’m exhausted. I’ve had a less than stellar weekend, and all I want to do is sleep. What I don’t want to do is be stuck in a car for the next six hours.”

  “Me either,” Jackson surprises me by saying. “That’s why we’ll be stopping an hour south of here to spend the night. If you’re tired, take a nap.” He leans over. “I’m betting sleep will be the last thing on either of our minds once we get there.”

  Even in the dim lighting of the hangar, I can see his eyes flare at this. I just stare at him, dumbfounded for a moment. Then he reaches out and cups my face before pulling me forward just enough to place a kiss on my forehead.

  Before I can say another word, the trunk slams shut. Shannon gives a wave as she walks toward the plane and Jackson zooms out of the airport.

  * * *

  “Wake up sleeping beauty.”

  I blink blearily and look around. The car’s pulling into the roundabout of a large hotel that doesn’t tower so much as sprawl outward, its lights a beacon against the night sky.

  Before I’m all the way awake, Jackson is out of the car and around to my side, opening my door for me. It’s unnecessary—unlike Jackson, I don’t usually have a driver opening doors for me—but I can’t say something in my belly doesn’t flutter at the gesture. Ridiculous. Belly flutters are for teenagers and girls who haven’t been through all the shit I have.

  I must still be half-asleep. That’s all. I take Jackson’s hand as I get out of the car only because it would be rude not to. I drop it as soon as I’m on my feet, though.

  I just can’t. Too much shit went down tonight. Sleeping was nice. If I dreamed, I can’t remember any of it and that’s how I like it. I don’t care what Jackson says or what grand plans he has—all I want is to get into the room, make a beeline for the bed and pull the covers over my head. Asleep and numb are really working for me right now.

  Jackson gets our bags from the trunk before heading inside. Mutely, I follow a few steps behind him. Jackson keeps checking over his shoulder to make sure I’m there. I try to curve the edges of my mouth up but I’m not sure if it comes off as a smile or a grimace. Can’t really be bothered to care either. But I don’t miss the narrowing of Jackson’s eyebrows that show his concern so I try harder at the smile. Even if it is the last thing I feel like doing right now.

  The hotel is super nice inside. An intricate inlaid tile design runs down the middle of the floor. It has open ceilings and interesting architecture too. I didn’t check to see what kind of hotel it was from the outside, but I shouldn’t be surprised that for Jackson, it’s only the best. Even out here in the wilds of northernmost California.

  We don’t head to the reception desk. Instead, the attendant on duty, a guy young enough to be just out of high school wearing dress pants, a shirt, and a tie, hurries over to us. He looks like he got into his father’s closet and is playing dress up.

  “Mr. Vale?” he questions.

  Jackson nods. He pulls his wallet out of his pants and flashes his ID to the kid who nods profusely.

  “Excellent, excellent. I’m William. But you can call me Will. My friends call me Will. Unless you prefer William. That’s also perfectly fine. Whatever you like.” The kid’s face is absolutely plum red by this point, but Jackson just stands politely listening.

  “Um,” Will valiantly goes on, “That is to say, we are so honored to have such a VIP as you, Mr. Vale, visit our humble little establishment here. I mean, really, it’s just incredible.” His eyes are so bright they verge on gleaming. “My friends and I just entered a submission to ridiculousrobots.com, actually. When they find out I’ve met you, they’ll just— Well, they’ll never believe it, sir. Can I get a picture?”

  “Sure,” Jackson says affably, though his eyes flick to me in a sorry gesture.

  Okay, well, this is actually kind of cute, seeing Jackson get fanboyed over like a celebrity. Not that I’ll let him know I think that. I only roll my eyes but that just makes Jackson smile wider as the
kid snaps the picture, arm thrown around Jackson like they’re best friends.

  “What does your robot do?” Jackson asks as he steps away from the kid.

  “When you sit down on a chair, the pressure sensor sets off the machine that sings My Little Pony songs and projects a series of Truman Capote quotes with a laser pointer at the wall.”

  Jackson smiles and nods. “Perfectly nonsensical. Sounds like you guys really got the spirit of the thing right.”

  Will smiles like Jackson just made his year.

  “Here are your two key cards and of course the rest has been taken care of by your man over the phone. Please, contact me here at the front desk if anything at all is out of place. Or if there’s something to your disliking, I will personally fix the problem immediately.”

  Jackson takes the envelope with the key cards and then there’s an awkward moment where the kid’s still just standing there, a hair’s breath away from breaching the etiquette of personal space. “Is there anything else?” Jackson finally asks.

  Will’s eye’s go wide as an owl before shaking his head. “No. God no. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to keep you.” He launches himself backward so violently, I’m afraid he’s going to fall over, but he manages to stay on his feet.

  For my part, I actually keep my laughter in until the elevator doors close, but then I lose it. “Oh my God,” I say, holding my stomach, I’m giggling so hard. “Are people always like that around you?”

  Jackson shakes his head. “I think I was just his first VIP.” He doesn’t look embarrassed. He’s just smiling at me. He reaches out and traces my lips with his index finger. “I like this look on you.”

  My laughter slowly dies down at the intense look on his face. Especially when the finger at my lips pushes into my mouth. Oh fuck, that’s hot. Fire zings straight through to my sex. Damn him. Somehow between the fanboy and Jackson’s proximity, my plans for going straight to bed have gotten shot all to hell.

  I could fight it or give in.

  Two guesses as to which I go for?

  Exactly.

  I suck on his finger. He growls, then pushes it in deeper, hooking me like a fish in my cheek and pulling me closer. I let him.

  His eyes go dark and his Dom face hits me with full force. I don’t even know quite how to describe it. His features take on an intensity they don’t normally have. The way he holds his body changes. Softness becomes edge. Command crackles in the air.

  And I don’t know why, but I need it tonight. It would be so easy to give into the numbness. I still feel it hovering there. Wanting to draw me back in. So I take the lifeline Jackson’s offering me.

  “Hands behind your back, eyes on me,” he orders right as the elevator door pings and opens.

  Reluctantly, I release his finger from my mouth and do as he says. Probably a good thing, since there’s an older couple waiting when the elevator doors open. I hide a smile as I lock my hands behind my back and watch Jackson swiftly exit the elevator.

  I keep just a few paces behind him, eyes glued to his spectacular ass. He said I had to look at him. He never specified where. I grin to myself.

  He’s not making it easy on me to keep up either. His stride is so long, I take two steps for every one of his. Finally, we make it to the room at the end of the hall and he uses the key card to let us inside.

  I only get a glimpse of a luxurious suite before Jackson has the door closed. Then the world spins as he twirls me and slams me up against the wall.

  His bulk is immediately up against me. I expect his mouth to immediately start devouring me but instead he simply leans in, nose in my hair, his cheek resting beside mine. Both of his hands cage me in on either side of my body and he just stands there, slowly moving his cheek and nose up and down the side of mine. Nuzzling me.

  I blink rapidly and my body starts to tremble, overwhelmed by unexpected emotion.

  I was prepared for animalistic sex. Clothes to be ripped off. Mouths on bodies and too much sensation for feeling or thought. That’s what I wanted.

  Not this. Not this.

  As close as we are, I can feel his erection rubbing against my leg. He’s certainly game. Time to get this train out of the station and moving along.

  I reach down and grab his cock. “Fuck me.” I give him a crude up and down stroke. I’m happy to take over Domme if he’s not getting the job done.

  But he immediately reaches down and snatches my wrist, pinning it up against the wall.

  I gasp in righteous indignation. Especially when he continues moving at that slow pace, now slowly nuzzling the arm he has pinned, occasionally dropping the gentlest of kisses on my skin. When I try to make a move with my other hand, that one gets pinned as well.

  “Don’t move,” he whispers as he pulls away from me and takes a quick step to his bag. I make a low growling noise of disapproval, but I stay where he’s put me, like a pinned butterfly.

  “That’s perfect. You’re perfect.”

  I see the satisfied approval in his eyes when he glances up from his bag at me, which makes a corresponding warmth flare in my chest. Jackson stands back up before I can think too much about anything. My eyebrows lift when I see what he’s got in his hand. It’s a small switchblade.

  He pops the blade out and steps toward me, eyes dark. So dark. He runs the blunt edge down my cheek and I don’t even blink. Blood play is a hard limit for both of us. So what’s with the knife?

  His eyes flare. “So much trust,” he whispers, eyes moving back and forth between mine. He swallows hard, seeming moved by some emotion I can’t name. And it’s true. Usually this is the point where I should be freaking the fuck out. Second-guessing everything I thought I knew. But I don’t. I know I’m safe with him.

  Then he seems to master himself and he lowers the blade. I just keep my eyes on him, curious. He pulls out the bodice of my dress and his eyes flick up to mine again as he positions the knife-edge at the center of the fabric. His eyes stay on mine as the blade starts cutting down the center of the dress.

  I swallow. He could have asked me to take the dress off. It would’ve only taken me a second. This is symbolic somehow, him divesting me of my clothes this way.

  Seeing the glint of desire in his eyes, I can see he’s enjoying himself and I can’t deny the curl of pleasure this is giving me too. Especially when, halfway down the dress, he discards the knife, grabs the edges of the fabric and rips the rest himself. Oh fuck. So hot.

  He repeats the process with every piece of clothing I have on. Bra. Panties. He jerks my body to him as he rips those off and I’m completely drenched. My hands fall from where I was holding up against the wall and land around his neck.

  “Ah ah ah,” he chastises, “did I say you could drop those hands?”

  Obediently, I raise them back above my head, even though my muscles are beginning to ache. He’s testing me and I will pass. I will love the burn. I bite my lip and thrust my breasts out. My nipples pucker and I can’t help rubbing my thighs together.

  But then, when I’m completely naked, he steps back and takes a slow perusal, head to toe. Goosebumps rise all over my skin under his careful scrutiny. Does he like what he sees?

  His face gives nothing away. He’s just standing there. Looking. And I start to feel cold. Exposed. Does he see areas he wishes were different? I think about what I saw when I was looking in the mirror earlier. The bags under my eyes.

  Being back in my old room, it was so temping to go through the old routines. Spend twenty minutes laying down a base foundation including concealer and contouring. Then lash extensions and mascara. Smokey eye, red lips, all topped off with a liberal brushing of bronzer. The untouchable girl.

  But I turned away in disgust before I could even open the little bottle of foundation. I grimace. Which means I’ve got to look pasty in this lighting. I shift from one foot to the other.

  Jackson doesn’t move. He just keeps looking me over.

  What the fuck? It’s been ninety full seconds of silence, him jus
t standing there—and that’s just since I started counting. Watching me. Categorizing defects, if he’s like any other man I’ve met. David used to say that my thighs were too thick. I was pretty and everything, but he said he understood why I stopped doing pageants.

  Do you know how long a minute and a half of silence actually feels with another person just staring at you? Even in pageants, the whole walking and posing process takes less time than this.

  “Fuck, just take a picture already. Then you’ll have all the time in the world to find all the flaws.” Then, under my breath, I add, “And wank off to it, which is what I’m good for, right?”

  “What did you just say?” His voice cracks like a whip.

  But fuck him and his Dom shit. How dare he make me feel special one second and then remind me what I really am the next? Something to look at. Something to fuck. I knew it, I knew from the start this is how it would end up. “I’m just saying what we’re both thinking.”

  “And what exactly is that?” Each word comes out through his teeth.

  I drop my arms and cross them over my chest.

  Fine. He wants to do this? Let’s do this.

  “That maybe this little visit home makes things clear. My mom might be a cunt, but fuck, it doesn’t make her wrong.” I shrug and give a shrill laugh. “She taught me how to put these assets to work,” I grab my tits, “since I was a kid. So I just kept on doing it. Working at Hooters. Taking the job with Gentry—”

  “Stop it,” Jackson demands.

  “You’re fucking me,” I say with a sneer. “So you obviously get it. Let’s be honest. I fucked my way into this job, no matter how you try to spin it. You only prove my point every day—”

  Jackson’s hand slams over my mouth and a dangerous glint enters his eye. “You’ll want to be very careful about what comes out of that mouth next. You are not only insulting me, but the woman I happen to care a very great deal for.”

  He moves so that his body covers mine, face hovering only an inch away from my face. His hand is still firmly on my mouth. “Your parents are worthless shitbags of human excrement who never deserved to breathe the same air space as you and I’m struggling not to go back and take an ax to that cock-sucker who abused you when you were just a kid.”