Keeping one hand on the towel, I take a few steps toward her. She closes the distance, her face tilted up to mine. I haven’t even kissed her yet. What happened to me? I slept all night next to a woman I want so badly I can taste it—and I haven’t touched her. Yesterday I played with her hands and feet, teasing us both, but I haven’t felt the softness of her lips.
“Thank you,” she says, her voice almost a whisper.
I inch closer, brushing my nose against hers. “For what?”
“For bringing me here.”
It’s time. I smile and lean in, claiming her mouth with mine. Her lips part for my tongue and I push it in, unleashing some of the passion I’ve been holding inside. I slide my hand beneath her dress and grab her ass, pulling her against me. She moans. God, I love her noises. She wraps her arms around me, one hand on my neck, the other on my back just above the towel. Her breasts press against my chest.
I let the towel drop and leave her mouth, kissing down the side of her jaw, onto her neck. Her head tilts, her hair cascading down her back. I run my tongue up to her ear and nip her earlobe with my teeth.
Her hands find my cock and I groan as she grips it and squeezes. One hand runs down the shaft and the other plays with the tip. Her touch drives me crazy. With one hand still gripping her ass, I run the other up her body and cup her breast. I can’t get enough of her.
She brings her hands to my chest and pushes—hard. I step away, suddenly confused, but she brushes the sides of my ribcage with her fingertips, as if to coax me closer.
Her hands trail down my abs and, licking her lips, she slowly lowers herself to her knees.
Oh, fuck yes.
Her mouth clamps down on my cock with a rush of heat and sensation. I lean my head back and close my eyes. She plunges down, then slides back up, her tongue licking the shaft, then circling the tip when she gets to the top. She takes it again, pulling in more of me than I thought she could take.
“Oh my god, Melissa, that feels amazing.”
One hand runs around to my ass and she teases my balls with the other. Holy shit, this woman. She pulls up and sucks on the tip, then plunges down again. I fist my hand in her wet hair, guiding her. I enjoy the fuck out of every second, every movement, every little flick of her tongue. She’s fearless, and it drives me crazy.
I feel her pull away and I let go of her hair. She puts her hands on my thighs and runs them up my hips, moving her mouth up my body. She kisses her way up my abs. My breath comes fast and my legs practically shake. I slide my arms around her as she stands, keeping her body close to mine.
Her mouth reaches my neck. I pull back and kiss her. My hands dig into her ass and I grind my cock against her body. She lifts onto her tiptoes, pressing herself into me, her arms tight around my neck.
I release the kiss and hoist her up. She wraps her legs around my waist and I hold her, nothing but a slip of thong between my cock and her very hot pussy.
“Your turn,” I say.
I carry her into the bedroom and lay her down on the bed. She starts to lift her dress but I lean down and grab her wrist.
“Wait,” I say. “You have to wait until I tell you.”
She smiles—a wicked, wicked smile—and stops.
I stand above her, my cock still slick from her mouth, absolutely aching to be inside her. Melissa holds herself up on her elbows and tips her legs apart, the hem of her dress sliding up her thighs.
“You have to be a good girl and do what I say,” I say. “Can you do that?”
“No,” she says, her lips pursing on the o. “I’m not a good girl.”
I kneel on the bed and put my hands on her knees, pushing her legs back together. “No, Melissa. You have to do as you’re told.”
“Okay, captain,” she says. “Tell me what to do.”
Fuck, yes.
I slide my hands beneath her ass and tuck my fingers under her panties. She lifts her hips so I can pull them off. I toss them to the side and run my hands up the outsides of her thighs.
“Lie down.”
She immediately obeys, that naughty twinkle still in her eye.
“Open your legs.”
Her legs drop open. She’s perfectly waxed, which is great news for me. I want my mouth all over that beautiful pussy. I run my hands down the insides of her thighs and she tilts her hips up.
“No, you have to wait.”
I gently brush my fingers up her wet folds and she whimpers. Without warning, I slide two fingers inside her, pressing the heel of my hand into her clit. Her back arches and she moans again. I move my fingers in and out a few times, rubbing her clit in a rhythmic motion. Her hips rock up and down.
“Fuck, Jackson. How are you doing that?”
“You like that?”
“Oh my god, yes.”
I pull my hand out and grip her thighs.
“No, don’t stop,” she says.
“You don’t get to tell me what to do, remember?”
Her head falls back against the bed.
I push her legs apart again and dive in. I run my tongue up one side, then the other. She tastes so sweet. I want it all. I press the flat of my tongue into her, rubbing up and down. She moves her hips and I keep going, grinding my tongue against her clit. Her legs open wider and I grab her ass. It’s tight, her skin so smooth. I suck on her clit and she cries out.
Oh, yeah, that’s what I want.
Her hands grip the sheets. I push my fingers in again, and don’t let up with my tongue. She moans with every thrust. I love how loud she is.
I speed up and so does she. I can feel the heat of her climax building. I push her closer, my tongue relentless. She arches her back, rocking her hips into me.
“Oh fuck, Jackson!”
I stop, pulling away suddenly. Melissa takes heaving breaths and picks up her head to look at me. Her cheeks are flushed, her lips full.
“What? Why?” she asks between breaths.
“You don’t have my permission to come yet.”
“Oh my god.”
“Turn over,” I say.
She takes two more breaths, then rolls over. “Jackson, we need protection. I’m not using anything.”
“Up on your knees,” I say. “I’ll take care of it.”
She lifts herself up to her knees and turns her head to look back at me. It’s sexy as fuck. I reach for the nightstand where I slipped a packet of condoms. I’m certainly not unprepared. I pull one out of the package and slide it on.
“I hope you’re ready for this,” I say.
“You better fuck me hard, captain.”
I’m supposed to be giving the orders, but in this case, I’m happy to comply.
I thrust my cock inside her, feeling her hot folds wrap around me. I groan; it feels so fucking good. I grab her hips and rock her back and forth, digging my cock into her pussy. I hit her hard with each thrust, and she calls out. I don’t want to hurt her, but she takes it so deep, I give her what she wants. My orgasm builds too fast. I’ve wanted her for so long, stretching it out, letting the tension mount. And she’s better than I imagined.
I stop, my cock plunged deep inside her, and hold her tight against me.
“Don’t stop now,” she says, breathless.
“Baby, you’re too good. I’m going to come too fast.” My cock throbs, but I want to make this last.
I pull out and grab her hips, turning her on her back.
“Dress off,” I say.
I help her pull her dress over her head. I pause for a moment, taking her all in.
“You’re so beautiful.”
Her eyes are dazed, unfocused. “Jackson.”
I love hearing her say my name. “Say it again.”
“Jackson.”
She opens her legs for me and I lower myself on top of her. Her skin against mine feels unbelievable. I kiss her as I push my cock in again. My mouth lingers on hers, our tongues dancing, slow and luxurious. I move in and out, grinding up against her, listening to her soft moans eac
h time.
I lift myself up and cup her breast. She moves with my thrusts, but I keep it gentle. Leaning down, I run my tongue around her hard nipple. She shudders and groans again. I flick it with my tongue, then take it in my mouth and suck. My other hand grabs her hip, moving her up and down my cock.
“Fuck, Jackson, don’t stop.”
I switch sides, tasting her other nipple. Her skin is soft and clean, her nipple a sweet little nub against my tongue. She moves her hips faster, urging me on.
“Melissa, you’re incredible.”
I can’t hold back any longer. Nothing else exists. I thrust into her pussy, in and out, feeling her heat build. She calls out my name, over and over, each time making my blood burn. Her legs wrap around my waist and I push in deeper, fucking her hard.
“Yes, Jackson, fuck yes.”
Her pussy clenches around me and it’s too much. Spasms of pleasure overtake me. My cock pulses, each wave stronger than the last. Melissa’s fingers dig into my skin and her back arches.
I feel the last of her climax as mine ends. I slump over her, breathing hard. My vision is blurry. I pick my head up and find her mouth, kissing her gently.
I pull out and roll off her, then deal with the condom. I’m still trying to catch my breath. She stays sprawled on her back, her arms above her head.
“Fuck, that was amazing,” I say.
Melissa laughs and rolls toward me. I wrap my arm around her, drawing her in close. I’m spent, but I’m not ready to let her go.
She rests her head on my shoulder and drapes one leg over mine. I kiss her forehead. This woman. So strong. She knows exactly what she wants and isn’t afraid to take it. She isn’t afraid to give me what I want either.
Any fear I might have had that I built her up too far in my imagination is gone. She blew me away. I let my eyes drift closed, my fingers lightly caressing her skin.
This week is just beginning…
11
Melissa
I lay sideways on the bed, my head on Jackson’s shoulder, his arms wrapped around me. His fingers trace little circles on my arm and every so often he leans in and kisses my forehead.
He’s nothing like I expected.
Granted, his body is as glorious as I thought it would be. All hard, sleek muscle that ripples and flexes. Fucking hell, it’s perfect. How a man can be endowed with that body, and that cock—it simply isn’t fair to the rest of mankind. He stretched me in all the best ways, like he’s made to fit inside me.
I was so hot for him, I knew an orgasm was a foregone conclusion, whether he worked to get me off or not. But he did. He wasn’t a selfish lover. He touched me, teased me, used his fingers and his tongue—oh my god, his tongue. He wanted to make me feel good, like he enjoyed my pleasure as much as his own.
And the way he kissed me. So many men discount the power of the kiss. I love good sex—and I like it hard and a little rough—but his slow, sweet kisses were absolutely decadent. A new feeling creeps in around the edges and I try to shove it away. I’m not going to let anything ruin this moment. My body hums with contentment, Jackson is warm against me, and this is just the beginning of our week together.
He holds me close, his arms strong. Another surprise. He doesn’t get up and get on with the day. He lingers. His breathing is even, but the way his fingers caress my skin, I know he isn’t asleep. He doesn’t try to fill the silence or grab his phone. He just holds me.
That feeling springs up again—the one I don’t want to acknowledge. Suddenly, I want to get up. I want Jackson to snap a picture of me and tweet something, bragging about conquering @sassygirl555. I want him to make a phone call, and then gripe about stupid people. I want him to walk around with that swagger, toss out a credit card like it means nothing, and buy something expensive, just because he can.
Because this Jackson—this quiet, contented, affectionate Jackson—is suddenly too much for me.
I lift myself up, gently pushing his arms aside.
He gives me a lazy smile. “You don’t have to get up. We can stay here as long as you want.”
“Yeah, I just … bathroom.”
“Sure,” he says, running a finger down my arm.
The way he looks at me makes my heart beat faster. He no longer looks like he’s ready to devour me—his passionate hunger seems sated. But his eyes take me in and a smile crosses his face. He looks … happy.
That shouldn’t send me running for the bathroom, but it does. I close the door behind me and try to catch my breath. It’s fine. I’m simply overwhelmed by the amazing sex we just had. And let’s not forget that I’m in a mansion on the beach, the sound of the waves carrying through the walls.
This is good. I can do this.
After breakfast—some of the best food I’ve ever had, I shit you not—we wander down to the beach. I wear the lavender sun dress and carry my sandals in my hand, feeling the sand beneath my feet. Jackson is dressed casually, in a blue t-shirt and long shorts, a pair of sleek sunglasses on his face. The waves run up and down the beach. I put my feet in the water, letting it splash against my calves. It’s pleasantly warm—I’ve never felt anything like it. I grew up on the beach, and it’s the same ocean, but this is nothing like the ice-cold water I’m used to.
Jackson never stops touching me. He holds my hand, rubs my back, runs his fingers down my bare arms. He pauses behind me, threads his arms around my waist, and leans down to kiss my neck. He takes pictures—mostly me, but a couple selfies of both of us—and tweets a few. My phone is in my purse, but I’m not sure I want to see what he’s tweeting anyway.
What is he saying about me? I’m just his latest diversion, and building me up as some kind of mystery is probably fun for him. I let it go. I knew what I was getting into, and being the object of his followers’ fascination is part of the deal.
Twice I notice people taking pictures of us. They make no attempt to conceal what they are doing—just walk closer, hold up their phones, and point them at us as we walk by. Jackson doesn’t say a word, but deftly puts himself between me and the gawkers, a protective arm around me. We don’t walk much farther before he mutters something under his breath about idiots with cameras, and turns me around so fast I almost trip.
We go back to the villa, and he calls for a car so we can do some shopping. We both need more clothes. A driver arrives in a black limo and holds the door open for us. Jackson plays with my hair and kisses my fingers as we drive.
The car pulls to a stop and he moves away. I take a deep breath, blinking hard. His touch leaves me feeling dazed, and it takes me a second to remember where I am. The driver lets us out at a large open-air mall, the walkways lined with palm trees. Jackson tips him and slips on his sunglasses.
We walk past a few stores, and I try not to stare. Some have names I recognize—Coach, Burberry, Gucci—but I’ve never been in any of them. Others look just as designer, but I’m so out of my element, I don’t even know what they are. Jackson walks next to me, his hands in his pockets casually. He might as well have a sign on his chest that says Rich as fuck. He doesn’t do anything to flaunt it. But the way he carries himself—the way he walks, the way his sunglasses fit his face like they’re custom made, the way his clothes drape off his ridiculous body—make him look like he has a halo of money surrounding him.
Other people notice him, too. Heads turn; men stare at him as much as women. He glances in the windows of a few stores before he seems to decide on one. He holds open the door for me, and I walk in.
Men’s clothing takes up one half of the store, women’s clothing the other. I’m used to places that fill the floor with racks of clothes, using up every inch of retail space. This is positively empty by comparison. The walls and floor are soft beige, and two dark wood doors stand along one side—dressing rooms.
Mannequins display beautifully put together outfits, and the racks of clothing are spaced well apart. A stunning woman with long, dark hair and olive skin stands behind a small counter. She wears an impecca
ble white blouse, her lips a deep shade of red.
Jackson doesn’t so much as look at the clothing on the racks. He walks up to the woman, leans his elbow against the counter, and takes off his sunglasses.
“I need six or seven shirts and pairs of shorts, and throw in a few pairs of slacks.” He pulls out his wallet and plunks down a card. “And whatever she wants.”
The woman glances at the card and smiles. “Of course, Mr. Bennett.”
I stare at the clothes. The lack of selection is paralyzing. When I shop, I go straight for the sale racks and dig. You always find the best deals tucked in with the wrong size—the little treasures other people miss. I clasp my hands together and blink like an idiot.
The woman appears next to me, all smiles and white teeth. “What would you like to see?”
I have no idea. Jackson still leans against the counter, flicking his thumb across his phone.
“How about I bring you a few things to try?” the woman says.
“Um, sure.”
I know Jackson isn’t worried about the money, but I don’t want him to have to buy everything for me. This is a high end store, but surely I can pay for my own clothes. It isn’t like I have any other expenses this week.
I wander over to a rack with a few flowing peach-colored tank tops. I grab the tag to look at the price, and almost choke. Four hundred seventy-five dollars? What in the actual fuck?
Jackson looks up at me. My bewilderment must show because his eyebrows draw in with a look of concern. He walks over to me and put a hand on my arm. “Are you okay?”
“No, I am not okay,” I say. “This shirt is almost five hundred dollars. My first apartment didn’t cost this much.”
He looks around as if he has no idea what I mean—and he probably doesn’t. “Do you want to go somewhere else? I’m sorry, I just always shop here.”
One Crazy Week Page 7
