by Ivy Carter
“I do have a big meeting tomorrow.”
“You have big meetings every day,” I say. Jackson sighs. God, are we fighting? Or about to fight? I reach across and put my hand on his thigh. “Should we at least hang out at your place for a little bit?”
He takes my hand and kisses my fingers like he does. Like I love.
“How about this,” he says. “How about I take you out to dinner tomorrow night? Wherever you want to go. Pizza, lobster, steak; South End, Downtown, Back Bay. Your choice. Whatever you want. Sound good?”
“Yeah,” I say. A swelling is caught in my throat, so I clear it and try again. “Sure. Sounds good.”
When he drops me off at my apartment he gives me a kiss on the cheek before he speeds off down the street. Like he can’t get away from me fast enough.
Did I make a huge mistake by introducing him to my family? Did I scare him off?
I think back to what Mom said: He’s nothing like us. She’s right, and I’ve always known that about him. Maybe the differences are starting to divide us. I work hard at school and my job but I also understand the importance of spending time with family and friends (even if I’m not the most social person around). Is Mom right? Do I really know so little about him?
I do what Jackson is doing—I bury myself in work for the day. I have a lot of reading I can catch up on, and some research I can do at the library for one of my classes.
The library is fairly busy. Most seats are full, but it’s quiet aside from the turning of pages and light tapping of fingers on keyboards. I find a spot at a large table in the center and spread my books and notebooks out.
“Hey, Emily,” a voice says quietly. I look up—it’s a girl named Kera from my School Law class with Professor Stanwick…and Brent. She looks down at my books and sees I’m studying for our class. “What are you studying that for?” Before I can answer she says, “I heard you’re sucking dick for grades now.”
“What?”
“That’s what I heard. That after you bombed the last paper you offered Brent a blow job for guaranteed better grade.”
“Are you kidding me? Do people actually believe that? Do you believe that?”
She shrugs, indecisive. “I just thought you should know what’s being said.”
“It’s not true,” I say. “And you can tell that to anyone who believes that. It’s not true.”
After that, the day is a wash. I can’t concentrate.
I call Natalie on my walk home.
“What else is Brent Fuller saying about me?” I ask.
“Well…” she begins, and it’s clear she doesn’t want to say.
“Nat, tell me,” I press. “I need to know.”
“I didn’t hear him say it, but I heard from someone else that you’ve been spending a lot of time in his office. And that one time, when you were coming out, your skirt was on backward or inside out or something.”
“I haven’t been in his office in forever,” I say, fuming.
“Someone else said you’ve been going to his apartment.”
“I don’t even know where he lives!”
“I’m sorry, Em,” Natalie says. “I told those people the stories were bullshit. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.”
“It’s fine,” I say, even though it’s not. What a petty little weasel Brent is.
“Are you going to tell Professor Stanwick?”
“Tell him what? That I heard his T.A. is spreading rumors about me? I have no proof.”
“Just keep your distance,” Natalie says. “Don’t give anyone any reason to think something is going on by staying after class or going to his office.”
“Do you actually think I’d go to his office after this?”
“No, I don’t,” Natalie says.
“Sorry,” I say. “I don’t mean to get snippy. I just don’t need this right now.” With things with Jackson feeling tangled up, I don’t need school in a knot either.
I stick to my word and Monday after class, I shoot out the door. I do not want to be seen by anyone to be lingering around. Besides, I want to get home and get ready for dinner with Jackson.
We texted a couple of times. He wrote and asked, Any ideas for dinner? I guess he didn’t want to impress me with another fancy meal. Which is fine, honestly. I’m not complaining. My mind is going into crazy-girl territory, wondering if he’s losing interest in me. Maybe he doesn’t care about impressing me anymore.
But I took the initiative—always a good thing—and found an Italian place in the North End that gets great ratings for serving freshly made pasta. Jackson asks if I want him to pick me up or if I want to meet him at the restaurant. Ouch, I think. It’s really starting to feel less and less like a date and more like a casual meet up. My place in Allston is totally out of the way, so I tell him I’ll take the train and meet him there. He doesn’t argue.
When I see him walk down the crowded street, I can’t help but smile. He’s staring down at his phone, and I’m watching, worried that he’s going to walk right into the pole of a parking sign or something. He looks so slick and handsome in his suit, even though he ditched his tie. Hopefulness springs up in me—maybe we just hit a rough patch and tonight things will get back on course.
“Hey, you,” I say, stepping toward him. He glances up at me, lands a peck on my cheek, and continues working his phone. “Still busy with work?” He grunts a reply. I wait until he finishes what he’s doing—his brow is slightly furrowed so it can’t be anything good. I have to respect Jackson for the multitude of things he is responsible for. I respect him for it, I don’t fault him for it, like I worry my family does.
When he finishes, he slips his phone into his inside coat pocket. Once we’re seated and have ordered our food, I hope things will relax but there’s a weird tension between us.
“Something bad happen at work?” I ask.
“Something bad happens at work at least five times a day,” he says. “But I always handle it.”
I think about telling him about Brent, but he’s clearly in a bad mood and I don’t want to make it worse. Besides, I’m handling Brent. Hopefully his poor little ego wounds will heal soon and he’ll back off.
We eat in relative silence. I wish it were the comfortable silence of a couple that is assured of their status, but it is not. Jackson shoots me a tight smile now and then and asks me a few bland questions—how’s the food, how’s school, what’s new with work—but it’s nothing substantial.
I’m prepared to shake his hand and walk to the T after dinner, but he surprises me by saying, “Want to go back to my place?”
“Sure,” I say, trying to sound casual when inside I'm doing cartwheels. He’s just in a funny mood. He wants to be with me. And I need to stop reading into things.
Jackson
I can’t shake it. Today was as epically bad at work as yesterday was with Emily’s family. What is happening to me? I’m losing my edge, that much is clear.
Today my brothers circled me like the sharks they are. Miles and Rex both responded to an email that was sent to all three of us by the family attorney which read: “Your father’s wishes were to put the most responsible family man in charge of Croft International and it is my job to ensure that happens. Until one of the sons is married, an intermediary president and CEO will named as head of Croft International and will remain until the terms of Edward Croft’s last will and testament have been fulfilled. The board has selected Robert Irving to step into this role until such a time as the requests of your late father have been fulfilled.”
It goes on to some legalese crap but Rex and Miles had to chime in despite our agreement to speak only through our assistants.
Miles wrote from New York: “Don’t think for a second that there aren’t a hundred perfect blue bloods down here in New York. Nothing is more important than showing you two losers how things should truly be done. And I think we can all agree that, if Irving gets that title, he will not let go until he’s six feet under.”
Baby brother Rex had to throw his own temper tantrum from Los Angeles to inform us that being the youngest CEO of a multi-billion-dollar empire would be just one note to his legacy. “I live in the land of women whose only goal is to marry up. All I need is one visit to the Polo Lounge and I will find a willing woman to make the next Mrs. Croft. Prepare to bow down, assholes. And I agree with pretty boy Miles—Irving can’t be trusted with our company. It’s time to put extra pressure to this race to the altar.”
Rex keeps it classy, as always. And Miles definitely makes a good point in Robert Irving. He’s a blood-sucking, scrupulous, under-handed monster—which is exactly why Father liked him. He let do Irving do the truly heinous jobs that Father didn’t want his hands dirtied on. Father always had clean hands.
The point is, the pressure is mounting.
And then there’s Emily.
The brunch with her family was not successful. I keep thinking back on it to see where I went wrong. I don’t like being cornered and questioned, and I don’t like to bullshit people by saying the things just because it’s what they want to hear. That left me (smugly?) reminding her family that I benefit greatly by living in a capitalistic society. Normally I wouldn't care about speaking the truth like that, but it upset Emily, and that hurts me more than knowing I pissed off her family.
I want to make up for yesterday, and maybe for my distance at dinner tonight. I have a lot on my mind but I shouldn’t take it out on Emily. I shouldn’t ignore her. She’s the only thing good in my life—my one true bright spot.
When we arrive at my place, all I want to do is wipe my mind clean of the last two days. I want to gather Emily up in my arms and hold her close all night long. More importantly, I want to be honest about what I’ve been feeling—and what’s happened with work and my father. She deserves to know—especially now that I realize how deep my feelings for her are.
“Are you thirsty?” I ask Emily. We walked into the kitchen, and I put my briefcase on the counter. “Water? Cocktail? Wine?”
“I could use a drink,” she says. “Surprise me with something. I’m going to head to the ladies’ room.”
I watch her walk away, the way her hair hangs down her back and her hips sway. She turns back to look at me, and smiles. My heart almost cracks, that smile is so beautiful.
I need to enjoy the night so I open my laptop right there in the kitchen and check the emails one more time, making sure there’s been no more traffic from my brothers and the lawyer. Nothing new. With Rex three hours behind in L.A., I’m sure he’ll have more to add as his evening goes on. I’m glad to be done with it for now.
I make two vodkas with soda and pomegranate juice with a splash of lime. I carry them into the living room, a space I actually use to watch games on Sundays or let movies play while I stretch out on the couch with my laptop and do some work. I’m thinking about what I’m going to say to Emily because at this point I’ve left too much unsaid. If only I knew which words to say to her. Thank god for the vodka.
“There you are,” her sweet voice says, finding me in the living room. She curls up next to me on the couch, her body fitting so perfectly against mine. She picks up her glass from the oversized ottoman in front of the couch. “Cheers,” she says, clinking her glass to mine. I watch as her lips touch the cold glass, the liquid pouring over her tongue. “Dang. You’re even a good bartender. What can’t you do?”
My feelings for Emily are deeper than anything I’ve ever felt with a woman. They’re real and deep and totally fucking complicated because of my family. How can I ask her to be a part of such an ugly world, where siblings actually despise each other? Her family loves her, wants the best for her with no strings attached. If I did what I wanted to do—and what I want to do I can hardly admit to myself—and married this woman, what kind of life would I be bringing her into? Her mother is right—I can’t give her what she needs. She deserves someone better, who can be there for her at all times, not when my schedule allows.
“Come here,” I say. She moves close, facing me. I rest my forehead against hers. “My mind is tangled,” I say. I run my fingers along the smooth lines of her jaw.
Emily touches my chest, her hand gently rubbing right over my heart. “I know,” she says. “But it’s okay. I feel tangled too.”
“I’ve never felt this way before, Emily.”
“Neither have I,” she says, so quietly it’s almost a whisper. “It’s a little scary, isn’t it?”
I can’t admit that out loud so I nod into her, our foreheads still together as if our thoughts are melding into each other, words not necessary.
Her lips look as plump and kissable as ever. I run my thumb over her bottom lip, so pliable under my touch.
“I’m sorry about my family,” she says.
“Don’t be,” I say, concentrating on her lips as she forms the words.
“They’re just protective. They mean well.”
“I know.” I gently kiss her, my fingers caressing her cheeks.
“If you ever want to talk about your family, I’m here,” she continues, her voice as soft on her skin. I continue my kisses down on her neck. “You can tell me anything, Jackson.”
I pull back and look at her. “I know.”
And I do—I can tell her anything. I can tell her that I am in love with her, because I am. I can tell her that she makes me crazy happy, because it’s true. I can tell her that I want to marry her and that I want to be with her always. Forever.
But I could never tell her about my father’s wishes, or that beating my brothers to the altar and the top of the company is something I feel the need to do. It’s beyond crass. I want Emily for who she is, how she makes me feel, and for who we are together. Nothing else matters.
I kiss her, her mouth opening up to me as my tongue finds hers. I drink her in. She moves her body closer to mine, pressing her breasts against my chest. I love this woman, and knowing that this mouth will be the only one I’ll kiss for the rest of my life makes me need her even more.
My hands roam across her stomach and up to her breast; I hold it gently, rubbing my thumb over her nipple, hard through all the fabric. Her heavy breathing and the want in her eyes makes me even harder—and then she takes off her blouse for me, showing me those luscious tits of hers, and I can’t help but bury my face in the them. She holds my head close to her chest as I kiss across those gorgeous mounds, kneading and licking until she reaches behind her and unclasps her bra. I take her bare breasts into my hands. I groan as I take her hard pink nipple in my mouth, working it with my tongue and gentle pulls of my teeth as she arches into me, her hands grasping for the edges of my shirt. I pull it off for her and watch her. She’s seen me shirtless plenty of times but each time I swear it’s like the first moment. Her hands skim across me, her touch so delicate.
I pull her close to me, our bare chests together as our tongues find each other again. Her hands on my skin, slipping down my abs, makes my head spin. When she reaches for my pants, I’m ready to give in to her. She can have me. She can have whatever she wants.
I let her strip me down to my boxer briefs, my dick so hard it’s practically pulsing. She runs her hand over it, so slowly that I swear I’m going to come right there. I start pulling at her skirt desperate to get every piece of clothing off her sumptuous body. She stands before me, her tits full and ripe with her hard nipples. I rest my hands on her hips and look up into her eyes. She unzips the skirt and lets it fall to the floor. Before I can say, Everything, wanting her to take even those tiny white lace panties off her body, she’s hooking her thumbs into the edge of the fabric and pulls them down. Emily stands before me completely naked, a sight so beautiful it hurts my heart. I cover her stomach in kisses as she sucks in for air, her arms wrapped around my head.
I dip my head just enough to kiss her mound, loving the way her body reacts—her stomach sucks in, her hips push slightly toward me, her hands hold tight for the ride she knows I’ll give her. I could live down here at her pussy; I can’t
get enough. As my tongue reaches in for the wetness that awaits me, Emily moans and digs her hands in my hair like she always does.
“God, you are so good to me,” she says, her hips moving gently in my hands. Her words and her satisfaction only make me want to give her more. I flick my tongue at her clit as her moans fill my head. She’s leaning more into me, so I wrap my arms around her ass and pull her up on the couch with me so that my head is back and she’s straddling my face.
“Work me however you want,” I tell her. I dig my fingers into the plush cushion of her ass. “Fuck my face.”
She places her wet cunt right on my mouth, moving her hips down as I work her pussy with my tongue, her hips slowly circling and pushing on me. It’s so fucking hot how much she wants it. She went from a shy woman who was too timid to tell me what she wanted to this vixen who has no problem showing me what she wants and how. How is it possible that she keeps getting sexier and sexier?
As I increase the speed and thrust of my tongue her hips rock harder, pushing against my mouth and chin as I take as much of her as I can. Her moans become louder, her breath shaper, and she doesn’t even have to tell me she’s close. I know from her sounds. Her cunt clenches and I lick her up, holding her tight until the very last spasm.
In her haze she slowly slides down my body and I kiss every inch of her as she goes. Lucky for me she lands straddling me.
“You don’t think I'm done with you yet, do you?” I say.
“You better not be.”
I capture her mouth, letting her taste herself. She grinds down on me, my cock straining through the thin fabric. “You know,” she says, “I think we’re slowly making our way through all these rooms.”
“There’s still at least ten to go,” I say.
“Hmm,” she purrs. “I’m game if you are.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” I say.
She cups her tit in her hand and offers it up to me; I more than willingly take it in my mouth.
Emily reaches down between us for my dick, rubbing her hand over it. She’s already eager for more. I flip her onto her back on the couch as I take off the remaining bits of fabric from my body. She sits up and reaches for me, her hands covering me so quickly until my dick is in her hand, stroking me. My eyes fall shut and I feel the warm wetness of her mouth on me, making me catch my breath. She dips her head up and down, positively slobbering all over my cock, soaking it, making me want to spray down her throat in two seconds flat. But I have to give her more. She sucks on my dick then pulls back and pumps me with her hand, and there is nothing gentle about it. She is pure sex.
