by Hannah Ford
“I’m going to come,” she says.
“Yes,” I tell her.
We explode into each other, Emily crying out as I unload into her again. I pull her body close, breasts again my face as we finish, panting, dizzy, ecstatic.
“Jesus Christ, Emily,” I say. “What are you doing to me? You make me absolutely insane.”
We spend the night wrapped in each other’s limbs, caressing each other’s skin, kissing each other’s lips. I start a fire in the bedroom and the glow and warmth of it makes the night even more incredible. I love watching Emily’s eyes get lost in the flames.
We make love again before morning. The more we explore each other, the less shy Emily becomes and it’s such a turn on. When her hand is on my dick, I can’t think straight. If it’s ever in her mouth—and God I hope it will be—I don’t know if I’ll be able to handle it. For now, though, all I care about is pleasing her. That makes me plenty satisfied.
“You are making me absolutely crazy,” I tell Emily in the morning, holding her gaze. “You’ve got my mind in disarray and my heart pleading for more. Not to mention my body…”
“You’re doing the same to me,” she says.
“So what should we do? Spend every second together?” If I could swing it, I would do it. Believe me.
“I don’t know,” Emily says. “I’ve never really been in a relationship before.”
“Is that what this is? A relationship?”
“Do you want it to be?”
She’s not looking at me, and I can feel the hopefulness in her words. I don’t know what I want from Emily, but I want her, all the time.
“I don’t want to disappoint you,” I tell her. “I’ve never really been a relationship guy.”
She snuggles closer. “We’ll figure it out. No pressure.”
“No pressure,” I echo.
When we do say goodbye later the next day, I feel closer to her than ever, but also unsure of where it’s all going. I feel more strongly about Emily than I have about any woman in my life. Clearly, being with Emily—forever—would fit nicely into my father’s demands of becoming a family man and I could take command of Croft International as I was born to do.
Still, I’m leery of rushing the relationship. I don’t want to push Emily and frankly, I don’t know if I could be the man she needs me to be. Work has been my whole life. Now I’d almost give it all away to spend every waking moment with her. The worst thing I could do would be to use her. I won’t do that to her. So I forget about the will and Father’s demands and do as Emily says—figure it out. I don’t know when or how or what will happen, but for now I intend to enjoy simply being with her.
Emily
He’s got my head absolutely spinning.
Every moment with Jackson feels like the first drop of roller coaster—exhilarating and dangerous. When I’m with him all I want to do is touch him. When touch him I want to be closer to him, and when we’re not together I can hardly get him out of my mind. I am addicted.
I’m trying to concentrate on school and work and keep my head out of the proverbial clouds. It’s not easy.
The week after the luncheon, Brent wasn’t teaching. Professor Stanwick mentioned Brent was ill, and although I didn’t want the guy to be sick I was glad not to have to see him. I wasn’t sure how he would act after what happened. I figured he was embarrassed that he got pushy with me, and having someone as powerful—physically and otherwise—as Jackson put him in his place probably didn’t help his ego.
When Brent finally came back to class, I’d been so in my own world of Jackson that I hardly noticed him, although I did think he was a bit icy to me when I asked a question about his lecture. I still didn’t think much of him even when Natalie told me after class something he said when she ran into him at a café.
“I asked him how the luncheon had gone,” Natalie explained. “And he said, ‘Why? What’d Emily say?’ I told him I hadn’t even talked to you yet and he said, ‘She better keep quiet unless she wants her shit to come out.’ I was like, oh-kaaay.”
At first I thought, Whoa. Why so aggressive? But I didn’t tell Natalie the whole story. I honestly didn’t want to embarrass Brent. I still thought he was a nice guy—always a nice guy—who had a little crush on me but who wouldn’t stand a chance against Jackson Croft in anyway, from looks to intelligence to downright sexiness.
Today is a work day, not a class day. Some days are both but today I go into the office for a full day.
I’m eating a late lunch at my desk—salad in a Tupperware bowl—when I get a text from Jackson.
You won’t believe this. I have a free hour. Meet me for lunch?
He suggests a restaurant in Faneuil Hall that’s sort of between our offices.
I look at my salad, mostly eaten. I look at the clock—it’s one-thirty. It’s a little strange to take lunch so late but we’re not exactly punching in here. And of course I want to see Jackson. I haven’t seen him in so long—thirteen hours, at least. I went to his place last night when he finally got home from the office. I spent the night, and found a room in his house that I don’t think he knew existed. I teased him that there was probably a small family living somewhere in that doublewide that he had no idea about.
Not hungry but will definitely go to see you.
I toss out the rest of my salad, grab my jacket, and go out to meet Jackson. There might even be a little skip in my step.
It’s almost three by the time I get back to the office. I’m pretty sure neither of us wanted to separate so we stayed in the horseshoe booth of the restaurant, sitting close so that we were always touching. We talked as he played with my fingers, brushed my hair behind my shoulder, or gave me quick kisses on my cheek. I kept my hand on his strong thigh, squeezing it sometimes or running my hand up high, watching him take in a quick breath. We didn’t pull ourselves away to leave until the waiter asked, for the third time, if there was anything else he could get us.
When I walk back into the office I am floating.
“Where have you been?” Jules asks once I’m back at my desk.
“Oh, hey,” I say, startled. I’d been staring blankly at my email. “I took a late lunch.”
Jules leans on the doorway of my cubicle and crosses her arms. “Some people are saying you’ve been seeing Jackson Croft. Is that true?”
My defenses shoot up. Who is talking about me and why is it their business?
“Yes,” I say. “We’re…kind of seeing each other.” The truth is, I haven’t talked to anyone about him. I’ve been keeping the relationship close and private because I don’t know what it’s going to become and frankly, I don’t want to jinx it.
“Is it serious?” Jules asks. “Emily, I’m not just asking as your boss. I’m also asking as your friend.”
The way she’s looking at me makes me uncomfortable. This feels very much like a Serious Talk, and I’m not prepared to talk to anyone about Jackson.
I choose my words carefully. “I’m not sure. We’re spending time together.”
She nods. “Then as your boss, I need to tell you that you’re in a gray area by dating someone who donates to our organization. It’s not exactly against protocol but it could be seen as…unsavory. As your friend,” she continues, “I want to tell you to be careful, Emily. Jackson Croft is a whole different league of man. It’s not just his money or the family he comes from, although those things do matter, even if you don’t think they do. You might be having fun now, but remember to protect your heart. When things turn south, don’t expect him to be the sweet, dashing guy he’s probably being now. You’re innocent when it comes to guys, Emily. I just don’t want to see you get hurt.”
“I won’t,” I say. “It’s not like that. It’s…we’re just hanging out.”
She nods, but I can see that she knows better. “Okay. Just be careful. That’s all I’m saying.”
Jules leaves me rattled. I didn’t think about what people did or didn’t know about Jackson and me. I didn�
�t think I cared. I only cared about seeing him, being together with him. Now I think back to what Natalie told after class, that Brent told her that “my shit” might come out. Did he mean Jackson? Did Brent get word to CEF that I was seeing him? It’s not like I’ve been secretive about Jackson, and I never thought I was doing anything wrong—I still don’t. Now I feel on alert, but for what I’m not quite sure.
In class the next day, Brent is on a rampage. He holds up a paper we had to do and that he’s about to hand back.
“This is an example of what not to do,” he says. He doesn’t say whose paper it is, but he reads portions of it and it’s clear it’s mine. And everyone knows it’s mine because it uses the Children’s Education Fund as an example and everyone knows that’s where I work part-time. “Come on, people. You’re better than this. This is laziness. Make real arguments and site credible sources. You’re graduate students at Boston University. This isn’t some online college. We have a reputation. And if you’re more interested in your social life and who’s taking you out to expensive dinners than your work, you might want to reassess whether or not you even deserve to be in this program.”
And then, if there had been any doubt as to whose paper he was massacring, he took that same paper, held it out before him and said, “Emily Brown.” I had to walk across the entire class and take that D paper from him.
When I went back to my desk, Natalie leaned over and said, “What the hell?” Even Winston, a guy who usually sits in front of me, turned around and said, “What’d you do to piss him off?”
I hold my hands up. “Nothing!”
I decide I should say something to Brent. The truth is I haven’t really spoken to him since the luncheon, and that’s probably cowardly of me. He did take me on what I now know was a date—in his mind—and I left with someone else. I actually thought about dating him at one point. Boring, safe Brent.
When class ends I linger as students file out.
“Want me to wait for you?” Natalie asks.
“No, it’s okay. Thanks.”
She squeezes my arm. “Let me know if you need anything.”
When the last of the students have gone, Brent shoves some papers in his canvas satchel and starts to leave, like he’s in a hurry. Can’t wait to get away from me, apparently.
“Brent? Can I talk to you for a second?”
“Grades are final. And approved by Professor Stanwick.” He won’t look at me.
“It’s not about the paper,” I say, although I should fight for a better grade. I’ve never written a D paper in my life. For now, though, I decide to talk to him like an adult, and also look over my paper carefully later so that I can see if what I did was maybe worse than I thought. I have been distracted lately. “I just wanted to see if everything is okay. Between us, I mean. We haven’t really spoken since the luncheon and I feel bad about how it ended.”
He chuckles. “I highly doubt you feel bad about how that day ended. Seems like you upgraded your date the first chance you got.”
“Brent,” I begin. “That’s not how it was. I did get a little nervous when you tried to kiss me.” My face is burning and my insides are in complete turmoil. I do not want to be having this discussion but if I can clear things up from that one afternoon, the rest of the semester will hopefully go smooth. “I guess I was a little taken aback. I didn’t know things were going to get so out of hand.”
“You mean with your bodyguard boyfriend?”
Without thinking—and sounding like a kid—I say, “He’s not my boyfriend.”
“God,” Brent says. “That’s even worse. What are you even getting out of that?”
I don’t intend to talk to Brent about Jackson so I try to steer things back on course. “Look, I came up here to say I’m sorry about whatever happened at the luncheon. I don’t want things to be tense between us. I just want to move forward. Professionally.”
He zips up his bag, his eyes on me like he’s carefully preparing what he’s about to say. I brace myself. “You know, Emily,” he begins in an overly casual tone of voice, and I know it’s going to be bad. “I never took you for a social climber. Trying to claw your way out of the middle class and into a Stepford wife? I’m not sure the bosses over at CEF would like it too much knowing one of their employees was dating their biggest donor. Makes things a little complicated, don’t you think? Do you two have an arrangement? You sleep with him and he gives you money? I mean, money for the fund. Right”
“So it was you who told them I was seeing Jackson,” I say, surprised even though I shouldn’t be. I’m totally disgusted at what he just said to me. “Jules knows. You didn’t get me in trouble. And I’m not clawing my way to anything. What I do in my private life is none of your business. I wish you could separate that from class and not try to take some petty anger of yours out on my papers.”
“Look, I don’t know if you went to that lunch with me so that you could gain favor in class,” he says, “but it doesn’t work like that. I treat everyone in class the same. If you can’t handle getting a better grade then I suggest you think about what you’re even doing in this program.” He moves toward the door. “I have office hours. And Emily? Maybe you should really look at yourself and what you’re doing. Don’t try to blame others for your shortcomings. It’s not professional.”
With that he leaves the classroom. I’m stunned. I never would have guessed that Brent Fuller would turn into such a world-class dick.
He’s not worth the drama. I decide to put him out of my mind, and just be more careful in class.
A few days later I have a brilliant plan—it’s a risky plan but I think it’ll work out.
I’m at Jackson’s, lying on a couch in his office reading a book while he does some work at his desk. When I tell him how comfortable the couch is—it’s super soft and plush—he admits he’s never even sat on it. I groan and tell him for the thousandth time how wasteful he is. He doesn’t seem to mind my teasing, but he also doesn’t seem interested in downsizing. I think he’s too used to big spaces.
“Hey, Jackson?” I say. I’m nervous about asking him, but my dad used to say, “The worst they can say is no.” They’re the same words I used when I marched into Jackson’s office that first day. All he could say was no to donating, and after that nothing mattered. Except that after that, everything with him mattered.
“Yes?” he says, not looking up.
“Feel free to say no,” I begin, “but would you want to go with me out to Lexington this Sunday for brunch? With my family?” I’ve mentioned the Sunday morning brunches to him before, and he knows I haven’t been to one since we started seeing each other.
He stops what he’s doing and looks across the room at me. “First of all, I always feel free to say no. Second, my goal in life is to never say no to you.” I grin, feeling all butterfly-ey. “Third, yes. I will go to brunch at your parent’s place this weekend. In fact, I’d love to.”
“Really?” He nods. I jump up and run toward him, wrapping my arms around his neck and covering his face with kisses as he laughs. “Thank you! They’re going to love you, I know it.”
We don’t talk about what this means for our relationship. These things still go unsaid. It’s fine, I tell myself. Even though we don’t say the words, I know that Jackson feels the same way about me as I do about him. I can feel it in the way he looks at me, how he touches me with both passion and warmth. And now, by the fact that he wants to meet my family. This may be my first relationship, but I know what that means.
It means things are serious. And I am seriously excited about the future.
Jackson
I’ve met other women’s parents before, but usually at a wedding or some sort of reception or other work-related event. Normally when I meet the parents it’s because our families are already connected in some way through business. In many ways, meeting the parents is just another business connection to make.
Meeting Emily’s parent’s is none of those things. It’s somethi
ng I truly want to do. I want to know more about her family.
Emily has big plans for the weekend. She doesn’t just want to get in the car Sunday morning and drive out to Lexington. “Let’s go out Saturday night,” she says, “and I get to choose the place. And I get to pay!”
I laugh. She’s sitting on my lap in my office, having just asked if I would go to the brunch this weekend. “You can choose the place,” I tell her. “But I can’t let you pay.”
“Jackson, I have a job,” she tells me.
“Part time,” I clarify.
“I still have money,” she says. “I’m not destitute. I can afford to take you out for pizza.”
“So we’re going for pizza?”
“I’ve said too much!” she says, and she’s just so damn cute. Her excitement is contagious, and the weekend can’t get here fast enough.
On Saturday, Emily insists on meeting me at my house but says I will still have the chance to be a gentleman by taking her home later.
“Now you’ve got me thinking about getting you home,” I tell her as I kiss her neck in the cool night air. She laughs and squirms away from me.
Emily directs the cab driver to a place in the South End. A pizza place.
“Just wait,” she tells me, her eyes sparkling as she takes my hand and leads me inside. “This is the best pizza you’ll ever have in your life.”
“I have to tell you,” I say, “that I have had pizza in Naples.”
She slaps my chest. “Don’t ruin it before it begins!”
I take her hand and kiss her fingers.
The place is small with distressed wooden booths and little round tables. The walls are red and look like they’ve been painted over a hundred times. It’s slightly dark and Italian folk music is playing on the overhead speakers. The small space is warmed up from the brick oven behind the counter.
“It certainly smells good,” I say, because it does. I can tell already that good fresh ingredients are used.
We take a small table near the back—the more I can get Emily alone, even in public, the better. Although the table is so small I don’t know how a pizza pie will ever fit on it. We’re so crammed into our seats that I can keep hold of her hands in mine under the table. Bonus? Despite the feel of fall outside, Emily is wearing a skirt, some fluttering thing that I can scoot up higher on her thigh beneath the table, if I so choose. Which I will. Soon enough.
