Contractual

by Alice Montalvo-Tribue

  I take the elevator down four floors and get off, walking down the long narrow corridor until I reach the room I’m looking for. I bang on the door and say a silent prayer for patience while I wait. The door opens and there stands the main reason for my less than stellar fucking mood.

  “Camille.” I call her with the disdain that she deserves.

  “Mother,” she corrects me.

  “No, I’m pretty sure that you don’t have a motherly bone in your body.” I crowd the door, giving her no choice but to back up and allow me entrance.

  “Must you always throw the past in my face, Jack?”

  “It’s Jackson.”

  “Whatever.”

  “What the fuck are you doing here?”

  “You knew that I was going to be here, Jackson. You funded my trip yourself.”

  “Nooo,” I say dragging out the word. “I funded a trip to Marco Island with your girlfriends, which is four hours away.”

  “I went and then I heard you’d be here and thought I’d take a little detour to see my son. We live in the same city, for goodness’ sake, and you never let me see you.”

  “You know, antagonizing the person who pays for your existence is not the wisest thing you’ve ever done.”

  “I’m not trying to antagonize you.”

  “You crashed a business dinner and made a spectacle of yourself.”

  “I merely hugged my son. How is that so scandalous?”

  “You weren’t invited.”

  “What’s so wrong about trying to rebuild a relationship with you? Who can fault me for that?”

  “You need to stop pushing this; I am not interested in a happy little family reunion with you. If you’d like me to continue paying your rent and keeping you in the lifestyle in which you’ve become accustomed to, I suggest you let. It. Go.”

  “I see. If that’s how you really feel.”

  “That’s how I really fucking feel. Get it through your head so that we can avoid little meetings like this one.”

  She nods her head in defeat, but I can see through the act of sadness that she puts on. She couldn’t care less about me; she only cares about my money.

  “Mac will be here in thirty minutes to take you to the airport where my plane will be waiting to take you home.”

  I don’t wait for a reply. I leave her room, slamming the door as I go and head down to the bar. I need at least one drink before I can go back and deal with Sage. Why would she think that I was too embarrassed to take her to the dinner tonight? I’ve been going to these things alone for so long that I was just trying to protect her from the grilling she would get from all the nosy hens who would, without fail, swarm her for information. I never thought that she would actually think that I didn’t want her there because I was ashamed.

  Seeing her with Charlie sparked something in me that I’ve never experienced before. I’m going to go out on a limb and call it jealousy. These escort/client boundaries that we’re supposed to adhere to are becoming more and more blurred. I refuse to concern myself with why it’s happening or what the outcome will be, but my stance on relationships has not changed. I do not have the time or the desire to involve myself in something other than casual encounters.

  That being said, I shouldn’t have overreacted the way that I did. She was afraid that she would embarrass me, when really, she was the one who should have been embarrassed after my scene at the bar. I should have talked to her calmly and explained my problem with her being anywhere near Charlie. What I couldn’t tell her was that the real reason behind my mood stemmed from an unwanted visit from my mother.

  Sage-

  The door opening and then closing again wakes me up. I know it’s Jackson, it has to be. He never came back after storming out before, and that was hours ago. The shuffling of feet tells me that he’s in the bedroom now. I close my eyes and pretend to be asleep. I can’t handle another confrontation with him tonight because it takes too much out of me. The bed depresses and he’s under the covers with me. I do my best to steady my breath, to remain still even though my entire body is filled with tension.

  Jackson catches me off guard when his heavy arm comes down around my waist, and he pulls me back until we’re spooning. He holds onto me tightly, and his lips find the perfect spot on my neck where he places a soft kiss.

  “I’m sorry, Sage.”

  I let out a sigh and try to relax my body. “I’m just not sure what I did wrong.”

  “Nothing,” he answers, using his hand on my belly to push me onto my back. He positions himself over me so that we’re face to face. I’m taken aback by the look of anguish on his face, a look I’ve never seen from him before. With his free hand, he pushes a few strands of hair off my face then traces my lower lip with his thumb. “You didn’t do anything wrong. I jumped to conclusions, and that’s my fault, not yours. It seems like I’m making a habit of having to apologize to you.”

  “It’s okay,” I tell him because what else am I supposed to say?

  “Is it?” His eyes are warm. He looks at me as though he’s never seen anything like me. With that look, I know exactly how this night is going to end and though the thought excites me, I find that I still don’t feel completely at ease.

  “Yes.”

  “Yes?”

  I nod, and as I do, his hands are on me. Before long, they’re pulling my panties off and spreading my legs wide open.

  “Let me make it up to you.” His lips crash down onto mine. I open my mouth, accepting him in, but as much as I want to, I can’t get into it. I can’t let myself enjoy what’s happening, and it doesn’t take long for him to notice. “What’s wrong?”

  “I just hate this constant power struggle with you.”

  “Sage.”

  “No, Jackson, you have the need to remind me that you hold all the power here. You don’t have to do that, I already know. You know that I know.”

  “I do,” he says in agreement.

  “Then why do you do it?”

  “Because you drive me crazy.”

  I roll my eyes at his lack of an explanation. “Are you going to stop?”

  “I don’t know. I can try. I’m not making any promises, though.”

  “Are you serious?”

  “Yes.” He nods. “Let’s see what happens next time you piss me off.”

  My frustrated sigh turns into somewhat of a grunt when Jackson suddenly flips me, and I end up on top.

  “Take control, baby,” he says in a tone that sends the all familiar rush of heat between my legs.

  “What?”

  “You say that I always need to have the power. Now, I’m giving it to you.”

  “Are you for real?”

  “Don’t get used to it, Sage,” he says, placing his hands behind his head. “Have at it.”

  I’m not sure where to begin, but I’m excited at the thought of touching him. When we have sex, he’s always in control. He always takes the lead, and that doesn’t leave a lot of opportunity for me to explore. I decide to start with the basics, leaning down and placing a kiss on his lips that quickly goes from innocent to passionate in a matter of seconds. I can feel the tension in his arms—he wants to move them, touch me, take control in some type of way—but he keeps them pinned behind his head nevertheless.

  My hands begin to explore, moving from their spot on his shoulders, and familiarizing themselves with his chest. I begin to trail kisses down his chin, neck, and chest, following the trail of my hands with my mouth. Jackson takes a deep breath as I press my lips just above the waist of his boxer briefs. I give them a tug, and Jackson helps me out by lifting up so that I can pull them down and off his legs completely. I toss them on the ground quickly before I take notice of his cock, which is evidently ready for me.

  I glance from it to him, our eyes meeting, and I see a lust in his that mirrors my own. Without breaking eye contact, I wrap my hand around his shaft and squeeze it just hard enough to cause a sharp intake of breath from him. My movements start to bec
ome less hesitant, I become more sure of the power he’s now given me. I stop planning my next move in my head and let myself go with the flow and enjoy the moment. Parting my lips, I take the head of his cock into my mouth and swirl my tongue tasting the saltiness of it.

  “Fuck, Sage, don’t tease me.” It’s a command, but it sounds more like a plea, and I take that as my cue to give him more. I take his length into my mouth, close my lips around him, and begin to move. I relax my throat, trying to take in as much of him as I can and use my hand around the base to create one fluid motion. I find my rhythm, and before long, I can hear Jackson’s breath start to become more and more ragged. If I keep at it, I know that it won’t take long for him to come. I take one last pull before releasing my hold on him. I glance up and Jackson’s eyes are on me, taking in everything yet doing nothing to take back control. The power that he’s given me means more than he’ll ever know.

  I push myself up to pull my nightie up and over my head wanting to be naked so that I can feel the skin-to-skin connection I crave. I straddle him, positioning myself in the perfect spot. I bend over and put my lips to his for one more kiss before taking his length in my hand and guiding it so that the tip is directly at my entrance. I keep eye contact as I slowly lower myself onto him, wanting him to see the desire in my eyes and needing to witness the pleasure I’m giving him.

  “Oh, my God,” I moan, loving the feel of him from this angle. I use my hands on his chest to steady myself, and when I’m comfortable, I begin to move. Riding him slowly at first, I increase the rhythm as the sensations start to take over. As much as I love this, love the control he’s allowed me to have, I need more from him, need a connection that will make it even more perfect.

  “Touch me, Jackson,” I cry, growing more and more frantic for relief. He doesn’t make me wait; I throw my head back when his hands find my breasts and squeeze. “Yes,” I say, getting closer with every passing moment. He begins to rock his hips, meeting my pace each time.

  “Fuck, hurry, I’m going to come,” he calls, prompting me to reach for my release. I push down, lowering my torso so that I can kiss him again. Our lips collide, his hands slide down and grab hold of my waist, and I’m done. My body convulses as I’m thrown over the edge, shattering into a million tiny pieces. I barely register his grip on my waist tightening as he reaches his release, too.

  Spent, I collapse on top of Jackson. He runs his hand through my hair and along my spine. His touch is heaven, and with each stroke of his hand, I melt further and further into him until he grabs hold and positions me so that my head is now resting on his chest.

  “You’ll have to take control more often, Sage. That was amazing.”

  “Mmmm,” is all I can muster up in response. I settle into his side, exhausted from a day of ups and downs, and start to drift off. “Thank you,” I say to Jackson right before closing my eyes.

  “Shh, sleep, baby,” I think I hear him say right before I dose off into a dreamless sleep.

  Sage-

  Since our weekend away, things between Jackson and I have settled. He has fewer of his power struggles, and every once in a while, he allows me to take control in the bedroom. We’ve obtained a deeper level of comfort between us that wasn’t there before. Though I’m still constantly searching for new jobs, I haven’t had any luck, and in the meantime, I’m learning to come to terms with my current situation. I have to remind myself at times that it’s not permanent and that sooner or later, I will be able to move on from this. Until then, I’m grateful that it’s only Jackson I have to be with and not a number of men.

  I feel like I’ve come down with a bug of some sort, and I probably should have canceled, but I need the money and I know Jackson wouldn’t like it. I’m early getting to the hotel tonight. I let myself into the room and throw my coat and purse down on the nearest chair. Jackson is nowhere to be found, and I’m finding it hard to stay on my feet. I walk into the bedroom, toe off my heels, and get in the bed. I figure I could just rest until Jackson gets here. Maybe then, I’ll feel better.

  My skin tingles at the feel of my chest and neck peppered with kisses. My eyes flutter open to a dark room, but I know Jackson’s with me. Another kiss on my neck garners a small moan from me, and my hands instinctively find my way into his hair.

  “Good evening, Miss Turner.”

  “Good evening, Mr. Stone.” Even sick, he can make me feel amazing. His lips land on my forehead placing a gentle kiss there, followed by my nose, and I know my lips are next. I push him gently with my hands letting him know that I need him to stop.

  “No. No kissing tonight.”

  “Excuse me?” he asks his body becoming rigid above mine. He’s not used to me refusing him, not since we first met. “Why not?”

  “I don’t want to get you sick.”

  He reaches over me and turns on the lamp on the nightstand carefully inspecting me for signs of illness. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.” I throw my head back on the pillow and let out an exhausted sigh. “I just have a little bit of a cold is all.”

  He looks at me, and his eyes flash. I don’t know exactly what it is, but if I didn’t know any better, I’d think it was a genuine concern. “You look pale, Sage,” he says, bringing his hand up to my forehead. “Shit, you’re burning up. Why didn’t you stay home in bed?”

  “Because I was supposed to be here, Jackson.”

  He stares at me as though I’ve just uttered the most ridiculous statement. “You could have called and canceled. I would have understood.”

  “Really?” I say my voice full of sarcasm.

  “Once I heard you were sick, yes. I would have understood.”

  “You don’t come across as the understanding type,” I joke, trying to lighten the mood. I’m not sure why he’s overreacting about this.

  He sits up, throwing his legs over the edge of the bed and grabbing his cell phone off the nightstand. His frown on his face deepens. “Did you see a doctor?”

  “For what, a cold? I don’t have insurance anymore, and I can’t afford to spend hundreds of dollars on a doctor who’s just going to tell me to get some rest.”

  “Come on.”

  “Where are we going?” I question sitting up in the bed.

  He picks up his phone with one hand and holds the other one up, indicating that I should give him a moment. “Mac? Bring the car around. Call Peter Travers and tell him that I’m bringing someone by.” He ends the call, stuffs the phone in his suit jacket, and pulls me to my feet.

  “Put your shoes on.” I do as he asks only because I don’t have it in me to argue. I’m too exhausted to do battle with him right now. I follow him out to the main area of the hotel suite, where he picks up my coat and wraps it around me. He grabs my purse and leads me out of the room and into the elevator.

  My chest feels tighter now, and I do my best to smother a cough. “Jackson, where are we going?”

  “Doctor.”

  “Jackson,” I breathe. “I just told you.”

  “I’ve got it covered, Sage.”

  I know he’s saying that he will take care of everything, handle whatever medical bill arises, but my pride won’t allow me to accept that from him. “I don’t want your charity. I can take care of myself.”

  His eyes flicker with anger though I can tell that he’s trying to keep it under control. He leans against the elevator wall, arms crossed over his chest, and slowly nods. “Yes, you’re doing a wonderful fucking job of taking care of yourself.”

  “What is that supposed to mean?” I question unable to hide the hurt in my voice.

  “Not a damn thing.”

  “What? I’m doing such a great job taking care of myself that I’ve turned to selling my body? Is that what you’re getting at?”

  “That’s your hang up, sweetheart. Not mine.”

  “Fuck you, Jackson,” I spit out not caring that he has the power to get me fired. Not that this is a real job, anyway. I’d hardly call screwing his brains out fo
r money an honest day’s work.

  “I think we’ve established that that’s what you do.”

  His words hit me like a slap in the face. I know it’s what he thinks of me, clearly it’s what I think of myself, but to actually hear him verbalize it is a totally different kind of hell. I’m hurt, truly hurt, by his words, but I try not to let it show. I refuse to give him the satisfaction of seeing how he’s affected me.

  “Nice way to talk to a sick person.” I can’t help the hint of sarcasm in my voice. It’s a defense mechanism, the only way I have at my disposal of masking the hurt in my voice.

  “Being sick doesn’t give you the right to be insubordinate.”

  “I’m not your employee,” I huff, hands on hips in my most defiant stance.

  “What are you then, Sage? You’re sure as shit not my little woman.”

  Again, his words sting. I’m not naïve enough to think that Jackson and I would ever be something real, but at the very least, I thought we had a mutual respect for one another. I know now that he’s still the same asshole I met all those weeks ago. Again, I cover up my true feelings with a sassy remark.

  “Thank God. You aren’t exactly the ideal dream man.”

  I see a ghost of a smile creep up onto his lips, and I take that as a sign that the tension in the elevator is dissipating. He grabs hold of my hand and pulls me out of the elevator. I follow closely behind as he leads me through the hotel lobby and into an awaiting car. I lay my head back against my seat and close my eyes. It doesn’t take long before I’m drifting off again. Just as I fall asleep, a fit of coughs hits me and I lose my breath. Jackson gives me a gentle pat on the back before handing me a bottle of water.

  “Here, drink this. It’ll help.”

  The water does the trick, helping the cough subside just as we come to a stop. I’m quickly ushered out of the car and into a small private medical facility. The office is empty and eerily quiet when we walk in. I look around and tug at Jackson’s hand before coming to a stop.