Contractual

by Alice Montalvo-Tribue

  I get out of the bed and head to the bathroom, figuring the sooner I get up, the sooner I can find Jackson. I’m grateful that he’s not here when I look in the mirror and see the unfortunate case of bedhead that I’ve caught. I quickly use the bathroom, brush my teeth, and run a comb through my hair working through all of the tangles until it once again looks presentable.

  Once I’m satisfied with my appearance, I go out in search of Jackson. I remember him telling me that his office was downstairs, so I figure I’ll start there. The smell of bacon as I walk down the stairs makes my appetite perk up; the doorbell rings as I reach the bottom of the stairs and I stop, thinking it would be best for me to go upstairs and change into actual clothes before some stranger sees me traipsing around in just a T-shirt. As I’m about to turn around, I spot Jackson as he reaches the front door. He opens it up and there stands the beautiful blonde who almost ran into me getting on the elevator that time I was at Jackson’s office.

  “Hello, darling. I called your office and they said you weren’t in.”

  “Cecily, this is really not a good time.”

  I want to move, want to run upstairs and hide out until the coast is clear. I know that I shouldn’t be here eavesdropping, but I’m rooted in my position. Her ease around him makes my blood boil. The way she calls him darling alludes to a level of intimacy that I will never get with him.

  She rolls her eyes and pushes past him, gaining entrance into the apartment. “When is it ever a good time for you?” she questions sarcastically.

  “Yes, well, this is an especially bad time.”

  “Come on, I wanted to see you. You haven’t called me in so long, it’s like you fell off the face of the earth.”

  “I’ve been busy,” he responds shortly.

  This is wrong. I shouldn’t be listening to this because it’s really none of my business what the parameters of their relationship are. I turn to head back upstairs, but luck isn’t on my side yet again.

  “Who in the hell is this?” the blonde asks in a snarl. Cecily, I think he said was her name. I stop dead in my tracks at the sound of her voice and turn around to see both of their eyes on me—his with a twinge of humor and hers with a mixture of shock, anger, and disgust.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you had company,” I say trying not to stutter. I jerk my thumb back toward the stairs, signaling my hopeful departure. “I’m just going to head back up…”

  “Come here, Sage,” he calls grounding me. It’s a command; I know it is, and for some strange reason, I want to obey. The thought of her seeing me like this, half-naked in his shirt, excites me. I falter for a moment under the heat of her glare, but I recover quickly and walk over to Jackson, stopping when I reach his side. He reaches out, wrapping his arm around my waist and pulling me into him. He places a kiss on the top of my head for good measure.

  “Cecily, this is my girlfriend, Sage. Sage, this is an old friend of mine, Cecily.”

  I give her my best smile as I contemplate his use of the word girlfriend where I’m concerned yet again. Is he trying to torture me?

  “Excuse me?” she practically chokes on the question as she looks between us manically.

  He squeezes my hip, and I look up at him. “Are you feeling better this morning?”

  “A little bit.”

  He gives me a nod. “You look better. I’ll get your medicine for you after breakfast,” he tells me, acting as if we’re the only two people in the room and I was the only thing he cares about. I can practically see the daggers Cecily is no doubt wishing she could throw my way.

  “Okay,” I whisper, finding it so easy to get lost in this act—wishing beyond wishes that he meant it when he called me his girlfriend.

  “You’re always so busy, Jack. How do you ever find time for a girlfriend?” She’s trying to hide her agitation, but she fails. This was the last thing she expected to encounter when she came here this morning.

  “When it’s right, you find the time,” he says with a hint of ire in his voice. She looks stricken by his words. He’s just told her that she isn’t the right woman for him, and I can only imagine how badly that would hurt. I lean further into him and wrap my arms around his waist, letting his scent intoxicate me and the warmth that his arms provide carry me away.

  “Why don’t you go upstairs and get dressed, baby? Breakfast should be done by then.”

  “Okay,” I say, pushing up on my tiptoes and placing a kiss on his lips. If he’s forcing me to leave, I’m at the very least leaving Cecily with a parting gift. Jackson tightens his grip around my waist and deepens the kiss, coaxing my mouth open so that he can slide his tongue inside. I melt into him, liking his performance way better than my own. He breaks the kiss and gives me a tender smile before kissing me on the forehead.

  “Go. I’ll see you in a bit,” he says with a squeeze of my arms.

  “Okay.” I turn one last time to address Cecily. “It was so nice to meet you.”

  She plants a smile on her face. “I’m so happy to have met you, too, Sage,” she says, but her eyes tell a different story. I waste no more time with her. Instead, I do as Jackson asked and head back to his room. I start to shiver again like I did last night, and I assume that my fever has come back. I gather my things and take them in the bathroom hoping that a hot shower will help me feel better.

  The hot water of Jackson’s enormous shower feels good on my tight muscles, water hitting me from every angle imaginable. I close my eyes and lean against the shower wall enjoying every minute of it.

  “You liked that down there, didn’t you?” I open my eyes to a very naked Jackson stepping into the shower.

  “What?” I question watching him reach across me to grab a bar of soap.

  He gives me a cocky grin while he soaps his skin up. “Making Cecily jealous.”

  “Yes. She looked at me like I was a nobody,” I say, snatching the bar of soap from him. I begin to wash his back. “Who is she?”

  “Just as I said, an old friend.”

  “An old friend with benefits?” I probe, already knowing the answer.

  “Yes.”

  “I see.” I finish his back and return the soap to the holder. “Why did you pretend that I was your girlfriend?”

  “Because.” He moves, pushing me into the wall and placing his hands on the wall on either side of my head. I’m caged in, his lips roaming over my exposed skin. “Cecily has a hard time understanding the word no. She doesn’t hear me when I tell her that I don’t want her. She ignores me when I tell her that I’ll never be the man she can settle down with.”

  “Why?”

  He stops his current exploration attempt. “Why?”

  “Yes, why can’t you settle down with her? Is it because she’s not the person you want to spend your life with or is it because you don’t want to settle down with anyone?”

  “I don’t want to discuss this.”

  “I’m sorry. I was just curious.”

  “Why are you curious?”

  “I guess I just don’t understand why, if you have someone like her wanting to be a part of your life, you would be here with someone like me.”

  “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

  “It means that she’s beautiful, she’s obviously wealthy, and you could be with her for free.”

  “Ha. Nothing about being with Cecily would be free, and yes, she’s beautiful, but so are you.” He turns me around, placing my hands above my head against the shower wall. He pushes my hair to the side placing it over my shoulder so that my back is bare.

  “In fact, I think you’re more beautiful, Sage.” He presses his lips to my spine and kisses me while his hands travel down my sides. The tips of his fingers graze my breasts and I drop my head forward resting my forehead against the wall. He reaches around and cups them in his hands, gently squeezing before tweaking my already taut nipples with his fingers. He kisses my shoulder as his hands drop lower, passing over my stomach, skimming my hips, and reaching my thigh
s, using his hands to force my legs open. He cups my sex with one hand, using the other to push me backward so that my ass presses against him. I can feel him getting harder behind me, and I whimper, wanting him just as badly as I always do.

  “You’re still sick. We probably shouldn’t.”

  “Please.”

  “Please what, baby?” he questions, running his middle finger up and down my wet folds. “Hmm?”

  “Fuck me.” I almost don’t recognize myself when I say it.

  “Oh, baby, I like it when you talk dirty to me.” He slaps my ass and then cups it. “Say it again,” he commands.

  “Fuck me.”

  “Say please.”

  “Fuck me, please, Jackson,” I cry, barely finishing before he’s plunging inside of me. I’ll never get tired of this—the feeling of having him inside of me, of being a part of me, of making me feel the way only he can. Sex has never been like this, and I always thought it was me, that I was romanticizing it, making it into something it wasn’t. I forced myself to believe that pleasure from sex was just something that normal people rarely achieved.

  Billy made it seem like I was there to please him, like the sole purpose for us having sex was for him to get off, and my pleasure was just secondary. Jackson is different. After our first time together, he’s made it a point to make sure that I come each and every time, and he does it spectacularly. He knows my body, knows what works, what will set me off, and he does it.

  His finger on my clit as he thrusts in and out of me has me on the edge. I circle my hips, trying to maximize the sensations, trying to get to there because I’m so fucking close. He removes his hand, causing me to whimper out at the loss of it.

  “Jackson,” I cry

  “Not yet.” He wraps his hand around my neck using his grip to pull my head back. “You come with me,” he says, increasing his pace, driving me crazy with each thrust. He returns the pressure on my clit, circling it with a furious intensity that I’m not sure I can handle standing upright.

  “You want to come for me, baby?”

  “Yes,” I cry as he applies more pressure on my clit. I don’t think I can take much more. The urge to collapse in a puddle on the floor is too strong. “Jackson, I can’t.”

  He wraps an arm around my abdomen keeping us connected, holding me up as he continues taking me.

  “I’ve got you,” he says circling my clit one last time, and I’m done. My head falls back on his chest, and I scream through my release as he holds onto me through his.

  I’m spent, barely aware of what’s happening, barely registering that Jackson helps me out of the shower, wraps me in a towel, and carries me back to his bed.

  “That was crazy,” I whisper.

  He chuckles, pulling the covers over me. “You’re still weak. We shouldn’t have done that.” I close my eyes when he kisses my forehead. “I’m going to get your medicine and some breakfast and then you can go back to sleep, okay?”

  “Okay.” I close my eyes, despite his instructions, and fall asleep anyway all the while thinking that every moment I spend here with Jackson is dangerous for my already fragile heart.

  Sage-

  “Can I help you with anything?” I ask Jackson. I’m asking if I can help him with dinner after spending the majority of the day in bed, with him coming in every few hours to feed me and administer medicine. I don’t think anyone has ever gone out of their way to take care of me like that, and to be perfectly honest, it confuses me. The people who call themselves my family, the people who have told me that they loved me, who are supposed to want to take care of me, never have. But this man, who has no real connection to me, saw that I was sick, got me to a doctor, got me the medication I needed, and brought me home with him to take care of me. I’m not even sure what to do with that. One thing’s for sure, he looks pretty sexy chopping vegetables in the kitchen.

  “It’s only pasta, Sage, not a gourmet meal. Sit at the bar and relax.”

  I smile at his bossiness, walk over to the bar, and grab the open bottle of wine, ready to pour myself a glass.

  He stops his chopping and points the knife at me stopping me in motion. “Don’t.”

  “Don’t what?”

  “You’re taking medication. Chasing it down with alcohol is probably not the best way to go.”

  “Right,” I say putting the bottle back on the counter. He nods his approval and goes back to doing his thing in the kitchen.

  “I got you ginger ale,” he says, never looking up at me. “I heard it was good for when you’re sick.”

  For an upset stomach, maybe. For a respiratory infection, not so much, but I’m not about to argue. It’s sweet that he thought of it at all. I settle into my chair and watch how he moves around the kitchen; it’s how he always moves. He’s completely at ease and confident—everything that I’m not, but I wish I was.

  “You didn’t work today.”

  “I worked from home.”

  “You didn’t have to stay home for me.”

  “It’s not a big deal.”

  “I know that I gave you a hard time yesterday about taking me to the doctor and bringing me here, but I just wanted to say thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  “It’s just that I guess I’m not used to anyone going out of their way to help me. I got used to doing what I had to do to take care of myself.”

  “I understand that more than you know. I’m glad I could help.”

  The ringing of a phone interrupts the moment. I glance down at the table where his cell phone sits on the charger and see a name appear on the screen. I bite back the inkling of jealousy that I feel at the sight of a woman’s name. It’s not my right to be jealous.

  “It’s Camille,” I tell him, keeping my voice neutral.

  He stops, glances from me to the phone, then goes back to what he’s doing. “Mmm, leave it. Voicemail will get it.”

  “Another friend?”

  He doesn’t look up, but I can see the side of his mouth tip up in a smile. “No, definitely not a friend. Camille is my mother.”

  “You call your mother Camille?”

  “That’s me being nice. She deserves worse.”

  I want to ask why, probe him for more information because I’m curious as to why he holds such contempt for his own mother, but I get the feeling that he’ll only shut me down. Growing up, I’d come to believe that I had the worst mother imaginable. I know now that’s not the case. I’m certainly not lucky in the mother category, she would never win an award for her warm nature or affectionate personality, but at least she kept me fed, housed, and mostly healthy. It could have been worse. I wonder what his mother did to him that was so bad that he won’t even call her mom.

  “Do you want to eat here or in the dining room?”

  “There’s no need to go through any more trouble. Here’s fine.”

  “First of all, it’s not trouble. Second, I usually eat in here anyway, so that works for me.” He sets a plate in front of me and another one at the place next to mine. I watch as he pours himself another glass of wine then rummages through the refrigerator. I smile when he produces the ginger ale, no doubt for me.

  He takes a seat next to me, and we begin to eat together in silence.

  “I spoke to my landlord. My apartment should have heat now.”

  “Brilliant.”

  “Yes, so I was thinking that maybe Mac could take me home after dinner if you don’t mind. I’d take the subway, but I don’t really want to do that carrying my duffle bag…”

  “No.”

  “No?” I sit up a little straighter in my chair and turn my head to look at him, wondering if I’ve heard him correctly.

  “No. You’re still sick, Sage. You’ll stay the night, and we’ll see how you’re feeling tomorrow.”

  “I’m fine, the medicine’s working.”

  He sets his fork down and turns bodily to me. “I said no.”

  “You don’t own me, Jackson. I can go home if I want to,�
� I assert, my voice escalating with each passing second.

  “I don’t care if I have to throw you over my shoulder, carry you upstairs, and lock you in my room. You. Are. Not. Leaving.”

  He’s absolutely serious. I know that he’ll make good on his promise, and it pisses me the fuck off.

  “Let me get this straight.”

  He rolls his eyes, giving me a frustrated sigh. “Oh God, I can’t wait to hear this.”

  “I’m too sick to go home, but I’m not too sick for you to fuck?”

  “That about sums it up, sweetheart.”

  “How does that make sense?”

  “I did all the work,” he declares, taking a sip of his wine.

  My jaw drops open in utter shock and disbelief.

  “Are you serious?”

  “This conversation is over, Sage. Done.”

  I should fight him, stand up for myself to get what I’m telling him that I want, but the truth is that by telling him that my apartment was ready, I was giving him a way out of keeping me here. I don’t want him to feel obligated to keep me here, especially when it’s safe for me to go home now. The truth is that I don’t want to go home because I like being here with him. I’d take anywhere with him over being home alone. The truth is I don’t fight him because it makes me feel good that he cares, even if only a little bit, and even if it’s only just in the way that you would care for the less fortunate. I’ll take it. I’ll take anything that he gives me because what he gives is so much more than anyone else has ever bothered to give.

  He wastes no time in changing the subject, steering us away from the spat we just had.

  “There’s a benefit at the MET this weekend. It’s for charity, but many of my business associates will be attending. Most of them are married or in serious relationships, and I’ve been advised that it will look better if I show up with a date.”

  I nod. “So that you can look like you’re just like everyone else?”