Reaching For Emeralds

by Lacee Hightower

  “She’s not a sub, Jackson. Oddly enough, I’ve seen this before. She played you, man. Right along with the club. I’m surprised Sam and Bull didn’t pick up on that. She’s obviously a smart one.”

  We’ll see who’s fucking smart.

  Commotion filled the background from the other end of the phone. “Hartley is off at yoga, so I’ve got these two monkeys to contend with, but I’ll give Sam a call tomorrow.”

  “Hi, Unca Jacks. Come play with us. We wanna squirt you.” Happy laughter from my nephew brought a smile to what had just been my frowning face.

  “Hey, munchkin. I’m ready. How about this weekend? You up for it?”

  “I’m not a munkin. I’m a big boy.” Long giggles filled the phone.

  “Sorry about that. I’ll give you a call as soon as I find something out.”

  “Sounds good. I appreciate it, Justin.”

  “Hey, I have one last question.”

  “Shoot,” I answered.

  “Is there anything you’re not telling me about this girl? Something like … maybe you might actually be interested?” In past times, I would have told my brother-in-law to fuck off and mind his own business.

  “No,” I barked, my tone a little louder than I’d intended.

  “Okay, then,” he said. “Just seems to me someone may be testing the bounds of reality. Sorry, Jackson, but I’m calling brotherly bullshit.”

  Chapter Nine

  Layla

  The aroma of baking breads, sweet pastries and black coffee drifted heavily through the busy bakery, the blinking sign over the top of the door flashing a bright neon red. Businessmen in sharp suits, women in heels and pretty dresses, mothers with kids at their sides were all waiting for buttery croissants, sweet pastries or loaves of French bread for dinner. My heart pounded with excitement as I listened to sounds of people visiting, the cash register opening and closing, and coffee pots being refilled, brewing urn after urn of spicy coffee. My dad stood beside the front door smiling and proud, while I urged him to come close so I could give him a freshly baked, dark chocolate-filled croissant, his favorite. In seconds, he was gone.

  I bolted straight up, my first thought the man only two doors down, comfortable underneath the silky black satin sheets in his big dark room. Alone.

  Naked and hard.

  I scrambled into the bathroom, taking a few quick minutes to freshen up and lotion my hands and body so I was smooth and indulgent. I gazed at myself in the mirror and ran my fingers through my hair, thoughts of Jackson’s angry brown eyes softening just a little as they pierced mine. Warming me, waking my body into something needy and passion-filled. But those two qualities weren’t what I was seeking, not part of the game.

  I reached for the door, shivering, a cold piece of fear cutting through me. Unlocked, I quietly eased it open. On his side facing the wall, the sheet was pulled just above his incredible-looking lower body. Jesus, it was freezing in here. I pulled my arms over my cold erect breasts, listening to his low and quiet shallow breaths as he soundly slept, his muscular back and shoulders slowly easing up and down with each silent waft of air. Dressed in a short, white silky gown and matching panties, I eased them both off and slipped in behind him, my heart pounding wildly. This was my chance at a beginning to conquest. I pushed my bare body against his, my hardened nipples brushing the sinewy skin of his back. I draped an arm around his mid-section and gently caressed his firm abs. Entirely nude, he moaned, taking my hand and dropping it over his heavy thick erection. My God, he felt good. Stone hard and silky smooth, I gulped down breath, envisioning him stroking against me where it mattered the most. His erection jerked, beading in moisture as I brushed a finger across the wide head.

  “Umm,” I whimpered against his back, my lips placing an unforced small, but deep kiss against the edge of his shoulder.

  “Layla,” he whispered in his sensual wanton voice. His hard length twitched against his belly as warm pre-cum oozed from the tip, turning me hotter, making me want him all the more. I trailed more kisses across his wide back, his hand leading mine up and down the length of his bobbing cock.

  “Fucking hell!” He sat straight up, my hand dropping in front of me.

  “What the complete fuck are you doing in here?” His eyes were dilated with lust, along with exasperation. This wasn’t a good sign.

  The sheet had dropped when he shifted, not only exposing my nudity, but also giving me a good look at his. I reached for my breasts, caressing them and widening my legs that brimmed moisture and a deep-seated need, wishing I felt just the opposite.

  “Christ, Layla,” he whispered. Long and thick, beaded with dampness, his swollen shaft was upright, almost brushing his abdomen, while his stomach was rippled with muscle, the trail of hair leading down toward his length dark and full. Frustrated, not understanding the depth of need I felt for this man, I rubbed my fingertip down the inside of my thigh, battling to keep from touching myself as I breathed in the beauty of his body, imagining what it would feel like inside mine, and exactly how, or if, I could stretch enough to accommodate him.

  “I came to make you feel good.”

  This man could be horrific. I’d seen it many times. No feelings. No respect. Only control. Self-seeking. Yet, for just a slight second, I was certain I saw the smallest presence of passion cross his eyes. Something other than the numb, cold-hearted troll I knew he was. Wasn’t this where he grabbed my hand or my leg to tie me up? Maybe clamp my nipples? Wasn’t that what sadists did?

  He did nothing but slide from the bed, staring strangely, his erection hard and prominent. My legs trembled at thoughts of him touching me. Showing me how to give him the utmost pleasure. Painfully breaking through my innocence and claiming what no other man ever had. I eased from the bed, the plushness of the rug warm and cozy in the frigid bedroom.

  So damn good at showing no emotion, he rubbed a hand underneath his chin, his long fingertips shapely and well-manicured as they brushed over his shadowed jaw. Jesus, I knew it was wrong, but I wanted him. My body trembled with need. His gaze was fixed and unclear, his eyes seemingly darker than their usual light brown as they roamed down my naked torso, stopping at my hand brushing the tingling skin of my inner thigh.

  “Jesus Christ,” he uttered.

  My nipples tightened as he watched me. No longer afraid to lose my virginity, I craved it. My body was completely aroused, awakened and eager, just as it had always been at the sight of this beautiful bastard. He was weakening me in ways I thought I was strong. And right now, I knew I’d do anything he wanted. I would. Dammit all the way to hell. Damn my body and its needs for this man.

  In one long stride, he was pushing me back onto the bed, urging my feet up and lifting my hips. His fingers eagerly parted my sex as he buried his face between my thighs, combing his tongue up and down my opening and spearing it inside me. My hands inadvertently grabbed both his temples while my head began spinning as he kissed and tongued every inch of my virginal pussy.

  “Oh, my God,” I whispered with a sigh.

  It felt so good. His eyes, filled with both ice and warmth, cut through mine as I let out a second long, deep sigh that resembled a whimper, completely taken aback by how good he was making me feel. His hands moved up my stomach and over my breasts, reaching for my nipples and squeezing hard. The bite of pain felt amazingly good and I tangled my fingers through his hair, tugging at the semi-dark masses, the sensation of what he was doing to my body overwhelming and unexpected. My thighs tightened around his shoulders as his tongue assaulted every inch of my delicate skin.

  “Open your legs,” he ordered, his eyes latched on mine, his voice gruff and firm. “Open for me. Wider.”

  “Jackson,” I whispered, breathing hard at the small tug of something twisting in my stomach. Vulnerable and unmoving, he impatiently widened my thighs himself, entirely exposing every single inch of my opening. My face warmed.

  “Do you like me fucking you with my tongue, Layla Michelle? Your soaking wet pussy certa
inly seems to agree.”

  “Yes. I like it very much.”

  “You taste like fucking candy,” he whispered, his mouth gnawing at my throbbing folds as I ground against him with every thrust of his tongue. “You’re so goddamn sweet.” Moans and undecipherable sounds rambled from my mouth as I struggled for my next breath, pushing against him again and again, my strength gone. I burst into orgasm, his mouth only tightening around my quaking flesh as I rocked against him shamelessly. He made a deep growling noise and another ache started between my thighs. Ready for more, I was eager to end my virginity. And this pounding ache lingering at the small area between my legs.

  I eased my eyes shut, anticipating what was next as he kissed the inside of my thighs.

  Except that nothing else happened.

  He got up and walked into the bathroom, shutting the door and starting a shower.

  “Jackson,” I whimpered to myself, having no idea what brought out the shift in his mood. Did I do something wrong? My body still weak and limp, I gulped down the flash of emotion, feeling confused, cheap, and used. I was also still way too warm between my thighs and reminded myself again just exactly why I was here.

  Nervously slipping my silky gown and panties back on, I eased the bathroom door open, wondering if he’d still have lust in his eyes or his everyday hard expression. My heart came to a slamming halt. Jackson was not only nude, but sitting on the shower seat with water streaming over his head … and his hand moving up and down the glorious length of his hard shaft.

  Every cell in my body was stimulated. I wanted to join him in the steaming shower more than any one thing in the world, knowing I didn’t have the nerve, when only seconds ago I thought I did.

  His stare was fixated on me, his eyes dilated with passion as he continued the brutal raking movements against his amazing cock. My nipples stiffened, every part of my body warming. I couldn’t take my eyes off him. He was so beautiful. So very sexual. Hunger ached in my core at the thought of watching him lose himself in such an intimate way. My heart raced at each harsh slide of his fist against the length of his stiff erection. His breath was heavy, his eyes still glued to mine, as I struggled between watching his face and the frustrated thrusts of his hand.

  I wanted him so much that I ached. I bit at my bottom lip, not even realizing until that moment that my own hand was rubbing my wet crease through the side of my panties. Ashamed, I instantly moved it away.

  “Don’t stop,” he groaned, his eyes lowering down my torso. “Take your clothes off.” His demand was deep and provocative. Soothing and forceful. Hotter than sin. I lifted my gown over my head and slid my panties down. His pace increased, along with his breath.

  “Are you wet, Layla?”

  Wet, hot, and achingly turned on, I whimpered, “Jackson … yes.”

  His hand continued sliding the length of his erection, his eyes dark. The look on his face sure and confident. “Make yourself come watching me, Layla. Imagine my fingers dipping inside you. Rub your clit.”

  My sex tensed, my clit pulsing. In seconds I was whimpering through my climax, uttering his name while I relinquished myself to him, watching him coming violently and spurt semen.

  I eased my panties back up and left the bathroom, feeling amazing, even though I had no idea what any of this meant. Or if it meant anything at all.

  Chapter Ten

  Layla

  Moments after the most mind-blowing sexual experience known to mankind, I returned to my bedroom, quickly showering and getting dressed in simple tan capris with an apricot-colored, sleeveless tunic top. No makeup yet, I’d finish getting my hair dried and fixed a little later. Sure that Jackson was gone by now, I suddenly felt alone.

  What was I supposed to do all day for eight weeks? Why did he keep stalling?

  Why weren’t we having sex?

  Just a little over an hour ago, his mouth was on me like he couldn’t get enough of my taste, giving me the heaviest orgasm I’d ever had. Then he was leaving without a spoken word, choosing to satisfy his needs with his own hand. Jackson was a Dominant male. He purchased me strictly for sex, yet he was refusing it each time I clearly offered.

  Something was off.

  My skin warmed again as I walked into the kitchen, surprised to see a fully-dressed Jackson at the table, staring at his laptop with a coffee mug against his amazing lips. Oh, shit. I wasn’t made up. He’d warned me already about that.

  Busted. Twice.

  “You’re welcome to come in, Layla.” He looked me up and down, his eyes stopping on my breasts.

  “Would you like some coffee? Or some breakfast?” he asked, a large bowl of what appeared to be sloppy clumps of slimy oatmeal in front of him. No way I’d touch something that looked so downright revolting, I shrugged, giving him a small smile.

  “I’ll just have coffee.”

  “Fine, then. Please help yourself.” He gestured to the coffee machine, his expression relaxed and calm, like he hadn’t just rocked my world only an hour ago.

  I reached for a coffee mug and stuck a k-cup in the machine. The Starbucks coffee smelled good and strong as I stirred in a packet of Stevia, wishing for chocolate Coffee-Mate. I took a small sip before sitting down across from Jackson. Looking perfect in a black suit, my mind drifted to his hard body that I’d yet to have inside me. The long fingertips that still hadn’t explored all my intimate spots the way I was craving. Before I could get another word out, I was positively annoyingly turned on, a slight moan inching up my throat while my cheeks heated. So aroused I ached, everything I wasn’t supposed to be feeling was happening of its own free accord.

  His jaw tightened as his hand fell to the front of his slacks to adjust himself. He didn’t even try suppressing the fact that he was equally stimulated.

  “So tell me, Layla. How long have you worked at First National?”

  Like he gave a damn.

  “Just a few weeks, actually.” Thoughts of telling him the honest reasons behind working at a bank answering phone calls instead of going to school or preparing for my bakery, entered my mind, but then it probably wouldn’t matter to him. Why would it?

  “Is banking an interest of yours? Are you thinking of perhaps a future in the industry? I could make some calls.”

  “No. Not really,” I answered shortly. He nodded, his expression unclear.

  “My dream is to have my own bakery. I’ve been baking since I was ten. It was my dream … before it wasn’t.” A depressing weight started settling behind my chest.

  “That’s a nice dream, Layla,” he replied, his eyes on mine. “I hope you achieve them all one day.” The sincerity in his voice suddenly made this whole discussion that much more uncomfortable. Wasn’t he going to mention what just happened? Or why we weren’t having sex?

  Suddenly overcome with guilt, or emotion, or whatever the hell this was I was sensing, I needed to shake it off. I still had a job to do. Even a life of self-reproach wouldn’t make me back down. This was still as it had always been.

  A game.

  One I intended on finishing.

  Jackson stood and walked to the sink, spooning up the last bites of disgusting lumpy oatmeal. “Have a nice day, Layla. Enjoy the pool if you’d like. I should be home no later than six. You should really have something for breakfast. It’s the most crucial meal of the day.”

  “You do the same.” I stepped behind him, the air between us sizzling. I eased my hands underneath his suit jacket and rubbed them over the ripples of his firm abdomen, a little harder once I reached the top of his belt buckle. “You felt nice this morning,” I whispered, desire kindling between my legs with memories of his tongue disappearing between my sex. His body tensed.

  “I didn’t want it to end, Jackson. Why did you stop? Did I do something wrong?”

  “Goodbye, Layla.” No answer to either of my questions, he broke away from my touch. His demeanor returning to cold and harsh, it felt like a hundred fiery pokers through my heart, though for a quick second, the slight str
ain of his body had seemed anything but unwelcoming.

  Chapter Eleven

  Jackson

  Nice? I felt nice?

  Goddammit, why did she have to say that? The word made me cringe. I didn’t want nice. What happened to fucking hot? Or amazing?

  My thoughts had been screwed up all day, something I had no time for. I didn’t care about her feelings. I didn’t allow myself that emotion. All that mattered were mine.

  This was for my benefit.

  Looking good enough to swallow in an apricot-colored top that brought out the color of her damn beautiful eyes had me contemplating ripping the damn thing from her body and fucking her against the wall of my kitchen when I needed to be working. That, with her straightforward acts of submissiveness were all a turn-on. Practically begging for sex. Calling me Sir. Getting herself off in front of me.

  But, this was all expected. Her duty.

  Selfish, egotistical asshole I was, I’d reluctantly turned away, ignoring her acts of obedience with a curt ‘goodbye’, leaving my cock hard and needy again, even though I’d drained it in the shower earlier. Now I could barely maintain a clear head thinking about what happened and hadn’t happened between us. She had to be wondering why we hadn’t fucked yet. And honestly … I had no goddamn idea.

  This girl was a distraction, filling my head with doubt and reservation. I’d never let a woman’s touch sway me like this, and I hadn’t even been inside her yet. Uptight as fuck, I took a long drink of the absolutely detestable-tasting coffee someone had attempted to make in the lunch room. Resembling rancid cat piss, how did people drink this? I logged onto my computer, my inbox showing a ridiculous eighty-eight primarily bullshit messages, Carlos Agli’s name catching my eye like an unwanted piece of impossible clingy lint, souring my stomach. A little further down, my attention stopped at the simple ‘Oar House’ message.