Chapter Thirteen
Layla
In less than two minutes, we were in Jackson’s room with the door shut and locked. Both our bodies stripped of clothing. I was being firmly pushed into a dark wall while he was on his knees, his head between my thighs with his tongue licking long and deep into my slick opening. He slid a long finger down the slit of my butt, goosebumps rising on my skin while his other hand held me against his face. Queasy straining deep in the pit of my belly, I felt myself only seconds from falling off the edge into a glorious orgasm, desperate whimpers easing from my lips with every caress against my sex. He eased his head from my thighs, his mouth still glossy from my arousal.
“Not yet, sweetheart,” he said. “You don’t get to come until I’m buried inside you.”
Why had falling apart by his touch become so easy when it was supposed to be hard … and forced? Nothing was happening like I planned.
Everything was a complete one-eighty from what I’d expected.
“I want to touch you everywhere, Layla. I want to fuck you, and then fuck you again.” With his hands brushing up my torso as he stood, my mind became a blank, all my concerns fading as he tugged at my breasts, sucking a tight nipple between his teeth and pressing his thigh between mine. Mindlessly, I reached for his hair, clenching and urging him closer as he dragged his teeth over my throbbing, sensitive skin. Every single part of my plan was growing dimmer by the minute. My sex itched for him. All I felt was a hot fire as his deep moans of pleasure turned every one of my feelings upside down.
He slid his hand over the dampened skin of my mound, my sex tightening and aching. One finger, then two, pushed through my moisture, deep into my channel. I cried out at the lewd, erotic sound of my wetness against his plunging fingers, grinding against them while his lips forcefully tangled against mine. I was saturated and delirious with want.
It wasn’t supposed to be like this.
My body was becoming my enemy. Doing every single thing I’d sworn it wouldn’t.
How was that possible with a man I’d loathed for months?
An unplanned moan filled my throat as his thumb brushed my clit, his fingers still caressing the most inner part of my opening while a ray of light coming through the side of the widow flickered against his eyes.
“Jackson … God.”
“You like that don’t you?” he asked. My whole lower half lifted to meet each strong delve of his thrusts as nothing but undivided pleasure overtook my body.
“Yes … Yes,” I whimpered.
“Jesus,” he whispered, easing his fingers from me and leading us to the bed. My chest pounded as he hovered over me, gently moving his lips against mine. The base of his erection swept over my opening as he lined up against me.
“Jackson. Wait.” Stinging tears blurred my vision as he stared down at me with an expression full of unanswered questions and impatience.
“I’ve been waiting, Layla.” The tip of his erection thumped against my opening, his lips smothering mine again. In seconds, my knees were open, widening and welcoming, while my breath deepened. I blinked back the sting of tears, pushing my hands deep into the mattress as he kneed my thighs open even wider, easing inside me just the slightest bit with the wide crown of his erection. He stared down at me, and for a moment his gaze appeared tender and sensual. I was shaking, yet I wanted this more than anything, his impact on my body and somewhere much deeper, forceful and profound, even though the voice in my head told me this was nothing more than sex, not romance. It was sex that he’d paid for, yet a small part of me felt a slight trigger of something just a little deeper. He lifted my thighs, his crown still only partially inside me.
“Jackson,” I whimpered.
The look of lust in his eyes changed. What I’d just sensed to be a sensual glare was now nothing more than a detached indifference, substantiating the fact that all this was still meaningless. Nevertheless, I tugged at his hips, drawing him closer. Eager to feel his skin brush against mine. With a low grunt, he shoved his entire thick length into me, tearing through the small membrane that was no longer my virginity.
“Jackson,” I groaned.
“Fuck, you’re so tight,” he mumbled into my neck as he began moving into me, deeper with each thrust. Totally unaware it was my first time. Wholeheartedly unconcerned with giving me just a few seconds to adjust to his wide girth. My body eased into sync with his tempo as he quickly raged into an unrelenting pulse. My hair between his fingers, he pulled hard at my tender head, the yelp I cried out only intensifying his rhythm as he pushed even deeper inside me.
He shifted upward, slanting his hips, holding me against him as he buried himself inside me, thrusting again and again. Harder. Deeper. The tingly sensation building in my belly was a million times more intense than the last time he touched me. Deep and profound, it was powerful.
It was wonderful.
It’s only sex.
This is only a game.
I was moaning and meeting him with every deep thrust, through each small spur of pain. He was kissing me again, his lips warm and swollen, his tongue swirling over mine in the most intimate way.
“Layla,” he uttered into my mouth, my taste lingering on his lips.
The erotic sound of him breathing my name was my breaking point. I exploded into a long, shuddering climax as he bumped the sensitive spot inside my core. Seconds into orgasm, he was pushing even harder, the sounds of his deep groans echoing against my chest as he reached his own release. He pushed one last time, stopping, filling me with warm streams of wet semen. He was ejaculating, muttering my name as his eyes eased open. Two final thrusts and he pulled out, jerking away and getting straight out of bed.
His glare was seething as he stared at the bed. Streaked with pink threads of blood, the darkness of the silken sheets hadn’t concealed my innocence. Or my lies.
“What. The. Fuck,” he hissed, his tone vicious. Practically ripping open a drawer, he angrily pulled out a pair of black sweat pants, sliding them over his hips in record time. I jumped at the sound of the door slamming as I watched him storm out of the bedroom without another word.
Chapter Fourteen
Layla
I had a wicked tension headache when I woke up, which was probably no less than I deserved. The fact that I’d enjoyed my first time with Jackson way more than I anticipated wasn’t my concern now. Keeping him interested was.
After a coconut-scented bubble bath, I pulled on a sheer, light yellow maxi dress and finished with minimum makeup, my eyes still swollen from long minutes of crying. I took another long glance at myself in the mirror, wishing Jackson would walk through the door.
When I knew that wasn’t going to happen. There was no denying I may very well be going home.
Holed up inside my room like a frightened child, the slamming of Jackson’s bedroom door minutes before sounded angrier than it had been earlier, a sure sign he wanted to be anywhere but here with me. Tears welled again. I hated myself for not feeling stronger. No idea I was going to want him on this level, I could no longer reject the fact that I’d been falling deeper into a dark and dangerous unchartered territory where he was concerned since the first day I laid eyes on him. Inasmuch as I’d come into his home with an agenda, I owed him an explanation, though I couldn’t think of anything credible that didn’t involve my obvious deceit.
My God, every inch of my body longed for him. His touch, his fingers twisting at my nipples, gliding between my sex. Just thinking about it shot a pulse of adrenaline through my spine, setting off more need, a thirst and eagerness at the way our bodies moved together like we had no intentions of stopping. A gut-wrenching wave of loneliness washed over me, suddenly thinking of my dad. How he’d tried so hard, only to fail. How I was following in his footsteps.
I made my way to the kitchen in hopes of finding something I could stomach. No real appetite, I’d barely eaten anything the last few days and my stomach was grumbling with emptiness. I looked through the foods that Jackson
liked to eat and just as he’d said, there were plastic containers stacked neatly with labels adhered to the lids
“Eww,” I mouthed. Blanched chicken and broccoli. Blanched chicken stir-fry. I took out four more freezer-friendly containers, all healthful and what I considered tasteless, wondering if Jackson ever just chilled in front of the television with take-out pizza and a beer in hand. And if I’d ever get the chance to find out.
“Finally something decent,” I whispered. I pressed three minutes on the microwave to heat up vegetable lasagna, the mouth-watering aroma of spicy pasta making my stomach roll. God, I really was hungry, despite the dark dread coursing through my insides. Would Jackson eat a roasted chicken with lemon, rosemary and garlic? Would he consider trying a crispy homemade French roll or baguette if I made them just for him in his commercial-grade kitchen?
Would he even speak to me when he got home this evening?
The realization that maybe I couldn’t pull this off after all had me at a critical point. Sink or swim time, I had to come up with a plausible explanation. Something ate at my insides to be honest. But how? What could I possibly say? Jackson was far from a fool. Way too intelligent to not put two and two together. He was a strong dominant, a man who strived on control. Also one that pursued the truth and fact in every element of his life. Chances were, he was already on to my scheme.
If I could somehow still receive just a small portion of the money, I could leave right now and look for the perfect spot for my bakery, never looking back on this entire ordeal. But then, all this would be for nothing. My dad would still be gone, my plan would be a failure, and Jackson would continue the way he’d been before me—unaffected. I wouldn’t have my revenge and more than anything else, I’d never see him naked and engrossed in passion again.
I had to try harder if I was going to attempt success. My southern charm alone wasn’t nearly enough with a man like Jackson. He needed more, even if he wouldn’t admit it.
Jackson needed affection.
Whispered words of praise against his neck as he left for work in the mornings.
A brush of a hand across the firm strength of his abdomen as he was told to have a good day, maybe letting it drop down just the smallest bit to tease the edge of his thick length.
Anxiety stormed through my chest. How would he respond to me when he came home today? Would he even come home?
At 2:30 PM, I rinsed the empty food container, still sipping on Whole Foods orange juice as I walked toward the double French doors in the front room. Outside was a huge covered deck with an extravagant outdoor kitchen facing the pool. White square containers full of greenery were scattered with matching rectangular planters full of blooming flowers on every corner. An oversized sectional in a rich java color with gold and brown decorative pillows rested in the middle of the deck, a matching rectangular table just in front. Underneath the coffee table was a slide-out compartment holding more neatly stacked pillows in the same gold and brown design. Either end of the sectional had small round tables, one with a floral arrangement in the middle, the other holding a clear covered tray with napkins and other condiments. A modern-styled brown and white rug underneath had large vertical stripes from one end to the other and didn’t really resemble an outdoor rub. The whole area looked like something out of House Beautiful.
I sat down on the couch, easing my bare feet underneath me. Nerves bounced in my stomach as I stared out the wrought iron fence toward a distant, haze-filled, downtown Dallas, wondering if Jackson was somewhere in the midst of the busy city and what his thoughts were after this morning.
Someone was jogging down the winding street. Dressed in black basketball-type shorts and no shirt with what appeared to be a Dallas Stars cap on his head, I knew that approaching form. I recognized the noticeably marked ripples covering Jackson’s bare chest and arms. Only a few strides away now, mirrored Ray-Bans covering his eyes, I couldn’t tell if he’d seen me or not.
Shit, he was fucking hot!
He pushed his sunglasses on top of his cap, slowing to a walk and rubbing a toned arm across his damp face and shapely lips that I visualized brushing my skin, kissing my mouth with long luscious strokes. I smiled, waving, reveling in the beauty of his amazing male physique that radiated power and strength. Covered in a thick sweat, I longed to run my hands over the slickness and kiss his chest, tasting the saltiness of his bodily fluids as I eased down toward that amazing dark trail leading to what I knew personally was an impressive hardness that I was desperate for again. While the scowl on his face made me feel like a hundred pointed objects were piercing my heart, my body ached for a second dose of what I still felt deep inside my sex.
Without waving back or any expression whatsoever, he ignored my greeting entirely. With his mouth covered in a nasty smirk, he walked toward the open garage, the inside door closing with yet another loud, angry-sounding bang.
****
“Why?” The sound of an angry voice woke me. Jackson’s brown eyes were looming over me, his tone stern, while the large vein in his neck flexed. My head was on the edge of the sectional, the hem of my dress inching up over my knees as a chill suddenly crept up my spine.
I sat up, wondering how long I’d been asleep and when I’d dozed off. Jackson was still in the same gym shorts and un-showered, so I couldn’t have been sleeping for more than a few short minutes.
“Why what, Jackson?” I pulled my feet underneath me, shivering even though it wasn’t cold.
His gaze was fixed decisively against mine, his expression the Jackson I remembered well from court. Controlling. In charge. Dominant. The man that I wanted, even though I didn’t fully understand why. Or how it could ever be a possibility.
“How many lies are you hiding behind those green eyes, princess?”
“Lies? Hiding?” My stomach twisted as the anger in his eyes grew.
“You were a virgin. A fucking inexperienced virgin. Oh, and let’s not forget a cunning, first-rate liar,” he said forcefully. Certain this was the beginning to the end, Jackson settled into a reclining chair across from the sectional, kicking the corner of a second chair, sending it flying into the side table. For seconds, we both watched the medium-sized, silken flower arrangement teeter back and forth.
“Moment of truth, Layla,” he said, his jaw straining. “Tell me … how did you know?”
“Know? I’m not sure what you’re asking, Jackson.”
“Keep the lying horseshit for someone else, Layla. Explain how you discovered that I was a member of Venture. And I caution you … be very careful with your words.”
I swallowed the rising apprehension in my throat, looking him exactly where I didn’t want—in the eye. This game I’d foolishly thought I could pull off against a man like Jackson had turned into a dark ugly cloud between us.
“Word gets around. I know people.”
His stabbing glare lingered. “You know people? What kind of people may I ask, do you know? Liars? Imposters?” His eyes narrowed as I glanced at the ground. “Exactly when did you decide to try and set me up, and are you in this with someone else?” I could feel his resentment deep in my bones. “You were a virgin. And I’m a goddamn fool falling for your beauty the way I did. Fainting on stage should have been a sure indication you weren’t who you said you were. Fuck,” he blurted out. “Was it the money?” His hands tangled through his hair as he bolted out a short, disheartened laugh. “Should I even be surprised if it was?” He stared down at me, an unreadable look in his eyes.
Are you worried I may blow your cover Mr. kinky DA?
“I’m sorry,” I whispered. “It wasn’t the money, Jackson. It was you. I just … wanted you. The only set-up was pretending to be involved in the same lifestyle.” Dishonesty was one thing I knew Jackson hated. And yet, I couldn’t stop lying. I’d made a hard, conscious decision to go through with this and now I was in so deep, I had no idea what to say or what to do. “I thought if I entered the auction, you might choose me. I was familiar, and I hadn’t forgot
ten the way you looked at me during the trial. I wanted to get to know you, Jackson. I still do. More now than ever.”
“Bullshit! You can do better than that! Try again, Layla.”
“It’s true, Jackson,” I whispered, quite certain he was far from falling for such a weak story.
“You wanted me? The man who sent your father to prison? You wanted your first time to be raw, hard fucking? Don’t you think you deserved better? Christ, do you take me for a complete idiot? Do you think I missed the hatred in your eyes in that courtroom?” He quieted, the silence great enough to hear a pin drop.
“What if I hadn’t chosen you? What if one of the two men who were at a bidding war for what they assumed was a three-bar submissive, had been the winner? Did you ever give that any thought, princess? Would you have been up to that? Caning? A nice tight clamp against your clit? Quite possibly having your butt plugged? I assume you’re smart enough to realize what that leads up to. Would you have been willing, Layla?” My hands were shaking. He was right. Those very things being what led me to having a panic attack right on stage, I didn’t know what I would have done.
“I’m sorry, Jackson,” I reiterated. “What I did was beyond stupid and immoral. But I want you, even if means doing all those things. You must feel something or you wouldn’t have purchased me.”
“Fucking hell, Layla.” Both hands gripped the nape of his neck. My last comment brought on a thickness in the air and I immediately wished I hadn’t said it.
“Did I hurt you?” His eyes softened, his question sensitive and empathetic as a bittersweet warmth stabbed at me
“I’m fine, Jackson,” I answered, wanting more of everything he’d done to my body, yet wishing I wanted nothing.
“No man’s been inside you… No fingers? No tongue?”
“No,” I whispered. “I’ve done … things. I just never felt the closeness to have sex.” His jaw tweaked. Not entirely convinced he really cared if he hurt me, chances were he was probably more concerned about his wounded ego.
Reaching For Emeralds Page 7
