by Love Belvin
“So, you and Camille?” I took the circuitous route.
“…was a very long time ago. So long and with such a smooth landing that I hired her to manage my club.”
Damn.
That was a douse of ice water in my face. He didn’t beat around the bush with it. I don’t know what shocked me most; his easy disclosure or the fact Jackson slept with such an old woman.
“She’s older than your mother,” I couldn’t help my trill.
Jackson nimbly closed his laptop, placed it to the side and righted up in his seat, broadening his stance.
“Elle, let’s get one thing straight. I sense you’re reserved regarding anything beyond work. And while I value that as your employer, it makes me uneasy as your impending lover. I need to trust you—”
I snorted, “You can trust me—”
“Hardly.” He retorted just as quickly. “But in an effort to, let me take the lead in being frank when I say I’ve slept with many women; more than I care to share with anyone, but it is who I am. I’ve also slept with women twice—sometime more—my age. It’s something that’s well noted in my reputation, though I don’t go around shouting it from the rooftops. I simply accept what I’ve laid for myself…or had…others lay for me.” He faltered at that. “I shared this with you the day you learned my age.”
“Sounds to me like you’re proud of it. Gives you stripes. I wouldn’t go around shouting that from the rooftops.”
Although my words were intentionally derogatory, my posture and will weren’t. That concerned me.
He chuckled sardonically flicking his eyes into the distance momentarily before returning them. “Not at all. It’s simply a datum I need to share with you considering we’ll be spending lots of time together, in the office and in my bed.” My clitoris throbbed at that mention. “I’m comfortable with divulging not so clean details with a woman I want.” He pushed up, inclining in his seat, coming closer to my face. Jackson further assaulted me with his alluring scent. “And I don’t expect judgment from someone who just disclosed a similar sexual history.”
With my mouth stark open, totally enraptured by his sudden dominance, my breath caught in my throat. I don’t know how long it was before I could control the activity of my lungs. Jackson had cornered me. We were both loose beings as kids, only he was still a kid. A kid I wanted to devour, unabashedly.
“We’re here,” he murmured.
My eyes danced around the car until my neck was able to move and see that we’d, indeed, arrived at the firm. With heavy arms, I gathered my things and left the car. I was in the building, brisking past security before I knew it. I could sense Jackson on my heels, but I didn’t confirm it until I saw him enter the elevator behind me. When we exited onto our floor, I made a dash to my desk, needing distance from Jackson’s absorption.
After taking a few minutes to calm, I began clearing my desk for the evening. Though I fought it, Jackson’s words of his philandering ways played at the front of my mind. He was so young. Was his mother aware of his provocative behavior? His father? Was that the reason his mother held him in such cold regard?
I checked my voice message, completed an expense report that was due first thing in the morning, and returned several emails. Eventually, the enigma of Jackson Hunter was pushed to the back of my mind. That was until I got a ping from an interoffice chat on my screen.
It was Jackson: JACKPOT
Huhn?
Was this code for… “Dale!”
I leaped to my feet and padded into Jackson’s office. He sat back in his chair, swaying back and forth, wearing an accomplished grin while eyeing his screen.
“Pa-Patience…” I stuttered. “I mean Dale has agreed?”
Impassively, Jackson arched his brows in response. He was saying ‘yes’.
“But they agreed to getting back to us in a couple of days?” my tone was suspenseful.
Jackson’s penetrative eyes roved over to me slowly, still bearing a smirk.
“Come see for yourself,” he offered and pushed away from his desk, gesturing making room for me to come and inspect his screen.
With slight unease at being in his personal space, I strolled over behind his desk. With a slight lean, I hovered over to find an email exchange on the large flat screen. Sure enough, it was there. Patience sent an email from her company’s account, agreeing to a provisional contract with Dynamic Branding.
As I read each word of her consent, limitations and itemizing of the deliverables I’d promised earlier in her home, my chest caved in relief. Then, almost immediately, it rose in utter shock. My body stiffened and knees locked in place. But this didn’t deter him. After having lifted my skirt to my waist behind me, Jackson’s nose roved tantalizing over the back of my thighs clad in thigh-high tights, up to my bare cheeks. I wanted to jump at his feather light touches using his face, but I couldn’t. I wouldn’t. I wanted this from him. I’d been wanting to be unraveled since leaving him in Long Island.
When I felt his slivery tongue swipe my right cheek, alighting my blood, I did leap. My eyes flew to the door and open blinds of the window. We could be seen. It didn’t seem as if Jackson feared the risk as he peeled my thong off and down my legs. My torso shivered and I sucked in my lips. He tapped each ankle, signaling for me to step out of my underwear, and I did.
The sound of the elevator announcing its arrival could be heard over my heavy breathing. I could feel Jackson halt behind me. Within seconds, the nescient janitor came into view. He pushed his cleaning cart in, heading toward the conference room, in the opposite direction of Jackson’s office. When he was midway, Jackson reached for a remote and turned off the lights in his office. He hit another button and transitioned the blinds of his office just enough for a limited view to the outside. I shifted to stand, but he grabbed me at the hips, holding me in place.
“He’s not authorized to clean my office, just the conference room and floors. Don’t move. You’ll just have to keep quiet.”
Frozen again, my breathing turned audible. As risky as it was, I wouldn’t dare turn down the opportunity of stealthy sex with Jackson. I was revved up and ready to go, but wouldn’t dream of verbalizing it. And I didn’t have to. With his tongue, he slowly traced the seam of my cheeks, earning successive jerks from my upper torso. I arched my back, yielding to him. The next thing I felt was Jackson’s face buried in my ass. His tongue moved swift with agility, kindling me from the core. I sucked in air through clenched teeth. Jackson’s skilled tongue was everywhere, in each crevice of me. At one point I could swear my entire sex was in his mouth.
When I thought of that mouth… The mouth I’d begun to obsess over. The one I wanted to taste again, like our first time together. My body began to rock over his desk, feeding him myself. Nerve endings enflamed, the pleasure toppling.
And the sounds he made slurping me…
My god…
We were going to get caught, but damn if I cared at this point. I was cresting, boiling over in pleasure. Widening my thighs, I prepared to explode. And just when I was about to peak, he withdrew his face and was behind me, erection rubbing against my gelled desire.
“Your next orgasm will be with me buried inside of you,” his voice was low, gravelly in my ear. I caught a waft of my personal scent while he rested his cheek against mine. The proximity, scent, and sound had me vibrating with excitement. I wanted him inside of me. “I want to make up for all the orgasms those other lames didn’t give you.”
What if it wasn’t them? What if it was me, simply unable to respond that way?
Then I felt him roll the crown of his erection down the seam of me, teasing me. Then he nudged my opening. I reared against him. Jackson backed up.
“No, Elle. I let you assert your agenda earlier. Here’s where I’m in control. I give this to you.” His tongue traced the edge of my ear. “That’s unless, you can bring yourself to a vaginal orgasm.” I didn’t respond. I was too caught up. Too aroused to counter his taunting. I needed him and he kn
ew it. “Can you, Elle?”
Then he breached me. And unlike our first time at the hotel, he glided in the first few inches. The pressure was tantalizing. I tried sucking him in more by tightening my walls and pushing into him, but he reared back.
“Can you bring yourself pleasure like this, Elle?”
My nose flared and teeth gritted. He was torturing me. Then he gave me another inch.
“Can you make the walls of your sweet pussy throb like I am right now?”
I’d never liked dirty talk—dialogue during sex period. It was so unnecessary and a huge turnoff. But with Jackson… As he fed me his appendage, giving infinitesimal thrusts while holding my waist in place… I greedily accepted it all and wanted more.
“No!” I gasped on a whisper. “More…please!”
“Are you going to come for me if I give it all to you?”
I nodded with desperate enthusiasm, feeling each ridge he inserted and withdrew. I was incredibly tight, so snug it was hard to breathe without feeling the fullness Jackson was rocking into me.
“I’m gonna give you…”—he groaned deliciously as he contemplated—“two orgasms.” I squirmed beneath him, excited at the prospect of whether he could deliver or not. “You promise not to jump up and leave after?”
I felt the first ripple of pleasure and lost it.
“Jackson!” I thrust back, against his hardness.
That must have done it because he started plowing into me with determined lunges. His breathing turned laborious, rivaling mine. Jackson worked himself into a zone and it was all rewarded by the spikes of unadulterated sensation synapsing throughout my entire frame. That’s when I got it. I understood the preshow talk was about arousing me mentally to have it manifested below, because although there was a smidge of discomfit from his girth, I was able to endure his full plunges in no time compared to our first. This young lover was versed. His skillset rivaled men thirty years his senior. This I knew.
“Mmmmmm!” grounded from my belly, shooting up through my nose.
“We’ve got company,” Jackson whispered in my ear, still thrusting without falter.
I opened my eyes, tried fighting through their initial blur and focused them on the window. I saw the janitor nearing the office. His head still low, unaware of our lewd presence just feet away. Before I could think to react, Jackson swiftly lifted my blouse and yanked open my bra. My breasts were released and he grabbed them into his warm hands, massaging them to the apex. When he made it there, he tweaked them with measured pressure, starting mildly. My eyelids collapsed and I fought to open them again. I had to see where the janitor was. As Jackson’s pinches on my nipples intensified I could feel a quickening in my groin, similar to that night at the hotel. When I was able to open them again, I saw he was vacuuming his way to the office window. But it was too late…
My body bucked and knees gave out as a tsunami of insurmountable pleasure settled upon me. My breathing grew wild and out of sequence and I couldn’t control my balance or poise. I swear…I soared so high, all I could hear was Alicia Keys’ “Butterfly” in my ascension. Jackson muttered something, but I couldn’t make out his words, too caught up in bliss.
Absolutely remarkable…
While coming down, I could feel his plunges even deeper within. I needed to get it together. I wasn’t used to this phenomenon, couldn’t withstand the wreckage it caused my body. When I was able to take my weight from him, I grabbed the desk to anchor myself. I glanced over to the window again and could see the janitor’s back directly against the glass of the window. He was still clueless of our presence inside Jackson’s office.
Once again, biting my lips together, I tried to keep from making audible my sensual delirium. Jackson worked up to purposeful thrusts that had his muscular thighs smacking into the back of mine. With each lunge into me, I could feel the sensation from him rubbing against a sweet spot within. I fought to keep my head up and not into his desk. Then there was a clash outside. My head shot over to see what caused it. The janitor was turned, facing us, but leaning down to pick up a bucket. Jackson was unfazed. He continued plummeting into me.
“I owe you one more,” he whispered into my ear. “Let’s speed you along.”
His hand was at my pelvis before I knew it and his finger was thrumming my clitoris. Oh, that intensified his plunges. I felt the quickening again in no time. He circled and circled. I grinded on his hand, trying to keep my back arched for him. My mouth went slack and eyes fluttered.
From my peripheral, I could see a shadow in the doorway. It was him. The janitor. He stood just outside the threshold with his back to us. I could now see the earphones clasped to his head. He was distracted as Jackson pounded into me.
“We don’t have long, baby. Come!” Jackson whispered forcefully, directly into my ear.
At the feel of his breath against my face, my eyes shut and in no time I was thrust into that cyclonic zone again. My belly jolted, toes heated and I was overcome with another blissful float. This ascension was more powerful than the last. My mouth croaked out some vulgar cry while my body juddered in Jackson’s hold. I don’t know how long I floated, but could feel him shoot into orbit right along with me. Jackson let out illicit groan into my neck. His grip on my delicate frame tightened to near pain. Delectable pain. In that moment, Jackson could do no wrong to my body.
After waiting out the calming of his tremors, we held still in place. No longer concerned about the visitor, we needed to gather ourselves. My breathing wouldn’t slow, and neither would my head. It was filled with the same fears as the first time I’d slept with him. I wasn’t comfortable with how easily I came undone by him. Emotions I never wrestled with surfaced. I didn’t know how to sort them.
“We need to go.” I licked my lips before continuing. “I need to clean myself.”
“Come home with me. We can soak together. I have an amazing city line view from my tub.”
Soak? Hell no!
“Ja-Jackson, I have to go.” I shuffled from beneath him, forcing his semi-erectness from me and wincing along the way.
I could still feel the impressions of him slamming into me on the back of my thighs and butt. This was too much.
“Don’t you dare!” he growled. “I have a question-exchange.” His tone was urgent, desperate.
And that’s where he had me. I stood with my back toward him, knowing I was caught, but refused to demonstrate my forfeiture. I started straightening my clothes, trying to slow my breathing.
“Fine. What’s your question, Jackson?”
It took him a few seconds, but then I heard, “Why do you run after sex?”
“When?”
“Last time at my house and right now!” he spoke with incredulity.
“They’re separate incidences, separate reasons. Choose one.” I still couldn’t face him.
“Why tonight?”
“You should’ve gone with the former.” I turned to face him. “It’s late. I need to wash and clear my head for work tomorrow. It’s been a long day. Goodnight, Jackson.”
He was fully dressed and I could see him processing my actions. I didn’t want him to waste his time with my antics. I couldn’t figure them out myself.
“Morning, Elle,” Bridgette greeted, passing me as I exited the elevator.
“Morning,” I shot back, watching her step on without looking up as she tapped her tablet.
I padded over to my desk, stretching out my neck muscles. My morning run was great, a nice cleansing of the nighttime monsters. I didn’t know what fumes I was operating on because rest didn’t visit me the night before. How I’d get through this day, I hadn’t quite worked out yet. Sleepless nights was old hat for me and I could manage on my normal schedule of running, work, working out then home for bed—to endure more taunted sleep—but today was different. I had more responsibilities at work in this new role, my output was more detailed and involved. I had a meeting with a stage coordinator to jumpstart this idea of Dale and his younger contemporar
ies touring together right away.
On a quick scan around the office, everyone seemed to have been at their desks and working. Marie offered a wave as she held the phone to her ear, fingers intermingling with the coiled chord and a seductive slant in her eyes. I shuffled behind my desk, prepared to drop my things on the top when something caught my attention. It was a large hot pink gift box crossed by a black lace ribbon. My head cocked to the side and eyes widened. I glanced around the office, wondering where the box came from and who’d placed it there. The only person paying attention was Jamie, who caught my questioning glare and answered by extending one hand and shrugging his shoulders. He, too, was on the phone.
I decided to open it, hoping it would be safe…or an office prank, though we’d never done any of those. I pulled on the ends of the ribbon and it unraveled without much fuss. I then cleared all of the thick and…sensual material from the box. When I opened the lid, I noted the rich hue of purple tissue paper and I pulled it out. Underneath was a book. A children’s book. A very vibrant, yet distorted rendition of a classic children’s book. It was “Cinderella, or The Little Glass Slipper”. Apparently, it was the original Charles Perrault tale, but with new dark and morose visuals, illustrated by Camille Rose Garcia. Receiving this gift was met with sullenness. Who would send me this? I searched the rest of the florid tissue paper and saw the book was the only content and had my bemusement spike another notch.
Not knowing what else to do, I opened the cover and there was the correspondence from my gifter.
Fairy tales don’t always have to be a forsaken concept. Sometimes it’s a matter of viewing it from the right perspective. Sometimes you have to simply choose a more suitable illustrator. Even we haunted cynics can find liberation in the mendacity of fairy tales.
P.S. When you haul ass like you do after intimacy, you leave key particles of clothing behind. Another pair of black lace cheekies to add to my “Ann” collection.
I slammed the hardcover shut.
Shit!
My heart beat wildly in my chest to an audible rate. Jackson. In my haste, I didn’t realize I didn’t return home with panties. I simply poured myself a glass of white, hit the shower and threw myself in bed.
