by Love Belvin
“JACKSSSSSSSSS!”
“I’m right here with you, baby…”
And he was. After two more plunges, Jackson pressed into me and his long legs juddered behind mine reverberating in my own frame.
As he heaved over my shoulders, he announced, “One more for the birthday girl. Just give me a minute.”
I snorted, barely able to catch my own breath. What I wanted to request was a kiss from his lush mouth, but wouldn’t dare breathe a word of desire for it.
Jackson delivered on that promise and drove me into another orgasmic frenzy—twice when I consider the magic he produced with his mouth on my sex—sending me into a deep sleep.
The next morning, he was gone by the time I’d awakened to an empty bed. My apartment was settled with the furniture placed with precision back in their respective spaces, pole gone. The only thing out of place were crisp Benjamin bills dispersed throughout the floor. After relieving myself in the bathroom, I went around collecting them, gasping at the count of each one. There was a total of sixty of them.
He was a cunning man, that Jackson. He strategically planted his gifts for my birthday. First the celebration at DiFillippo’s with my colleagues, where I saw him slip one of our two waiters a black plastic card as we prepared to leave the night before; the packed away pole he left in the corner; mind blowing sex; and now six thousand dollars. He knew if I’d gotten a hint of him planning anything for my birthday, much less gifting me, I would have shut him down. As I told him when we met: I didn’t need anything from Jackson, just the opportunity on his DB team.
But what he gave me that was valued over all of his presents was the gift of appreciating my body. No longer did I grimace when my scars were exposed. I didn’t rush to cover myself in the mirror when changing. Neither did I feel shame or condemnation when he shared my body during intimacy. Last night I felt sexy, empowered and fiercely feminine.
I sighed as I sat on my bed, reflecting on it all.
This shit was crazy…
Though down to my ankles at that point, I kicked the sheets completely off and lurched myself onto my stomach. That didn’t help. After a few seconds, I sighed harshly into the pillow and found myself pelting my fists into the mattress like a madwoman with my face buried into the pillow. I felt a cry at the pit of my belly, not an unfamiliar emotion, yet an uncommon reason. When I arrived at the point of needing air, I lifted my head in search for the time.
1:39 a.m.
Gaaaaaaaah!
This is insane! What am I doing?
I should call him. But what if he was having a good time, enjoying nostalgia with his one-time sweetheart…the first one he’d been infatuated with to the point of thinking it was love? No. That wasn’t Jackson. He preferred AARP subscribers. A young woman his age would never capture his attention. What if he was starting to reverse his age preference? He was, after all, sleeping with me, a woman younger than his usual habitude. Why was I even concerned? Jackson was out, acting his age. He should have been, enjoying a social life unrelated to seducing older women.
But that wasn’t okay. My chest weighed heavily. Since when did I lose sleep—over Jackson, no less? You can fool a lot of people, but you can’t trick yourself. Just a couple of months ago, I couldn’t fathom sharing a bed with another human being. Now, I found it hard to sleep when he wasn’t near.
Pathetic.
When I realized sleep wasn’t in sight, I lazily edged to the side of the bed, placing my feet on the floor in search of my slippers. Dragging my feet across the floor, I sauntered into the kitchen and yanked open the refrigerator door. Chardonnay. Yes! But that wouldn’t induce sleep. I ambled over to the small pantry, and when I opened it, my shoulders sagged in relief.
Malbec!
I grabbed a long stem and poured a generous glass. Just when I engulfed a throat full, there was a knock at the door. My heart leaped and I felt an instinctive tight clasp on the glass. Trying to quiet my long, startled breaths, I covered my mouth. Another casual rap occurred. After a few moments, I mustered the nerve to approach the door. If this was Michael, he would receive the cuss out of his life for the inappropriate hour.
Quietly, I inclined into the door and peered through the peephole. I clutched my throat, body went taut. A knock sounded again. This time I leaped into action, releasing the chains and twisting the deadbolt. He paced inside the apartment with great aplomb, assessing my alarm. Discombobulated, I switched on a small lamp. Immediately and casually, Jackson began to disrobe, starting with his camel cashmere overcoat. I was able to note the wool charcoal two-piece suit he sported with a black fitted turtleneck and merlot oxfords. The sight of him was grossly disarming. I literally yanked my head away, retraining my eyes from him to break my lewd gape.
After a few beats of silence, I asked coldly, “What are you doing here?”
When I allowed myself the treat of beholding Jackson again, I noticed he was sitting shirtless, removing his shoes just as casual as Mr. Rogers.
Unbothered by my crudeness, he returned, “Getting ready to rest. I haven’t slept in almost a week.”
He’d been running that hard, I knew. But here? He could get the needed rest here, in my bed? The familiar need to reject him was uprising within, but I suppressed it with might. He was here. I wanted him here. I’d craved him here just moments ago. Tonight, I wouldn’t fight. Tonight, I needed to embrace this no matter how frightening it was.
Jackson rose from the couch after neatly stacking his clothes on the back and ambled over to the bed. All the while, I observed his fit physique: broad shoulders molded into muscular globes, the masculine arch in his athletically cut back, his brawny arms swinging just slightly during each advancement, his hands subconsciously balled into fists, his small ass curved tightly in Frigo No. 1 boxer briefs, and his beautifully carved striated thighs worked together in his pursuit to the bed was a compelling display of pure virility. When he disappeared behind the curtain, he never uttered a word, though I could hear his dip onto the mattress and the rustle of the bedding.
I didn’t know what to do. How could I experience relief, contentment, surprise and arousal at the same time? How could having him arrive at my place in the middle of me longing for him result in this incredible need to connect? I realized my pulse hadn’t slowed and now it was rivaled by the rhythm of my clitoris. My fists clenched to the point of cutting skin. All of this because I was feeling emotions I didn’t understand or know how to filter or control.
A thought occurred. I could do what I did best and yet something altogether different. I went into the bathroom and retrieved a small bottle from the medicine cabinet. Glancing at myself in the mirror, I tossed off my bra and panties before leaving. I crawled up the center of the bed where Jackson laid, initially curled on his side. When he sensed me at his thighs, he recoiled, shifting onto his back. He didn’t speak and neither did I. Within seconds, he reached over to the lamp and clicked it on. The first thing his eyes caught was my naked frame.
After a swift swipe on the lips by his tongue, he murmured, “I didn’t come for this.”
“I know.”
“I honestly came because this is the one place I knew I could sleep soundly. I had no intentions of imposing on you.” Though Jackson kept his tone neutral, his eyes darkened as they roved over my peaked breasts, down to my valley. I even saw them loop around my hips.
“I know, but…” I lost my voice.
“But you want to do it anyway.”
With my bottom lip sucked in between my teeth, I nodded, feeling exposed. Vulnerable. Then I slowly brought the bottle of lubricant into his line of sight. Instantly, Jackson sucked in a breath.
“Jackson,” I whispered. He said nothing, just stared at the bottle. “I’ve never done this before either if that’s what you’re thinking.” He wouldn’t speak, but his eyes dropped to his lap. That’s when a revelation occurred. The lightbulb went off. “You’ve done this before.”
I watched as Jackson’s eyes slowly raked up to
meet mine. Was I unreasonable to think we could share something new together? He’s only 27! My god, what hasn’t he done?
“How many times?”
“Pardon?”
“How many times have you done this? How many women? Just one?”
His eyes disappeared again.
Jackson! I cried within.
“Two?” Nothing. “Jesus, Jackson! That many?”
He roughly brushed his hands over his face, widening his heavy eyes. But Jackson wasn’t losing it. I realized that with his next words.
“What are we doing here?” His eyes pierced into me. His chords droned heavily, and more than out of desire.
Jackson was cracking.
“I don’t know.”
“But you want to do anal.” Another verbal thought, not a question.
“With you…yes.”
I was too raw to feel the judgment he was issuing via the silence. I was embarrassed by the thoughts rolling around in his mind that I had no privy of, but could espy. My defenses crept in.
“Jackson, I’m not the only one sending mixed messages here.”
He scoffed. “Oh, no?”
“Why are you here at this hour? I’m sure Trump International is closer to the venue you just left, but yet you’re here.”
Jackson nodded, forfeiting a fight, but he was still very much in the ring when he calmly shared, “Yeah, but I’m willing to admit to my feelings changing. I haven’t whispered any details of it because I know you aren’t open to taking it there.”
And I wasn’t. I couldn’t. It would never work. I wasn’t the woman for Jackson. He deserved more than my tenebrous existence. My baggage.
Jackson extracted the bottle from my hand, placing it on the nightstand. Internally I sulked. It was rejection. I wasn’t used to that from him.
He pulled me into his chest, wrapping his hard, comforting arms around my naked torso, raking his fingers as he went. My body stiffened. I wasn’t expecting that move. Jackson rested his chin, nestling on my shoulder.
He was so snuggled, I felt his soft breaths blown in my ear as he spoke throatily. “It doesn’t matter how many I’ve experienced that act with, with you it would be different. You don’t want that now; it requires time and trust that you can’t consent to in one session.” And before I could think to argue my level of trust for him concerning sex, he continued, “I don’t think you can handle my trust responsibly, so I’m not willing to give it to you tonight.”
My chest heaved, fighting a cry. But Jackson’s clasp on me tightened, soothingly.
“What you want in this moment, for some bizarre reason, is passing intimacy. I can offer that. I don’t know for how long before I lose all control, but if it’s what you need now, I’ll give it to you for reasons you aren’t prepared for me to reveal.”
Jackson shuffled beneath me, releasing himself from his boxers. His erection vaulted out, causing me to shiver at the sight. After he maneuvered his bare self beneath me, Jackson pulled me closer until his appendage was sandwiched between us, dizzying me teasingly. His right hand came up to caress the side of my face adoringly as his eyes perused every inch. He was studying me, reading me. It was too much and stripped me even more. He pulled my head towards his and instinctively, my mouth opened to receive his, only it would never happen.
Jackson placed his lips at the corner of my mouth and traced chaste kisses down to my neck. My back arched in direct response. He wasn’t ready to go there with me, although I’d just invited him to all of me. My body.
His tongue swirled masterfully down my needy skin and I shivered when he nibbled on my clavicle sending me into a fit of trembles. My hands raked up his chest until my arms rounded his neck, pulling him into me more, rubbing his swollen member against my stomach. I wanted more. Needed more of him.
“Jackson!” I cried, labored.
When he made it down to my breast, his tongue circled the left, outlining the areola. I watched, completely overcome by the sensation of his slow pace. Jackson slipped two fingers between my slickened lips below. I felt the slipperiness of them through my arousal.
“Goddamn…” he groaned.
He then brought that hand up and swiped my essence over my left nipple before taking it into his mouth.
“Jax!” I couldn’t help but cry out again.
The next thing I knew those same two fingers were in my mouth, pacifying my cry. And like a helpless baby, I began to suck with depraved need. Jackson’s mouth ascended to my ear.
“I know what you need and it’s far more than what you believe your body is craving now. The penetration you need his beyond sensual, Elle, but the only one you acknowledge is me inside you.” With his other hand, Jackson urged me to my knees, I recognized, to prepare to enter me. He was finally prepared to put me out of my misery. “And I don’t mind meeting your ‘assumed’ needs.”
I sank down on him with desperate urgency, moaning from the time his mushroomed bulb breached my sex, all the way down until I could take no more. And with his fingers still in my mouth, I started to ride him with wild abandon. It seemed like almost immediately the rigidity of his head began to rub against that sweet spot within, and because I was able to control it, I swayed my hips accordingly. He sucked my nipple hard to the point of pain. I yelped in duress. Duress that was instantaneously followed up by unadulterated pleasure, and my suction on his fingers released and they slipped from my mouth as I became undone while gyrating on top of him. When my rhythm faltered, Jackson picked up the cadence in our thrusts, pushing me even further over the edge. As I spun in my orgasm, I could feel Jackson’s mouth on my neck, licking and sucking as I rode it out.
He immediately flipped me onto my side, pulling me into a bear hug, and entered me. His thrusts were strong, but his grip on my slack frame was tender. Jackson drug his teeth on that area between my shoulder and neck, driving me wild, kindling me so quickly after my ascension. He lifted my left leg in the air and thrummed my nub deliciously, over and over and over.
“You’re beautiful…extremely intelligent, baby. You’re protective”—he growled—“fiercely protective. You’re a gift…a man’s treasure.” Jackson bit down on my ear, coaxing a fierce moan from me. “When you’re ready, I’ll be here to give you what you need,” he groaned into my ear while stroking me deliciously.
That eerie promise sent me over again, this time taking Jackson with me. He grunted unabashed in my ear, sharing with me his bliss without reservation. His grip on me intensified and I lost myself in the moment. He wasn’t holding anything back, clutching me with need.
There was something taking place. A shift happening between the two of us. It was confirmed when I returned from that bathroom to Jackson holding the beddings open for me to enter the bed. Once I was in and lying, he gently pushed me into his hard frame, draping his thigh over my leg.
“I’m falling, Elle. I know this wasn’t the plan, but I am.”
Me, too, angel. Me, too…
My lids collapsed in dread.
seventeen
“Next on the agenda,” Bridgette announced to the table. “Emily Erceg.”
Jackson’s head popped up from his tablet. Transcribing on those things is definitively a generational skillset. There’s no way I could type that fast on a flat screen.
His brows furrowed. “Who authorized that?” he murmured with suspicion, clearly not happy about it.
“Me,” I announced with confidence. “I’ve spoken with her several times. She’s excited about joining Dynamic Branding and not provisionally either.
Jackson’s eyes rolled over to me. “And when was it approved?”
Instead of responding, I could only sigh. It was on my agenda two nights ago when he visited, but as soon as Jackson pushed through my door, he fell to his knees and pulled my groin into his face. After that, all work-related items were out the window.
I swallowed hard then wet my lips. “I meant to run it past you a couple of days ago, but it got away from me.”
He asked Bridgette, “Who would be the lead on this?”
Bridgette motioned her head in my direction.
“We can’t take Emily on. We promised Erika familial exclusivity.” His hard eyes were on me.
“I spoke to Erika already. She actually brought it up again in our last meeting. She’s totally fine with it.”
Jackson’s glare turned loaded. My face fell. Why was he tripping? The Erceg family was a cash cow in pop culture. Even if we didn’t go as hard for her as we were for Erika, we could still get a run from Emily and have potential clients banging down our door.
“No.” Jackson drawled out firmly.
“No?” I parroted.
The room was deafeningly silent during this warring of wills. I was absolutely aware of Jackson being the authority here, but that piece of me, the size of a morsel, as his lover felt I had a margin of space to challenge him.
“I don’t believe I stuttered and damn sure don’t speak another language. No,” he echoed. “Next on the agenda.”
“Wa… Hang on,” I tried controlling my tone. “Shouldn’t this involve a bit of discussion? We can brainstorm a few ways to spin her brand.”
Jackson straightened in his seat, sat back coolly, and smoothed down his tie. “Elle, Emily doesn’t have a brand outside of the clothing and cosmetic line with her sister, and that is being handled by another firm. Erika was a special case and your keen observation of her untapped marketability confirmed my theory. Nowhere in my vision were her sister or family.”
“I can come up with something for Emily. Just give me some time with her, and I’ll be able to glean something—”
“The answer is no,” he cut me off. I should have known it was coming by the way his eyes grew when I mentioned spending time with her. “You have your plate full with Dale and Erika. If you’re that desperate to help her, throw her file to one of our soft competitors. As it stands, it’s a conflict of interest.” There was finality in his tone.
I sat back, flabbergasted.
He fucked her! Jackson had slept with young Emily.
