by Stella Rhys
When he finally caved and stepped toward me, I kicked him away with a pedicured foot on his chest.
“Lara.”
“Keep watching.”
“You’re going to let me fuck you right now.”
I smirked. “Fuck off.”
His jaw flexed. “You’re gonna get it.”
“I hope so.”
He looked angry but I only grinned. Angry Jackson was wildly sexy anyway so stroking, pumping into myself, I moaned, continuing to kick him away from me for as long as I could get away with, knowing well that his cock got harder with every spurned advance. He knew he’d have me eventually. We were us again. Now, his sexual frustration was back to being a game – a delicious, exciting and torturous game.
With my fifth kick, Jackson caught my leg and mounted me, grabbing both my wrists with one hand and pinning them hard above my head. His free hand between my thighs, he stroked me, reveling in my wetness before spreading my legs and entering me.
“Ah… fuck, Lara.” He grunted when I let him in halfway before tightening my muscles around his shaft.
“That’s what you get,” I smirked breathlessly, savoring the deliciously tormented frown on Jackson’s gorgeous face.
“Baby,” he pleaded, his lip twitching as I let him in another inch. I grinned, taking too much pleasure in rendering all six feet and three inches of his muscle helpless between my legs. “Oh fuck, yes, thank you, baby,” Jackson groaned when I let him plunge back in me, his jaw dropping as he resumed pumping in and out of me, filling and un-filling me, bringing me closer and closer to the edge. “Christ, babe, you feel so fucking good,” he rasped, on his elbows, his eyes lost in mine. “You make me feel like the luckiest man on fucking Earth, Lara. I love you so fucking much.”
“I love you,” I breathed, thrusting my fingers in his dark blonde hair and pulling his lips against mine. Our mouths crushed against each other, he rocked deeper, harder, sliding his hands beneath my ass and forcing me to cry out as he pulled me so tight I could feel every last hot inch of him inside of me.
As usual, the sound of my orgasm forced his. A savage, guttural moan ripped from his throat as he came, spasms rippling his hard body before he let its weight collapse onto me, once again the security blanket I had loved for so many years.
Chapter Seven
On our last day in Ibiza, my lips woke Jackson with a warm good morning wrapped around his cock. I reveled in the sound of him rumbling awake and immediately groaning with pleasure. “Oh… fuck, babe.” His blue eyes were electric as he lifted his head to get a visual on the sensation enveloping his morning wood. “Christ, babe, yes…” His fingers raked through my hair, grabbing fistfuls that grew tighter and tighter as I took him deeper and deeper in my mouth. I had woken up hot, eager to please him. I wanted to give my fiancé every last bit of pleasure I could offer. Gripping his shaft, I stroked, my mouth pumping up and down with my hands.
“Fuck, yes. Keep sucking. Just like that,” Jackson grunted, his six-pack flexed as he watched me. When he came, I slid him out and pressed a kiss onto his pulsing helmet, relishing the sensation of his rich warmth pumping in thick ribbons onto my lips. “Holy fucking shit, baby.” Jackson watched with unblinking awe as I licked them clean. “Fuck, baby,” he grinned, catching his breath. “I can’t fucking wait to make you Lara Kinsley.”
When we finally emerged from our bedroom around 2PM, we were greeted with smug, knowing looks from our friends. Caleb laughed at the lazy satisfaction still spread across Jackson’s face. He and Sloane raised their drinks at us while the others loudly clapped. I rolled my eyes and laughed but felt a quick frown pinch my brows when I caught Sawyer’s reaction. He was usually the leader of this kind of mischief but today he simply sat back, stoic, expressionless. When I caught his eye, he looked away and took a long swig of his beer. Where’s my happy Sawyer? What’s going on? I wanted desperately to ask him and prayed that we’d get at least a minute alone at some point in the day, but we didn’t, and I forced myself to brush it off. He’s just in an odd place since he broke up with his girlfriend. It has nothing to do with me.
~
On our first full day back in New York, Sloane organized a dinner in celebration of my engagement. “Wives and girlfriends only, because we need to be able to talk at length about your future wedding dress,” she said.
I was all for it. But I hadn’t mentally prepared to see Sofie Winter. She hadn’t attended any of our functions since the night that I had broken into Gabrielle’s apartment – the night that Gabrielle had gone missing. My stomach went instantly cold when I caught sight of her, polished as usual and wearing her million-dollar smile despite looking visibly thinner, aged. Guilt weighed in my stomach as I opened my arms to welcome her embrace.
“Don’t laugh, Lara, but I actually cried when Sloane told me about the news!” she giggled girlishly. “I’ve always loved you and Jackson together. You were made for him. We all thought he was perfect already but when you came along, he was complete.”
“Sofie,” I exhaled with a trembling smile. My eyes welled and I told myself it was because of her kind words, not because of my nagging fear that it had been me. That in my wild, blind rage that night, I had somehow led to her daughter’s death. No, no, no. That thought existed only in the dark place that I’d managed to escape for the entirety of Ibiza. I wanted to stay out of that place. Forever. Pulling away from Sofie, I forced myself to smile wide. “This calls for some drinks, doesn’t it?”
I was on an empty stomach so thankfully, the first round of champagne cured my nerves. Over Moët and carpaccio, we spent the evening talking about Jackson instead of my dress. After two rounds, we were all rosy-cheeked and laughing. Emily Rocha asked for the story of how Jackson and I met and squealing with delight, Sloane told its censored version.
She had brought me to one of Sofie’s big galas and had gotten quickly too drunk, leaving me to fend for myself, which proved difficult once Dane McNulty found me. He had introduced himself and immediately begun talking about a new building he’d purchased in SoHo, asking me if I wanted to see it. It had been an upscale clothing store beforehand and several nice pieces were left behind. He had a feeling I’d look great in them with “that incredible body.” Needless to say, the way he spoke to my breasts made me uncomfortable, so I wound up recoiling and excusing myself, wandering out into the hall of the posh restaurant and up a winding marble staircase.
I found a half-naked Jackson in an empty room up there.
I froze and stared, unable to tear my eyes off of the strange man with the perfect face and perfect body. It felt like a daydream. I barely processed his stammer about why he was changing into a different tux. It felt as if I was actually blushing to death so I wound up running out. He chased after me, apologized, and then insisted he get me a drink downstairs – as if seeing his ripped body in grey boxer briefs was some sort of traumatizing experience for me.
“Whew. I don’t know how I would’ve reacted if I met Jackson like that, but I definitely wouldn’t have run away,” Emily fanned herself. “I can say that because I love Erik with all my heart,” she added hastily.
As Sofie cooed something about me being “darling,” I eyed Sloane – the only other person who knew that I wound up having sex with Jackson in the back of his car that night. It had been dirty, carnal, like nothing I’d ever done in my life. Fear had pulsed in my stomach the entire time he’d grasped fistfuls of my dress, piercing me with a hot, hard pleasure I’d never felt before. I was twenty-two at the time and until then, had only experienced unremarkable sex. I’d never so much as spoken to a man who looked like Jackson, nor had I slept with someone I’d only just met. I’d never experienced a real orgasm let alone two in one go. But in that first night with Jackson, I crossed all of those things off my list.
Even the nicest girls have a nasty side, Sloane had told me. It just takes the right man to bring her out.
I had a feeling that was true. My first time with Jackson had been unab
ashed and wild, but only because it felt right with him. It wasn’t in my nature to do such a thing with anyone else. I wasn’t that open. But with Jackson, I had felt an instant pull. A connection in the way he spoke and moved. He had lost his father in the same way I’d lost mine. He resented yet missed his brother in the same way I did my sister. By the time we touched for the first time – his hand on the curve of my waist – it had felt as if I’d known him for ages. It felt as if his hand belonged there.
With a happy sigh, I leaned back, letting Sloane take my bejeweled hand in hers. “Look at where we are, Lara,” she murmured, resting her head on my shoulder. “We couldn’t even dream this life in middle school. We didn’t know it could be this beautiful.”
It was true. In middle school, we had fantasized about moving to New York and finding rich boyfriends. We invented stories of where they would work and what kind of parties they went to. But we were from a small, dead town named Margaret, population three thousand twenty-four. Our imagination only went so far. We couldn’t imagine the true luxury of being with our boys – the shining penthouses in Chelsea, the glittering galas under eighty-foot ceilings. The connections to anything we could possibly want – courtside seats, private shopping trips, flights to Mallorca on a gleaming G6. We had a million times more than we ever thought we would.
Giggling, Sloane planted a kiss on my cheek. “I love you. And I love us. You, me, Caleb and Jackson. One big happy family.”
Champagne bubbling through me, I sighed with content, clinking my crystal flute against Sloane’s. Surrounded by friends, celebrating my engagement to the love of my life, I was absolutely certain that I’d never ever been happier.
Chapter Eight
I was walking out of my first bridal appointment on Monday when I bumped into Dane McNulty and his leering grin. Or rather, he had come up from behind me to say hello in his way.
“Miss Future Kinsley,” he said, putting his hand on my lower back. I instinctively stiffened. “Just me, sweetheart,” he grinned when we locked eyes.
Oh great. Even worse than a random stranger trying to touch me, I stretched my lips into a convincing smile. I loved my life with Jackson but one of the few downsides was the fact that I spent at least twenty percent of my time being pleasant for people I disliked. Dane topped that list of people, mostly because he gave me, as my mother would call it, the heebie-jeebies. He was handsome in a over-polished, cologne model kind of way. But his eyes were a predatory grey and every time he flashed that I’m-mentally-undressing-you smile, I wondered if the line on his cheek was an odd dimple or a terrible scar. He was all kinds of disconcerting.
“How are you, Dane,” I asked, barely able to manage an upward inflection to my question. I didn’t care how Dane was and I wished that kissing wasn’t a customary hello in the world of Jackson’s friends. I winced as I felt Dane’s mouth linger too long on the hollow of my cheek. I flashed an overly sweet smile as I manually removed him from my body. He smelled like scotch. Barely noon and he had already been drinking.
Running a hand over his slicked back hair, Dane took me in from head to toe. “Better now,” he said, his eyes sliding down the front of my saffron maxi-dress. “How are you, beautiful? Heard you all had a great time in Ibiza without me.”
I didn’t say anything. He hadn’t been invited for a reason. Jackson generally tolerated Dane because many of his friends still liked him, and Dane did in fact have very envious connections. But since the invasion in our home, it seemed Jackson had lost all patience for appeasing others. All he wanted was to please himself. After all, life was too short.
But since I didn’t want to explain that Jackson’s near-death experience had spurred him to trim Dane from his life, I kept my mouth shut. I knew Dane would force our conversation to continue anyhow.
“In case you’re unaware I did Jackson a big solid recently. You should tell him it’s a bad look to accept my favors and then leave me out of plans with our friends. But eh, I’m sure he’ll make it up to me by the time we do the Hamptons for Labor Day.”
“Sure. Maybe,” I said flatly, certain that that was probably not the right response. I was used to feeling awkward around Dane, but usually because of his lewd comments, not his feelings of rejected friendship. Smirking, he pressed on.
“So what’s a pretty girl like you doing in wretched Midtown East?”
I barely wanted to answer. “Bridal appointment.”
“Mm, of course.” Dane slid his hands into his pockets, slightly swaying as he eyed my neckline. “I’m sure Jackson’s having you pick something obscenely tight.” His grin spread slowly as I pursed my lips into a line. I had no response because he wasn’t wrong about Jackson’s preference for skintight dresses. Silent and annoyed, I watched him break into a laugh. “Christ. You let him get away with everything, don’t you?”
That rubbed me the wrong way. “What are you talking about?”
“You know. The man can do whatever he wants.”
“Again, what are you talking about.”
He smirked casually. “Oh fuck me, I’ve said too much.”
I glared, knowing well that he expected me to grovel for an explanation. But since I refused, I flashed Dane that deliberately fake smile again. “Right. Well, always a pleasure.” I started past him but he stepped in front of me.
“You know, I always meant to tell you this little something but I wasn’t sure if it was appropriate.”
I stopped, jaw tightening as I anticipated some deeply vulgar compliment. “What, Dane?” I asked, allowing my tone to for once convey my impatience. Dane delighted in it, amusement dancing in his dark eyes.
“Do you want to hear it, sweetheart?” he wet his lips.
“Honestly, no. Not really.”
“Oh,” he feigned surprise, finally letting me go. “I guess he was right then,” he called after me. “Sawyer told me never to tell you.”
I stopped in my tracks, wondering when my heart had begun to pound. Hating myself for the satisfaction I was providing, I turned back to face Dane. “What about Sawyer?” I asked reluctantly, my pride aching. Dane’s face was so smug now that I felt my fingers actually twitch with the need to slap it.
“Fuck, Lara. He’s gonna kill me, but I have to say it,” he said with a grin, his expression barely trying to match the phony regret of his words. “I was with Sawyer awhile back – we met this group of Brazilian girls at a party and went back to their hotel at night, fucked them, yada yada.” Satisfaction twitched on his lips as he watched me wince. I didn’t want to hear this part of the story but it was every bit like Dane to force others to hear about his sex life. “Fuckin’ great night. Sawyer took the brunette, I had her friends. I think it was three of them, but I don’t – ”
“You can skip this part, Dane,” I said between my teeth. He had to be wasted. He was always disrespectful but never to this degree.
“Right, right. Fast-forward then.” Dane ran his thumb along his lower lip, savoring my curiosity before dropping whatever bombshell he had. “I fucked them, left their room – and guess which pretty little thing I saw in the hallway? Lyle and Sofie’s Winter’s daughter. Poor girl, they still haven’t found her. What’s her name again?”
My body went cold but my cheeks were aflame. “Gabrielle,” her name barely choked from my lips.
“Yes. Gabrielle. She was wearing this lacey black dress, ended right about here.” Dane reached to draw a line on my upper thigh. I pushed him away, my eyes stinging. I didn’t anyone to know about Jackson’s affair but if I could pick the last person I wanted to know about it, it would be Dane. “You wanna take a guess who I saw open the door for her?” he laughed, following me as I stormed past him.
“No, thank you,” I muttered bitterly, tears brimming my eyes as I tried to speed past him despite my heels. He kept up effortlessly.
“So you already know about their affair and you’re still marrying the guy,” Dane marveled. “Christ, and here I thought you couldn’t get better.”
Tears streamed down my cheeks as I stormed down Park Avenue. The knot in my throat felt like I’d swallowed a ping-pong ball. Dane knew. Dane and Sawyer both. I had hoped to forget the affair like it never happened but as it turned out, there were still others in the city besides Jackson and myself – others who knew about the ugliest thing to ever unfold between us.
Dane pretended to offer comfort. “Hey, don’t cry. At least you know for sure that he isn’t still fucking her,” he snickered.
The dark joke twisted my stomach. “Please just go, Dane,” I exhaled, fighting the knot in my throat. I was sure he couldn’t say anything worse at that point.
“Fine, I’ll go.” Clucking with mock sympathy, Dane rubbed my back and kissed my cheek. “But I don’t want you to cry, sweetheart, so try to take comfort in the fact that this is yesterday’s news. No need to dwell on something that happened two fuckin’ years ago.”
Chapter Nine
Two years ago.
I had frozen on the sidewalk and watched Dane walk away as I processed his last few words.
The fight about Jackson’s smoking habit. The trip to Italy with Sloane. That was five months ago, when Jackson told me the affair first started. I’d thought the infidelity lasted only three nights in the downtown W. Three nights over the course of four months. It had taken every painstaking fiber of my being to forgive him for that short but shattering period of time. Jackson had been weak and I had been forced be strong. Strong enough to take him back and get past those terrible four months.
But now I knew the truth.
He had first slept with Gabrielle long before that. Almost two years ago. Had she even fucking been eighteen yet? For the second time, I was horrified, blindsided and betrayed by the man I loved.
In the dark of our bedroom, a near-empty bottle of Bordeaux on my nightstand, I stared at nothing. I had tried to convince myself that Dane was lying but then I thought about Sawyer. I remembered how he’d acted strangely in Ibiza, right before Jackson’s proposal. “I know a lot of things,” he had said, drunk and morose. “Things that you’d want to know.”
