by Roxy Sloane
“Show me,” he said.
And then I kissed him.
My hands were on his chest, his shoulders, in his hair, and I heard the pages fall to the floor as he took my face in his hands, kissing me back fiercely, devouring my mouth with his. When he grabbed my ass and pulled me tightly against him, I gasped, already dizzy with lust.
He barely gave me a chance to catch my breath before he tugged at my bottom lip with his teeth, bit my neck, my shoulder, hard enough to make me cry out. Frantically, he pulled my sweater up and over my head, then tugged off his own, giving me a stunning view of his broad chest and tight abs. We kissed again and I fumbled with his belt as he unsnapped my bra, taking my breasts in his hands, kneading them vigorously. He dipped his head down to suck and bite my nipples, my collarbone, and I moaned as his fingers dug deep into the muscles in my back.
“Jackson,” I panted.
“I love hearing you lose it like that,” he said, and then he sucked my nipple so hard I moaned again, helpless in his arms. “Now lay back on the desk.”
I did as he asked, and Jackson unzipped my jeans, yanking them down my hips and onto the floor, along with my panties. My heart stuttered as I lay spread on the desk before him, propped up on my elbows to see what he’d do next.
“Don’t move,” he growled. I could see his cock straining against the fabric of his boxer briefs, and he stepped closer to me until I felt his hardness against the wet lips of my pussy, pressing against me just enough to tease.
“Fuck,” I moaned. I ached for him, struggled with myself to not just reach over and strip him completely and take him in my mouth, but I stayed still as he’d commanded.
He pulled open a desk drawer, rifled around for something, and then held up a red pen.
“Making corrections?” I asked.
“No need. I like what I see. Now stay still.” He reached down and pressed the end of the pen against my knee, trailing slowly up my inner thigh and over my hips, crossing the sensitive skin of my lower belly, adding pressure as he traced up the center of my chest. I had goosebumps all over my entire body, and I shuddered.
The cap of the pen was metal, and cool, and Jackson circled my nipples with it, followed the line of my jaw, teased my lips with light taps.
“Suck,” he said.
I parted my lips and he slid the pen into my mouth, gliding it softly in and out over my tongue, the lust in his gaze burning into me. I closed my lips over the pen’s shaft and bobbed my head back and forth, showing him what I could do.
“Mmm,” I murmured, tugging the pen in his grip with my teeth. It sent him over the edge, and he threw the pen to the floor and lifted me up against him, covering my mouth with his in a hungry kiss.
His hands slid from my neck to my breasts, down my sides, and then he dipped a finger inside me, pumping back and forth as I moaned into his mouth. I was so lost in his lips, his tongue, his teeth that I was dazed when he suddenly pulled away.
His eyes raked up and down my naked body as he tugged off his briefs, freeing his cock. It was thick and ready and I reached for it, but he stepped back and said, “Turn around.”
I did, bending over the desk, my ass presented to him and my pulse pounding in anticipation while I listened to him open another drawer and rip open a condom.
“First I’m going to spank you,” he said, stroking my ass with a strong, steady hand. “And then I’m going to fuck you until you scream my name.”
I grabbed onto the edge of the desk, bracing myself as his hand came down with a sharp slap that made me clench up. “God, that’s good,” I gasped.
He groaned in response and caressed my skin, soothing the sting for a few moments before pulling back to spank the other cheek.
“So good,” I said, and then he slammed into me from behind, rendering me speechless as his hard cock found the tight, slick walls of my pussy.
“Fucking perfect,” he said, his voice a low rumble in my ear. The need in his voice turned me on even more.
Holding me steady with a powerful forearm across my chest, he began thrusting harder, deeper, pounding me into the desk. I cried out with each thrust.
“You’re so wet,” he said.
“Mmm.”
“You like it rough?”
“Yes,” I gasped.
With his other hand he gathered a fistful of my hair, pulling my head back toward him so he could bite softly at my neck, my ears, groaning against my skin as he kept up a hard rhythm, fucking me from behind. I felt my orgasm nearing, my pussy starting to contract around him.
“I’m going to come,” I told him breathlessly. “Don’t stop.”
His pace quickened, and his voice was a harsh whisper as he said, “Is this what you want?” He turned my face so he could look into my eyes as he asked, “Harder? Do you want it harder? Do you want me to fuck your tight ass?” He slammed into me and then held still, leaving me gasping with need.
“Tell me what you want, Ellie.” He pumped in and out, slowly, grinding into me so deep I cried out.
“I want you to do whatever you want with me,” I responded. “Anything. Anywhere.”
That sent him over the edge. He pushed a finger into my mouth, and I sucked on it as he thrust into me faster and harder. Then he pulled away from me and demanded, “Reach back and spread your ass for me.”
I did as he said, breathing heavily with excitement, my face pressed against the desk and my ass presented to him in full surrender. Seconds later his wet finger slid into the tightest part of me, and I let out a low moan as he fucked my ass with his finger in quick, shallow pulses.
“You like that?” he asked.
“Yes,” I said, barely able to get the word out as I thrust against his finger, intense waves of sensation radiating from my core. “Yes.”
Jackson grabbed me roughly and then turned me around to face him, his hand slipping between my thighs to roll my clit between his thumb and forefinger. I gasped at the pressure, my head tilting back, and he pinched and released over and over again until I could feel my pulse pounding in my cheeks.
“Tell me what you want,” he said.
“I want you,” I said. “I need to come.”
He lifted me up and I wrapped my legs around him, and when he sat back in his desk chair I straddled his lap, moaning “Jackson,” as his cock slid straight up into me in one deep, perfect thrust.
I rode him like that in the chair, not caring how loud we were, slamming myself onto him faster and faster, losing myself in the tight, perfect friction between us. Then he held me steady as I leaned back so he could watch me slide up and down his cock, breasts bouncing, hips thrusting. Nothing in the world mattered except him, us, that moment, the power in our bodies, the energy building between each stroke.
“Ellie,” he said, his voice strained, and I felt his cock growing even more stiff inside me.
“Yes—”
He pulled me back toward him, his lips finding mine, and his kiss this time was deeper, more controlled, as he gripped my hips and thrust into me harder, higher, tighter than before. He groaned and I felt him come in shuddering spurts, his release sending me over the edge into my own orgasm. I moaned over and over again, and Jackson held me against him as the shockwaves jolted through me.
When it was over we stayed there, with me on his lap in the chair, until our breathing returned to normal. Then we separated, and before he could say something else that would piss me off, I picked up my clothes and left his office, my knees still shaky as I closed the door behind me.
I went back to the guest bedroom and rinsed off in the shower, still trying to process what had just happened. What the fuck had just happened? One minute Jackson was enraged at me for invading his privacy and reading his manuscript, the next we were fucking each other’s brains out on his desk. And though I hated to admit it, he’d just given me the best orgasm of my life—that arrogant bastard—and if he wanted to do it again, I would say “hell yes” in half a heartbeat.
I shook my head, dried off, and
got dressed. Then I sat on the edge of the bed, unsure of what to do next. A moment later there was a knock on the door.
“Come in,” I called, my stomach doing a little flip.
Jackson stepped into the room, wearing a fresh button-down and jeans. “Listen,” he said. “I’m. . . I’m glad you saw the pages. I’m encouraged that you like them. It actually means a lot to me.”
“That’s great news,” I said carefully, waiting for the other shoe to drop, wondering if he’d also mention our encounter or just pretend it hadn’t happened.
“But I can’t have you here,” he continued. “The way I’m working right now, I’m rethinking things. It has to be me. The way I need to work. And you’re too much of a distraction.”
I nodded. “I understand,” I said. “This project is really important for both of us.”
He folded his arms and leaned against the door jamb, his eyes gone distant and unreadable.
“I’m going into the city tonight,” he said. “It’s the Rochelle Sandling Awards and I’m one of the honorees. Why don’t you come with me? I’ll drop you off at your place after. I give my word, I’ll have pages for you in a few days.”
I sat up straighter, not sure I’d heard him correctly. “You want me to come with you to the awards? As your editor, I mean?”
A smile quirked the edge of his lips. “No. Not as my editor. As my date.”
That floored me, but I kept my expression neutral. Jackson Ford needed a date to an awards ceremony and I was conveniently available. That’s all it was. Practically a business transaction. “Okay,” I said. “Except. . .”
“Except what?” The walls had dropped, and I saw doubt flickering in his gaze.
“I just. . . don’t have anything to wear to a black tie event. Not with me.”
“Oh.” Jackson visibly relaxed. “So we’ll just swing by your place and you can get ready there. And I’ll have the car company come pick up your rental car.”
“Okay,” I said. “Yes. I’d like that. Thank you.”
“Great.” He turned to go, and then looked back over at me. “Ellie,” he added, “as I said, you will have those pages, but I need to get them done my own way, in my own time. I need this space. Once they’re ready, I’ll be happy to hear your feedback. But not until then.”
“What about Louise?” I asked, frowning. “She’s going to want to see something. Can we just show her the three pages I read? Then she’ll ease up.” I almost told him I wouldn’t have a job if I tried to go back to Denton Rifkin without some material in hand, but I couldn’t bear letting him know he had that much power over my career.
“I’ll think about it,” he said with a shrug, as if completely unaware that my ass might be on the line. “I need to get ready, though, especially if we’re heading in early. You better pack up too.”
Then he left.
Once again I sat on the bed, my mind racing with a million thoughts and chaotic emotions. I couldn’t figure out if I genuinely liked him, completely hated him, or just wanted him to fuck me and cook for me every night while telling me stories about his mom. Maybe it was all of the above.
“As my date.” What was that supposed to mean? I could still feel the ache of him between my thighs, and I reminded myself it was just sex and nothing more, yet his words still sent a thrill down my spine. I thought about my mom, and how long she and my dad had dated before they even kissed. The way Jackson made me think, act, feel, was unlike any other kind of relationship I’d ever had. I was in new territory.
I packed up my things and went in the bathroom to touch up my makeup. I looked at myself in the mirror, noticing the marks on my neck from his mouth. I barely recognized the woman in the mirror, but I liked the shine in her eyes.
I brought my duffel downstairs and sat in the kitchen to phone Bianca from Jackson’s landline. She has an embellished Balmain mini dress that I’ve always coveted. And it has a high neck, conveniently. I asked if I could borrow it, and without question, she told me she’d leave it with her doorman.
I had just gone back into the foyer when Jackson appeared on the stairs wearing a tuxedo and fiddling with his cufflinks. You know that cliché about the heart skipping a beat? The man was born to wear a tux.
“Ellie,” he said, “can you help me with these?”
“Of course,” I said, getting inexplicably turned on. I helped him fasten his cufflinks: two beautiful Cartier lions with sapphire eyes. I wondered if they were a gift from his mother, or Olivia, but I couldn’t work up the nerve to ask. Just as I finished, the doorbell rang and Jackson opened it to the black-suited limo driver.
“Louis,” he said, “good to see you. Would you kindly take Ellie’s things?”
“Of course, Mr. Ford,” the driver said with a smile that crinkled the edges of his warm blue eyes. “Good afternoon, ma’am.”
“Good afternoon,” I said, charmed by the elderly man. “Jackson, do you think we could make a stop on the Upper West Side before we go to my place?”
“Sure,” he replied. “Just give the addresses to Louis.”
“Thank you,” I said, to both of them.
In the car, after about ten minutes of driving, the cell reception improved and my phone started vibrating non-stop as I received an avalanche of texts. My ex Luke had apparently been messaging me repeatedly since I’d left town, suddenly convinced that I’d taken some of his signed first editions, the pride of his book collection, when I moved out of his apartment over the summer.
I hadn’t, so I ignored his texts for the moment and responded to a few from Maggie and Carolyn, who had been covering for me as best as she could since I’d taken my little mandatory vacation from Denton Rifkin. Rumors were circulating that I’d been fired, but I told Carolyn not to worry and that I’d get everything handled. I hoped I was telling the truth.
Meanwhile Jackson was on a call to Olivia, and I tried my best not to eavesdrop as they talked about some issues she was having with a client. Afterward, he opened his laptop and scowled at it so fiercely that I inched a little farther away in the seat and left him to it. If he was going to ignore me, I hoped he was at least working on his manuscript.
I spent the rest of the drive dealing with some work emails and trying not to punch Jackson in the face for acting like I wasn’t sitting twelve inches away. I channeled my irritation into grudgingly texting Luke back: “I’m not ignoring you; I’ve been out of town. You can come by next week and look through my books yourself, but I don’t have anything that belongs to you.” Maybe that would get him off my back.
By the time we arrived at Bianca’s, I’d decided that this “date” was definitely a professional social engagement, judging by Jackson’s behavior toward me. And that was fucking fine. I’d just have to act accordingly. Louis graciously retrieved the dress from B’s doorman and we set off for my apartment, our last stop before The Club.
When we pulled up outside I told Jackson, “I’m going to run upstairs, but I’ll make it quick. Why don’t you stay in the car? Keep working.” I tried to keep the snide tone from my voice.
Immediately attentive, he closed his laptop and said, “No, I’d like to see your place.”
“There’s not much to see,” I said, still a little pissed off, and suddenly self-conscious about the state of my tiny one-bedroom. “Why don’t you just wait here?”
“I’ve shown you mine, now you show me yours,” he said with a suggestive smirk. “Don’t be shy.”
I begrudgingly agreed. He took my duffel and Bianca’s garment bag and followed me up to the door of my ground floor apartment. I tried to ignore my nerves as I turned the key in the lock. No big deal. Just Jackson Ford, walking into my tiny “hopefully not a total disaster because I suck at housework” apartment.
When I turned on the lights, everything looked so small compared to the gorgeous mountain lodge I’d just spent the last few days in.
I love my place. Perry Street is one of the most beautiful streets in the Village, and when I moved out
of Luke’s loft in Tribeca I felt so lucky to find something so charming that I could actually afford. There are crown moldings and a carved mantel over the fireplace, where I keep a collection of souvenirs from my travels, framed black-and-white photographs of my family and friends, and a few antique mercury glass vases. I kept pillar candles set in the fireplace, because there’s a crack in the flue that the landlord won’t fix, so I can’t actually light a fire.
I mentioned this to Jackson as he scanned the main room and he said, “Oh, what a shame.”
Nervously, I scooped up some clothes I’d left on the sofa when I’d scrambled to pack just a few days before. He crossed immediately to two large silver gelatin prints on my walls, images of Mount St. Helens during the eruption. They were pricy pieces, but I’d managed to pay them off a little at a time over two years.
“These are powerful images,” he said. “I like your choices.”
“Thank you.” I watched his eyes as they traveled from the clean lines of my grey velvet sofa to my plush leather reading chair, from the mid-century dining table I’d gotten from my parents to my bright white galley kitchen, from my closet of a bathroom to the door of my bedroom. I’d gone through a weeding out process when I moved out of Luke’s place so there wasn’t anything in my apartment I didn’t love, and the look on his face was open and curious, but I still felt exposed in a way that made me a little uncomfortable.
“Do you want something to drink?” I asked, mostly as a diversion. “While I’m getting ready, I mean?”
“Sure,” he nodded, settling onto the couch. “What’ve you got?”
“Scotch, and. . . scotch. I’ve got Glenfiddich and Macallan 25.” I held up the bottles, lifting a brow in question. Jackson was grinning.
“I hadn’t pegged you for a scotch drinker, Ellie. . .” he teased.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I asked, trying not to sound defensive.
“It’s a strong choice.” He shrugged and added, “Scotch drinkers know what they want and don’t care what anyone else thinks of them. They never do things halfway.” His eyes dropped to the bottles in my hands, then lower, lingering as they traveled back up my body, drinking me up, sending my pulse skyrocketing. When our eyes met he murmured, “Though I guess it makes perfect sense.”
