by Chloe Cox
She still couldn’t quite believe what was about to happen. She didn’t know, not exactly, but it seemed pretty likely that it would involve being outside.
She risked a look over her shoulder. It was still snowing, the flakes coming down big and heavy.
“Ava,” Jackson said sharply.
She snapped back around at full attention.
“You’re going to follow me. Keep the vibe in. You’ll find walking a little strange at first,” he said, a smile playing at his lips. “But you’ll get used to it.”
“Follow you?” she said.
“Anything you don’t understand about that?”
“I just…don’t…”
“You are going to follow me, naked, and with that red vibe sticking out of your ass, into the hallway, where, yes, I suppose any of my neighbors could come out into the hall and see you,” he said evenly. “And you are going to do it now.”
That voice.
Meekly, she nodded. He opened the door for her, his ingrained chivalry almost making her laugh under the circumstances. It was perfect, it really was. That was who he was.
But then there was the hallway. Cold and gleaming, the modern lines of the place designed to make everything look expensive and smooth. She took her first steps, paying careful attention to the way the vibe moved inside her. He was right; she could already tell the sensations would build and build, like they had when she’d stayed bent over the counter.
She could feel the folds of her labia sliding together as she walked past him. He took a deep breath.
Oh God, can he smell me?
The thought made her feel wanton, and easy, like he could get her to do anything and everything. He probably can.
There. She was standing naked in the hallway of a luxury apartment building. And it did heighten everything, like some kind of insane drug. If he touched her…. But Jackson only stood in the open doorway for a moment, taking in the sight of her, standing there, shaking slightly, her nipples pebbling at the sheer excitement of it.
He followed after her without a word, letting the door close behind them, and then turned down the hall. She followed, walking quickly to make up for the short little strides demanded by the vibe.
Jackson walked past the elevator, and she could have died from the relief. So not the elevator, at least. But where?
The stairway. Of course. He already had the door open, and she sped up, hurrying for the relative privacy of the stairwell. She thought she heard him chuckle as she shimmied past him into the fluorescent gloom. The door clanged behind them with finality.
Ava hugged her arms to her chest and shivered. There was a certain chill in the stairwell. Jackson was on the top floor. The roof was just above and…the door was open. The door to the roof.
Ava looked back at Jackson in disbelief. He smiled.
Jackson slung the duffel bag around, unzipped it, and extracted a thick, warm looking blanket. “Wrap this around yourself,” he instructed. “It’s designed for arctic expeditions. Very warm.”
Dutifully, she wrapped herself in the soft blanket. He was right. He was always right. Already the chill was gone. But…the roof?
“Jackson…”
“Get up those stairs, Ava,” he said. “Now.”
She was startled, and found that her feet were moving, almost of their own accord, one in front of the other, step by step. It was that voice—that voice that was like a psychic leash, leading her around while she was in this state. She was moving inexorably toward the roof. Toward whatever he had planned. And she liked it.
The roof was beautiful in the snow, in a way that was unique to New York. The maintenance sheds and vents and various other functional things that took up part of any large rooftop created their own topography, giving rise to wind currents and eddies, visible only because of the falling snow. And below was Manhattan, the snow cover lit up by the life of the city.
“Over here,” Jackson ordered, pointing to an area near the edge where the snow hadn’t accumulated. Ava felt it as soon as she stepped in: warm gusts of air billowing out around her blanket. This was the part of the roof where the heating vents were. And there was some kind of apparatus constructed out of sturdy looking pipes and beams, something that rose above her head and extended out to the edge of the roof.
“You are a freaking lunatic,” she said, almost dazed.
“I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that,” he said, laughing. She couldn’t see his face in the dark. “Give me the blanket.”
The air from the vents cut the ice from the wind, but it wasn’t exactly warm. She shivered, and she felt her whole body contract. The wetness on her thighs was cold now. But she obeyed, and gave him the blanket. She watched him fold it carefully and place it in the duffel while retrieving something else she couldn’t quite make out. It was surreal to be standing in the middle of falling snow, chilly but not freezing, and naked.
Jackson moved under the main beam of the contraption that rose above them and said, “Come here.”
She couldn’t help but look up as she did. The grey sky and the falling snow hid any details of the appartus.
“Look at me,” he said.
She did. His eyes were steady, and burned with that look she’d come to know. There was a beat where they only looked at each other, and everything seemed to pass between them—what she’d asked him for, what he’d promised her—and then he tied a blindfold around her eyes.
Ava felt the beginnings of a panic response. She flushed with heat, and her lungs gasped for air. She reached out blindly, clawing at the empty space, filled with terror at finding nothing, and then he was there. He caught her hands and brought them to his chest, wrapping his arms around her.
“Not going anywhere,” he said gruffly, and held her so tight that she could hardly breathe. Somehow it calmed her. She vastly preferred this feeling to the horror of being suddenly alone.
He stroked her hair. “That’s better,” he said.
She sighed into his chest, feeling sleepy until he spanked her right over the vibe. It sent a jolt right through to her clit, and she took a sharp breath. She couldn’t help but rub her nipples ever so slightly against his sweater. She felt the chuckle deep in his chest more than heard it before he stepped away.
“Put out your arms and spread your legs,” he ordered.
Ava did as he asked immediately, not questioning or wondering. She found she wasn’t surprised to feel soft ropes sliding over her skin, or at the feel of leather wrapped around her waist, thighs, and ankles, or the sounds of latches and buckles. With each knot he tied, she surrendered a little more of herself, let one more psychological bind unravel. It felt like finally taking off uncomfortable clothing at the end of a long day, only…so much more so.
Finally, he was done. She didn’t know what she looked like, but the ropes were cutting into the skin around her ribcage and breasts, and she could feel them already starting to swell. As if he was reading her thoughts, Jackson grasped her breasts and pinched both of her nipples, hard.
“Oh God, Jackson,” she said. Her knees buckled. Her nipples were sensitive, swollen, and raw. Her clit was throbbing, and the vibe in her ass was demanding that she get some relief—soon. “Please,” she said.
“Turn around.”
He grabbed her arms and pulled them behind her and bound them there. It was a little uncomfortable, and it thrust her back out and her chest up.
And then the ropes started to pull.
She was lifted from the seat first, and she realized he must have her in some kind of harness. But she was pulled from multiple points until she was lifted into the air, totally unable to move on her own. The lines attached to her lower half pulled tighter, raising her legs and her bottom until she felt like her head must be angled toward the ground. And then the lines attached to her ankles began to pull in opposite directions, spreading her legs. They pulled, and kept pulling, until she thought she would split.
When it all finally stopped, she was blindf
olded, suspended in the air, bottom angled up, arms bound behind her, and legs spread wide. She was panting for breath.
“Remember not to come,” he said, and then there were hands on her buttocks, pulling her slightly forward, and a warm, wet mouth on her pussy.
“Oh my God,” she screamed. She tried to writhe, to pull away, because she was sure she would come at any instant, but she was bound and helpless, and he ignored her. It was like he needed to drink his fill, and he lapped at her mercilessly, fucking her with his tongue while pressing on the protruding vibe. Briefly, he took her clit between his teeth, then wrapped his lips around it and sucked cruelly. She almost cried before her let her go, setting her swinging gently in the air.
“Almost,” he said. He sounded hoarse.
Ava heard him move slightly away, and then there was the sound of the pulleys again, and she felt herself begin to move laterally, parallel with the ground. Still blindfolded, it took her a moment to orient herself, but eventually she was certain: she was moving towards the edge of the roof.
“Jackson,” she said. She was still moving. The sounds of the city below were getting louder. When she finally stopped, she felt herself swaying in the air, and she didn’t stop until he put his hand on her lower belly to steady her.
“Almost,” he said again.
He pressed down on the base of the vibe that was still in her ass, and it started to softly vibrate. Ava moaned. She could feel those vibrations in her clit, in her nipples, in her fingertips, in her freaking teeth.
“Don’t you come,” he said, and as though to test her obedience, he began to rotate the vibe inside of her. She had grown so accustomed to it that it didn’t hurt at all, and now she could feel herself stretching, opening, inviting.
“That’s right,” he said, and more cold lube fell on her. “I’m going to take your ass.”
Something pulled on her blindfold and it fell away. Ava gasped and had to keep herself from screaming. She was looking over Manhattan, hanging off the edge of the roof, suspended in the air and spread for Jackson’s pleasure.
“Oh, holy shit!” she cried. “Oh God, oh God, oh God…”
She’d known it was coming as soon as he’d led her up here—of course she had—but that knowledge was nothing to the actual sight, the experience. She was babbling, mumbling over and over, her chest heaving against the ropes and her core alight, when Jackson removed the vibe. Immediately, it was replaced with the tip of something else, something warm, something much, much bigger.
“Jackson,” she said.
“Trust me,” he said. And grabbed her hips with both hands, swinging her whole body onto his rigid cock, and pushed himself slowly inside her.
She lifted her head as much as she could, shaking, sure she couldn’t take him. He felt her strain, looked up sharply, and said, “Relax. Let it wash over you.”
That voice. She let her head drop, watched the city below her, the skyline inverted from her nearly upside down position, and did just that, no matter how ridiculous it was. She relaxed into the ropes, into herself, into Jackson. She felt completely supported and left with no choice but to submit. It was like she was floating, like the world spun gently around them both, and she felt like finally, finally, when held up like this, she could let go.
The pressure increased, and she felt that same pop as he forced the head of his cock into her. Slowly, he guided her fully onto him until she was impaled on his dick.
“So tight,” he groaned. He pulled out slightly, holding her in place with his hands, and gently pushed into her again. Her whole body began to sway as he rocked slowly with his hips, one hand still guiding her, the other pressing into her lower belly, his thumb rubbing against her clit.
The pressure inside her was intense. She kept blinking, looking out as snow fell around her, and water shed from her eyes, though she wasn’t crying. The moisture that fell to the sides of her face reminded her of how cold it was outside. She should have been freezing, but the warmth of the vents and the feeling that had begun to pulsate out from her core overwhelmed any other concerns.
“Please,” she managed. Somehow, it was hard to talk. All she knew was that she ached to feel even fuller.
The rocking stopped, and she heard the familiar sound of the duffel. He must have hung it nearby, and soon she knew why. More lube, and then the feel of that blue rubber vibe poised at the entrance to her vagina.
“Oh God,” she moaned.
Slowly he pulled partway out of her ass as he pushed the vibe into her pussy. He alternated the strokes, going deeper each time, until finally she was completely full of both. Words seemed so far away from anything she was capable of, but she managed to cry out, “Jackson!”
Just before he turned the vibrator on.
“Now you will come, Ava,” he said. “And don’t stop.”
Ava wailed into the night as Jackson fucked her slowly and thoroughly with his cock and the vibrator, every nerve in her body lit up and sparkling and telling her to come right fucking now. Her whole body felt like one contracting muscle, like an imploding star, until everything exploded outwards in a rippling wave and vanished.
chapter 18
Jackson dreamt of Ava, and of being interrupted. He dreamt about making love to her, and he dreamt about the moment when she’d said she loved him, only to have something pull him away at the last second.
He awoke to the incessant buzzing of his phone, vibrating its way across a bedside table, but he didn’t reach for it. He didn’t move for what seemed like a long time. He wanted to get things straight in his mind.
Had it really happened?
Ava had called him. She had needed him, had been upset for some reason that she still hadn’t told him about. She had asked him to show her what it felt like to trust someone, and he’d known exactly what she’d meant. Knew she still needed to experience things physically, first. And he’d shown her. Christ, had he shown her.
And then, as he was carrying her to bed, she’d said it almost too softly to hear: I love you.
She was there, in his bed now, sleeping soundly next to him. It had all happened.
The joy that gripped his heart hit him so strongly that it almost hurt. For a minute, he couldn’t breathe, his chest constricted. She had said it. He reached over to her and she turned onto her side, murmuring a bit. Then she sighed and slipped deeper back into sleep.
Ava’s face was peaceful and content. She was the most beautiful woman he’d ever known, and she’d never looked more beautiful than when she was happy.
He doubted she’d slept so well in ages. She looked so goddamn right, lying there in his bed, it made his heart hurt all over again. Jackson was so full of relief and happiness he didn’t know where to put it; he turned away, to his phone, just to give himself something else to do. Looking at her like this was like looking at the sun. He’d have to take it in small doses at first.
His fucking phone. Lillian. About a million missed calls and texts to scroll through. No details; Lillian was cautious about that, like he’d told her to be. One phone gets stolen or hacked, and they’d read about the details of their new product on the internet the next day.
But something was obviously wrong.
Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.
Jackson was an engineer by nature. He designed his company to run right, to run with redundancies in place, to run modularly, with the right people heading up the right tasks, people who were good at their jobs and could handle their responsibilities without having to bring the knuckleheaded stuff to his desk. This was one of the reasons he could, if he felt like it, take a couple of days off to thoroughly fuck the love of his life until she agreed to stick around.
But bad design led to chaotic, shoddy, and sometimes catastrophic results. Bad design pissed him off. It meant someone was careless, or lazy, or just bad at their job, and if something was wrong with this product launch—something big enough for his phone to blow up for twenty straight minutes—then that someone was him. It meant he’d lo
st control of the process.
And it meant he had to leave Ava.
In the end, he just couldn’t bring himself to wake her. He tried, gently, but she was sleeping deeply, and Lord knew she needed the rest after the night they’d had. Instead, he made a compromise with himself: the office was ten minutes away, and he swore he’d be back in an hour. And he swore he’d make up every missing minute to her.
He left her an apologetic note on his pillow, dressed hurriedly, and left.
~ ~ ~
The thought—the memory—of Ava saying that she loved him put a smile on Jackson’s normally impassive face all the way to the ArTech office. It had been dumb to think he’d be able to think about anything else. She’d said it. All he’d had to do was engineer a meeting, convince her to let him be her temporary sexual fantasy, take her to a private estate, and then suspend her off the roof of his building, but the important thing was: she’d said it.
So what was this little bit of worry that nagged at him?
He barely registered all the other young twenty-somethings who worked for the various start-ups and media companies that rented space in this building. There was a well put together little blonde, hair in an artfully messed bun, first button of her button-down open, who tried to give him a smile in the elevator. Mostly he noticed that she was not Ava.
He wondered if Ava was still asleep. He hoped so; she had gone out like a light. He grimaced at the thought of her waking up without him after what she’d said. The elevator was stopping at every damn floor on the way up for people to go to and from their coffee and cigarette breaks, and every unnecessary delay annoyed the shit out of him on this particular morning. The doors opened yet again, and two goateed and soul-patched graphic design looking types, coats on and cigarettes already out, got on, not minding the ride to the top.
Fantastic.
Goatee number one rubbed his eyes. “Man, I don’t even remember last night.”
The phrase tore through Jackson. Don’t even remember last night. Ava had been deep in subspace; she’d only barely come out long enough for him to check in with her before she fell asleep. It was entirely possible that she wouldn’t remember what she’d said. Or that she’d think it had been a dream. Or that she wouldn’t be sure.
