Again, I simply shake my head.
“Because you are completely open. I can take you any way. Your cunt. Your ass. Your mouth.” He brushes his finger over me with each word, and I shiver at the thought of being so thoroughly fucked. “I will, too, one day. I want all of you, Sylvia. But right now, I want to feel you on me. I want you close. I want to hold you and control every movement. And I want to be close enough to see your eyes and claim your mouth when you come.”
“Yes,” I whisper, so wet I can feel the slickness on my thighs. “Please, yes.”
He spreads my legs, then kneels between them, lifting my hips as he uses one hand to ease me onto my back before thrusting into me with one quick, powerful stroke. I am wet—so desperately wet—and there is no hesitation, no need for gentle coaxing, and I cry out with the pleasure of being so thoroughly and deliciously filled.
I’m on my back, and the sensation of arching up as he fucks me is wonderful. My skin feels tight and awake, my breasts teased by even the motion of the air. But he soon changes that. He reaches down and slides his hands under me, then lifts me up so that I am straddling him.
I have no hands to use, and no legs for balance, so though I am on top of him, he is doing all the work. He holds me at the waist, lifting me up and down so that I am pumping him, and he is filling me.
It is insanely erotic, this sensation of fucking and being fucked at the same time, and I do the only thing I can do and that is squeeze my muscles tight around him with each thrust, trying to milk him so that he comes hard and fast, even though I do not want this glorious sensation to end.
“Yes,” he says, urging me on. “That’s it, baby.” With each word, he moves me harder. Faster. And I can feel the pressure building in him, the explosion coming.
Mine as well, because in this position he is so deep that with each thrust he pushes me closer, and at the same time the rocking motion against my clit is making me spiral up, reaching for climax.
“Please,” I moan as we get close, so close, and he’s moving me tighter and faster until finally his hands grab my back so that I sit straighter upon him and I meet his eyes and see that we are both on this same collision course.
And when it comes, it is almost nuclear, and the only thing that keeps me grounded is Jackson’s mouth, hard and deep against mine, his tongue seeking and claiming, as if this kiss holds a secret that only the two of us can share.
We stay like that until our bodies quit shaking and then he pulls me limp against him.
He strokes me, and the feel of his hands against my skin is like warm comfort.
Slowly, he unties me, then gently rubs my arms where the cord has cut into my skin. “How do you feel?”
I grin up at him, tired and wrung out and absolutely thoroughly satisfied. “Amazing,” I say sleepily. Then murmur, “Can we do it again?”
I feel his chuckle reverberate through me as he pulls me close. “I think that can be arranged. Sleep now, sweetheart.”
His words seem to float over me, and by the time I realize that I am already half there, the world goes dark and I lose myself in the safety of Jackson’s arms.
It turns out that Jackson is a typical bachelor in that he has absolutely nothing in his refrigerator except cheese, and nothing to drink other than wine, scotch, and beer.
Since I’m not keen on defrosting frozen pastries or waiting an hour for a delivery, we decide to go with popcorn and a movie, and just call it a date night.
Now, I am stretched out on the sofa in Jackson’s office space, my feet on his lap and my computer balanced on my stomach. Across the room, the television plays The Big Sleep, an old Humphrey Bogart movie that Jackson found when he was doing that annoying thing that guys do with the remote, and said we absolutely had to watch.
Since I like Bogie and anything is better than sports, I’m happy about his choice.
Technically, I’m supposed to be working, since it’s still early and I got nothing accomplished in the afternoon. So I’ve got my laptop open and I’m reviewing Aiden’s notes on my revised marketing plan and budget. I’m alternating that task with filing and responding to a variety of pending emails from both my account and Damien’s.
In other words, I’m truly multitasking. The real estate life. The assistant life.
And the good life, I think, as I look at Jackson and grin.
I’d changed into a pair of Megan’s shorts and a tank top, and Jackson keeps looking up from the sketch pad he has balanced on the side of the couch to grin lasciviously at me.
“You are so transparent,” I say.
