So why wasn’t I feeling that way now?
Then again, right then, I really was on edge. But a different kind. A better kind. My skin tingling, my sex throbbing. My entire body was primed in anticipation of his touch. A touch that I wanted. Maybe even needed.
“Go ahead,” Jackson said, his voice soft but with a subtle hint of authority.
I turned to look at him, not understanding.
“Touch yourself.”
This time, there was no denying the command. Nor was there any denying my body’s immediate and visceral response. The instant firing of my blood. The sudden ache between my thighs. The tightness in my breasts.
I swallowed and forced myself not to clench my hands at my sides as panic began to bubble up inside me, all the more unwelcome because I’d thought with Jackson I was past it. “I don’t think so.”
My words were firm, and I was proud of myself for hiding my anxiety.
“You want to,” he said simply.
“No, I—”
“Don’t discount your desires, Sylvia. Do you think I can’t feel it, too, the heat you’re generating? Do you really believe that I don’t know damn well that if I slid my finger inside your panties I’d find you hot and wet for me?”
I pressed my lips together, both aroused and frustrated that he could so easily see what should have been hidden.
“I thought of you last night,” he continued. “I sat in my living room with a glass of bourbon and I thought of you.”
I shifted a little so that I was looking straight at him, but I said nothing.
“I imagined you in your apartment, in your bed. I imagined you naked, Sylvia. Your legs spread, one hand on your breast, the other sliding down until your fingers found your clit, so hot. So sensitive. Did you tease yourself, baby? Did you play with your clit, then slide your fingers down? Were you hot and wet and tight? Did you fuck yourself last night, Sylvia? Did you thrust your fingers deep inside? Did you imagine it was my cock inside you? Tell me, baby. I want to know.”
“Yes,” I murmured, both because it was true and because I wanted him to know.
“Then do it now. Why deny yourself a pleasure you so clearly want?”
“I—Jackson, no.” I dragged my teeth over my lower lip. I expected a flood of horrible memories and clenching anxiety so intense that I’d end up closing myself off and letting the world turn gray just so I could find a space inside myself where I could breathe.
Except the flood didn’t come. On the contrary, little by little the panic faded, subsumed by the power of my desire.
“Close your eyes,” he said. “Nothing more. Just close your eyes.”
Since that was easy, I did.
“You’re beautiful.” He reached over and stroked my cheek, then ran his fingers through my short-cropped hair. “So goddamn beautiful. And even more so with the sun on your skin. Can you feel it, low in the sky, bursting through that window? Touching your skin? Firing your senses? Making you soft and warm and languid?”
“Yes.” My voice came out a whisper, and I hadn’t even noticed how relaxed I’d become in the few short moments when his words washed over me, seducing me with as much precision and technique as the hands I knew would certainly follow.
“Put your hands on your knees, Sylvia.”
I did, then drew in a calming breath. My skin felt too tight and my body too hot. I had no word to describe the way I felt other than need.
And what I needed was Jackson.
“Unbutton your dress, Sylvia,” he demanded. “But don’t open your eyes.”
I swallowed, then reached down and found the last button. It slid easily through the hole. The next was about four inches higher, and I unbuttoned it as well. Then higher and higher until I reached my crotch.
“Jacks—”
“No.” His fingertip pressed softly on my lips. “You don’t talk. You don’t think. You only do and feel. Nod if you understand.”
I nodded.
“Now finish the buttons.”
I complied, my hands shaking slightly as I reached my waist and then unfastened the buttons that rose up the bodice to end at my breasts.
“Now spread your legs, and open the dress as you do.”
I was breathing hard by then, imagining what he saw. The yellow material thrust aside, and me in black lace and stockings, my breasts plump in the lacy bra with the minuscule cups. With my eyes closed, I was lost in a sensual cloud, attuned to the movement of the car and the sound of his voice, but I didn’t expect the brush of his fingertip over my nipple, and I couldn’t withhold my gasp of pleasure as his touch sent a shock of sensation through me from breast to sex.
