One Night

by Best, Victoria J.

  “Fuck it,” he said, just before his mouth found mine, crushing and bruising in a way I didn’t know I was missing until it was happening again.

  I wound my arms around his neck and my legs around his waist, pulling him against me so our teeth clashed together and I tasted blood from my battered lip. None of it mattered though, and I didn’t feel any pain, only intense pleasure, and I needed more. A sudden burst of boldness and inspiration hit me and I wondered if he would follow through with the threat he made outside of the limo.

  “Where are we going, Jackson?” I blurted between rough kisses and pants.

  “What did I tell you about asking me again, Liza,” he snarled in my ear before taking the lobe between his teeth gently.

  I cried out with pleasure, the sensation of his bite zinging straight to my core. This roughness was new and forbidden and something I had never experienced before. But I wanted it with Jackson, and the thought of him tying me up made my heart quicken and moisture flood my panties.

  “Do it,” I ordered, as I fumbled with the buttons on his shirt and ultimately resorting to tearing it apart, buttons flying around the cabin of the plane.

  Jackson pulled back, his eyes searching mine, and I feared he would tell me no or that he was only joking. My heart all but stopped for a minute, wondering if maybe I fucked up. But I realized he wasn’t going to tell me no; he was searching to see if I was being serious, if I really wanted what he wanted. The way he had searched my face for approval that second time we were at his hotel. Giving him a slight nod, I bit my lip, in the same spot where the cut from our rough kisses was, wincing at the briefest pain but reveling in it because of how it happened. That was all the consent he needed and he hopped up, unbuckling and pulling his belt off.

  “Turn around,” he demanded, his eyes the darkest I had ever seen them.

  Before I turned around, I sat up, pulling my sweater over my head and tossing it aside. I shimmied out of my jeans and underwear, and tossed them to meet my sweater on the cabin floor.

  “Jesus, Liza, you are so beautiful.”

  Not waiting for me to turn over on my own, he grabbed my hips and flipped me to my belly, pulling my arms up over my head and winding the belt around my wrists. When he was done, he gave it a tug to determine how tight it was. He must have been satisfied because he stepped back, and I glanced over my shoulder just in time to see his wicked grin. He undressed quickly, tearing off his destroyed shirt and shucking his pants and boxer briefs until his caramel-colored skin was bared to me. I wanted to weep at the sight of him because it had been over a week since the last time we were together, and my body ached for Jackson to fill it in a way it never had before.

  I felt his weight press down on the back of me before he sat back up again, bringing my hips back to meet him. He pressed his erection against my ass and I pushed back, needing him to take away the misery of being empty of him.

  “Do you feel how hard I am for you, Liza? Do you feel what you do to me?” he asked, his voice a low rumble.

  I groaned, unable to wait another minute for the torture of being deprived of him to end. “Yes, yes,” I breathed, my voice barely recognizable. “Please, Jackson, I need you,” I begged.

  “Not yet, not until you find out what happens when you disobey me,” he said, his voice steady and calm.

  My heart sped up. We had never played this way before. Usually, we were so hot for each other that once we started, there was no time for anything else. This felt different somehow, as if Jackson were letting me on to a side of him he didn’t share before. It felt like a turning point, and I wondered if maybe the need to be rougher was what he had been hiding from me all along?

  He ran a hand gently over my ass, caressing me until I pressed back into his touch, needing more, for him to move lower, between my legs. His touch disappeared, before reappearing with a light slap against the same ass cheek he had been caressing. I cried out, not from pain, because it didn’t hurt, but surprise because I didn’t know it was coming. He did it two more times until my ass tingled. The last time he removed his hand, I expected another soft blow but instead felt his fingers between my legs as he plunged two of them inside of me swiftly.

  I was ready for him, soaked and burning for his touch, but I cried out anyway from the relief of finally being entered, and bucked back to take more of him. He placed a hand on my ass, rubbing the same spot he previously smacked, my body molten with need at the sensations of pain and pleasure before he lifted his hand and smacked me again. I bucked my hips again, rocking against his fingers as he thrust them in and out, his thumb circling my clit as he lightly swatted my ass with his other hand. The slight pain of the spanks combined with the pleasure of his fingers inside of me were overwhelming, and my head swam with so much pleasure I couldn’t think straight. When the orgasm hit, I felt wild with sensation, bucking and writhing under his touch as he held me still by my waist, finger fucking me until I was spent and breathless.

  My shoulders ached from holding myself up by my tied wrists, but I barely noticed as I came down from the orgasm, sinking against the leather couch. Jackson didn’t give me any time to recover, flipping me back around without warning and settling between my legs, then plunged inside my sensitive pussy until he was buried to the hilt. I moaned as he began to thrust against me, hard and fast, unforgiving and rough. Though I was wrung out and exhausted from the first orgasm, I felt another begin to build and I hiked my legs up over his hips, hooking my feet around his ass, and digging my heels in because I couldn’t hold onto him with my arms.

  “Fuck, Liza, that feels so damn good,” he moaned as he thrust harder and faster into me.

  I forgot I was on a plane as a second climax tore through me and I yelled his name, forgetting even my own. Jackson thrust harder, two more times, before gripping my neck gently with his teeth as he found his release inside of me. Almost as an afterthought, Jackson pressed a chaste kiss to the area on my shoulder where he had nearly broken the skin with a bite seconds earlier, eliciting a shiver from me. The combination of rough and gentle confused my senses but also stole my heart a little more.

  Jackson stood up, disengaging from me. He leaned over and unwrapped my wrists, rubbing the red welts that appeared underneath. Frowning, he tossed his belt aside and gathered our clothes from the floor while I lay still on the couch, waiting for him. Neither of us spoke, but it didn’t feel awkward or tense. Instead, I felt sated and sleepy as he handed me my sweater and jeans.

  I stood up, pulling my sweater on and slipping back into my panties and jeans. Jackson dressed silently, stealing glances at me. He looked like he was going to say something but changed his mind several times, and I wondered what was on his mind. The distance was back, what I sensed on the drive to the airport, though I felt the connection we built just moments ago. His mood must not have been because he worried I wouldn’t be into rough sex—something else was going on. I debated whether or not to ask him, though I knew he would likely blow it off as nothing.

  We didn’t return to our seats once we were dressed. Jackson led me by my hand to the same couch we had just christened and we sat there. I was surprised when he put his arm around me, pulling me into his side. Jackson didn’t usually cuddle or offer physical affection after sex.

  “I wasn’t going to say anything,” I finally mustered the courage to say after we sat in silence for several minutes, “but I cannot figure out your mood today, and it’s bugging me.” Jackson responded well to honesty, though I had a hard time coming right out and asking him things.

  He looked down at me, a hint of a smirk lighting his beautiful face, but underneath, his eyes were haunted. What was going on?

  “You are full of questions today. What happened the last time you asked too many questions?” He said it seductively, but I could tell he was deflecting.

  “You only said I couldn’t ask where we were going, you never said I couldn’t ask you what was going on inside your head,” I said, tapping a finger against his forehea
d.

  With a sigh, he ran a hand over his face again. “It’s complicated.” He gave me the same line he always did when he didn’t want to talk to me.

  How, after only just over a week, was I able to read him so well?

  “I’m here, aren’t I? Everything is complicated, Jackson,” I said, because he needed to know I wasn’t running away this time.

  A war was waging in his mind, I could see it behind his eyes. There was something he wanted to tell me but thought he shouldn’t. Could it be possible he was just as afraid of me running from him as I was that he would say something that would make me run? The thought gave me pause and I toyed with the idea of letting it go, for now.

  “Never mind, forget I brought it up,” I said quickly before he could respond to my previous comment.

  “You’ll find out soon enough,” he said cryptically and an icy chill went down my spine at his words.

  Why was I more afraid to find out than I was at being kept in the dark?

  Somehow, Liza was able to read my mood all of a sudden. No matter the extent I went to in order to mask the anxiety I felt at the impending days, she was able to see that something was off. But I couldn’t tell her why I was in such a foul mood, not yet. And if she kept asking me questions, I was going to have to take her over my knee, again.

  “How long will we be on the plane?” she asked, pulling me from my thoughts.

  “So many questions,” I said again, trying to distract her away from all topics of where we were going or what I was thinking about.

  Liza sat up, pulling out of my embrace, and stared at me for a minute. “I didn’t ask about the destination again.” She held her hands up to show I couldn’t be angry for her line of questioning. “If it’s a long flight, I may want to take a nap,” she offered as a way of explaining.

  I chuckled because she was very good at making me forget why I should be mad about the inquiry.

  “Liza, any more questions and we may have a repeat performance,” I growled, pulling her back into my embrace.

  To be honest, I wouldn’t mind distracting her that way because every second she was near, it seemed my dick was rock hard, but that would have to wait until we arrived at our destination, no matter how long. I wouldn’t drop my guard again and risk the flight attendants walking in on us, or risk taking the rough play to a level she wasn’t comfortable with while we were trapped on a plane together for eight hours.

  I could tell this was new for Liza and though I waited this long to introduce her to it, I wasn’t sure how much longer I could control the need that was building inside of me. This was the reason I kept a hotel room where I took women, this was why I had anonymous sex, this was the reason Natalie condemned me to a marriage that was a hell I couldn’t get out of unless she or I was married again.

  I felt her shiver at my words, as if it turned her on, and I once again marveled at this woman next to me. Maybe she was my perfect match and I could be free to be myself with her, the way I never had been with anyone else? Or maybe the second she saw the real me and I tricked her into a marriage she didn’t want, she would run so far and so fast I would never see her again?

  “It’s going to be about eight hours,” I barked out, my train of thought making me irritable again.

  I felt the need to pace the cabin like it was closing in on me, and I stood up swiftly, so quickly Liza flopped onto the couch with a squeak.

  “Did I say something wrong again?” she asked. Her honesty and candidness all of a sudden were undoing me in a whole new way.

  Liza trusted me too much, giving me too much credit where I didn’t deserve it, and it was messing with my head. I longed to blurt out the secrets I kept from her but knew now was not the time. Going around in circles with the turmoil in my head wasn’t making a long, confined plane ride any easier.

  Shaking my head, I reached for her hand. “There is a small room with a bed and a bathroom in the back of the plane,” I said, and I led her towards the back. “If you want to shower or lie down, you’re welcome to. I have some business to attend to.”

  I left her standing in the center of the room, a look of confusion on her face, and walked out, slamming the door behind me.

  Jackson shut me out again, literally slamming a door in my face. I stood there for a moment, staring at the door because I wasn’t sure what to do next. It was always one step forward and two steps back with Jackson and I was at a loss, again. Sighing, I looked around at the bedroom, which was full size and belonged in a home, not on a plane. A king-size bed sat behind me on the wall opposite the door. I slunk over to it, perching on the edge, and crossed one leg over the other.

  Of course there was a bedroom and full bath in Jackson’s plane. If I wasn’t so preoccupied—first, with being terrified and second, with lust—I would have noticed how far back the plane went past the cabin. But when I was with Jackson, my brain was not my own and I was always distracted in one way or another. The bed was soft, with a white duvet and white sheets, and I suddenly longed to curl up underneath of it and take a nap. I was exhausted, both emotionally and physically, and for the fiftieth time, wondered if this trip was a good idea. There was only so much second, third, and fourth-guessing I could do, however, at this point. With another loud sigh, I stood up and headed into the bathroom.

  Just as the bedroom was elegant and out of place for forty-one thousand feet, so was the bathroom. White-and-black cement tile decorated the floors, giving it a Spanish element, while sterile white subway tiles adorned the walls and interior of the large walk-in shower. Jackson knew how to spend his money, which was evident. Suddenly, I wanted nothing more than to stand under the hot spray of the shower before disappearing under the fluffy, white duvet on the large bed. Jackson said the flight was going to be a long one, so I wouldn’t need to hurry or worry about landing anytime soon.

  I shed my clothes quickly, laying them atop the bed, and hurried into the bathroom. The swiftness of my movements made no sense but maybe I was waiting for Jackson to burst through the door at any moment. He was quite unpredictable sometimes. I flicked on the shower, turning the tap as hot as I knew I could stand, before stepping under the spray.

  Hissing as the scalding water touched my back, I closed my eyes and took a deep breath because I knew I would adjust to the temperature soon enough. My thoughts were a swirling mess again and I squeezed my eyes tighter, pressing the heels of my hands into my eyelids to try to calm the racing mania. But it was no use. My thoughts fled to Jackson every second of every minute.

  I wondered where he was on the plane, which was stupid because he was likely right outside the door to the bedroom, and I wondered what he was doing out there. Was he as confused as me, or was I the silliest woman on the planet for longing for a man who didn’t know if he wanted me or not? I didn’t want to let the tears that slid from my eyes to escape at first, pressing my hands firmer against them, as if to shove them back in, but they fell anyway, blending with the hot water as it rolled down my face and chest. I wasn’t even sure what I was crying about. We just shared one of the best sexual experiences of my life—come to think of it, all of them have been with Jackson—and here I was, bawling in the shower like a child with a broken toy.

  Until Jackson gave me what I desired, the pleasure mixed with pain, I hadn’t realized I was missing it. But the truth was, I would have taken whatever he was offering me and maybe that was why I wanted it. I was addicted to Jackson and being with him, with or without the roughness and forbidden play, I would still want him. However, it was becoming evident he either didn’t want me the same way, or was trying not to want me. We were beyond casual sex at this point, crossing that line over a week ago, but what he did want was still unclear to me.

  The more he distanced himself from me, cutting off his affection and shutting me out, the more I doubted everything I thought was true. The back-and-forth game was exhausting and here I was, for the millionth time, wishing I stuck to my guns and told him I wouldn’t come on this trip. If
only I had stood by what I started to tell him last night in the limo, but I couldn’t go back in time.

  Flipping off the tap, I pushed the shower door open and stepped out, grabbing a lush, white towel from the rack to the left of the door. The large towel came to my knees when I wrapped it around me, feeling like a warm hug, and I realized the towel rack itself must have been heated. After towel drying my body, I squeezed some excess water from my hair, cursing silently because my hair products were all in my carry-on in the front of the plane. I padded out to the bedroom and froze—my bag sat on the floor next to the bed. Jackson must have come into the room while I was in the shower. My stomach flip-flopped as I worried he’d heard me crying, which I didn’t want. I didn’t need him to feel sorry for me or pity me, which could make everything more complicated.

  Shaking the thought away, I pulled a clean pair of underwear from my bag and put my clothes back on. I took out my toiletry bag and went back into the bathroom, fixing my hair and slathering tinted moisturizer onto my face. I hardly recognized myself in the mirror, with dark circles under my eyes and lines of fatigue etched in my forehead.

  When I returned to the bedroom, I felt even more worn out than I had before taking the shower and wished I packed a pair of leggings in my bag. With a shrug, I slipped my jeans off and set them on top of my bag before sliding between the duvet and the cool sheets. Maybe a nap would quiet my head. I closed my eyes, curling into a ball on my side, and the last thing I remember before falling asleep was hearing Jackson’s voice telling me it would all make sense soon.

  * * *

  The room was dim when I opened my eyes. For a minute, I forgot where I was and sat up quickly, looking around. Movement in the bed next to me made me look down. Jackson lay next to me, on his side, facing away from me with an arm thrown over his eyes. I didn’t remember him getting into bed and I didn’t know how long I was asleep. Being careful not to wake him, I turned over to the edge of the bed, leaning down to grab my phone from my bag to check the time. It was four p.m.