JACKSON

by Davis, Siobhan

  “I thought we’d eat at the house. I had the housekeeper stock the refrigerator, and the place has been cleaned.”

  I place my hand over his on the gearshift. “That was thoughtful.”

  “We can eat out too, but I thought it’d be nice to have the option.”

  “What time is Hunt arriving?”

  “He should be here by dinnertime. He’s leaving the office early.”

  “Will Xavier be with him?” I inquire, waving at an acquaintance of my mom’s as we pass her on the street.

  “I don’t think an invitation was extended.”

  “Pity. He’s fun.”

  “He’s good people,” Jackson agrees, turning off the main street and picking up speed.

  We drive for a few miles before Jackson stops at an enclosed property that is at the back of the beach. I’ve been to his house a few times over the years, but I’ve never seen it from the front.

  We drive up a long, sweeping stone driveway, past manicured lawns, leafy shrubs, and colorful flowerbeds. Rays of sunshine beat down on the car, illuminating the gorgeous surroundings, and heating every part of my exposed skin.

  Jackson swings the car around in front of the stunning modern two-story building. He jumps out, stretching his arms and moving his neck from side to side. I gather my purse and climb out as he opens the trunk, extracting our weekend bags. “I didn’t hire any of the staff for the weekend,” he says. “I thought you’d prefer privacy.”

  “I do, and if the place is clean and we have food and drink, we don’t need anything else.”

  He slings his arm over my shoulder, holding our bags with his other hand. “Come on. Let’s get inside and get something to eat. I’m starving.”

  “Your house is beautiful,” I admit, glancing up at the cream, stone, and glass house as we head toward the front door.

  “Mom has good taste,” he says, unlocking the door and stepping aside to let me enter first.

  The inside temp is perfectly regulated, and the cool air is welcome against my hot skin.

  The kitchen is gorgeous with its glossy white cupboards, stainless-steel appliances, and gray-speckled-marble countertop. Jackson dumps our bags on the island unit, heading straight for the refrigerator. I continue walking through the large barn-like open-plan living and dining room, with its high ceilings and overhead beams, toward the tall windows stretching across the length of the back of the room. The sheer white gossamer curtains are already open, highlighting the breathtaking scenery outside.

  I unlock and open the sliding glass door, stepping out on the flagstone patio, admiring the view.

  My eyes ghost over Jackson’s large infinity pool, elegant manicured grounds with the vine-covered pergola protecting a long dining area, and out beyond the steps leading to the shore. I stare in awe at the clear, cloudless sky, miles of clean, sandy beach, and the calm blue ocean with barely a ripple in sight. I inhale deeply, sucking the familiar salty air into my lungs, and my limbs relax as a layer of stress flitters away.

  Jackson’s house opens out onto a private beach, shared by the adjoining properties.

  The house at the very top of this private strip is my parents’ vacation house. We are separated from them by a host of gorgeous homes. All the mansions on this secluded end of the beach are nestled on sizable plots of land, so there is enough of a distance between us for me to hide out here all weekend should I desire it.

  Hunt’s vacation home is the gorgeous three-story property two houses up from here, and it was where most of the parties took place during summer break.

  One would think, with his rep, that Jackson’s house would be party central. Especially when his parents stopped coming here, and he was mostly alone. But he was picky about who he let into his house, and this place was strictly a party-free zone. I remember attending a couple of dinner parties here with my parents when I was younger, and the only other times I’ve been inside was when I was with Sawyer and Cam…Kaiden.

  “The housekeeper prepared some chicken salads, and there are fresh bread rolls. Will that do?” Jackson asks, popping his head outside.

  “Sounds delicious,” I say over my shoulder, smiling.

  “You want to eat outside or inside?”

  I plant my hands on my hips and lift a brow. “You have to ask?”

  He grins. “Outside it is.”

  I help him carry food, dinnerware, and silverware outside. We don’t eat at the formal dining area under the pergola, choosing the smaller dining area to the left side of the patio. Jackson erects the umbrella to keep us shaded while we eat.

  “This is fantastic,” I admit, stabbing a forkful of chargrilled chicken and popping it in my mouth.

  “That was delicious,” Jackson agrees, pushing his empty plate away and patting his flat stomach. He pours more sparkling water into our glasses, lifting his glass and drinking as he stares at me.

  “What?” I ask as soon as I’ve finished chewing, thinking I must have some lettuce in my teeth or something.

  “You look really pretty today.”

  “I do?” I wanted to be comfortable for the journey, so I threw on a cute white knee-length summer dress with silver flip-flops. My face is devoid of makeup, apart from some tinted sunscreen and lip gloss, and my hair is still in a messy bun. I’m not what I’d consider pretty. At all.

  “You don’t need all that crap on your face,” he adds as if he’s read my mind. “You are naturally beautiful. You could model.” He crosses one leg over the other. “Mom still has contacts in the business. I could ask her for you?”

  I blush at his praise. “Chloe says the same, but it’s not something I’m interested in. Thanks for the compliment, though.” I don’t like the idea of random men ogling my body or the thoughts of perverts jerking off to pics of me, so modeling is not something I would ever consider.

  “Anytime, babe. And I meant every word.” He flashes me his trademark cheeky grin.

  “How is your mom? I haven’t seen her or your dad in years.”

  A soft smile graces his mouth. “Mom’s good. Still painting and dancing, and she’s heavily involved in her charity work.”

  “And your dad?”

  The smile drops off his mouth. “We don’t speak that much.” He looks off into space.

  “How come?”

  He shrugs, and awkward silence bleeds into the air. “He let Dani down,” he finally says, “and I can’t let it go.”

  I nod, understanding even though I don’t have all the facts. I’ve seen what Dani’s death did to Jackson. How badly he self-destructed. “I’m sorry.”

  His chest heaves, and he shoots me a tentative smile. “Yeah, me too.”

  When I have finished eating, we clear the table and head back inside to unpack and change into swimwear.

  “It looks exactly how I remember it,” I say as we walk through the living area, past white couches centered around a large open fireplace with a massive TV mounted overhead. The maple floors perfectly contrast with the white, gray, and blue color scheme. We stride beyond the long maple table that seats twelve in comfy white leather tub chairs and past the ornate plant pots, eclectic rugs, ornaments, and frames on the wall.

  I stop at the end of the angled stairway, admiring the striking blue, green, and purple canvas. “Your mom did this?” I squint at the messy scrawled signature on the bottom right side of the painting.

  “She did. She’s into all that abstract shit.” Jackson tilts his head, his gaze roaming the creation. “Still can’t figure it the fuck out, but I like the vibrancy of the colors.” He takes my hand, tugging me up the wooden stairs. I hold on to the glass balustrade as we walk upstairs.

  I’ve never been to this part of his house before. The landing is wide and airy with more high ceilings. On our left is a little recreational area with a window seat and a wall of shelving crammed with books. Sunlight pours into the space, and I make a silent promise to find a sneaky hour or two to read my book up here.

  My flip-flops snap off the
maple floors as I follow Jackson past several closed doors. Family photos adorn the walls, and I smile at pictures of a younger Jackson, remembering his cheeky face and sparkling blue eyes so well. I come to a halt at the framed photo of a ballerina. “Is this your mom?” I ask, pointing at it.

  Jackson opens a door and dumps our bags inside before walking back to me. He pulls me into his body, resting his hands on my hips and his chin on top of my hair. “Yeah. It’s when she performed Swan Lake for the Bolshoi Ballet at The Met. That was the night she met my dad. He swept her off her feet, and they were married three weeks later. She continued to perform with the Bolshoi for a year after their wedding, but then, she gave it up for love. She missed my father too much when she was traveling.”

  “Is that when she took up modeling?” I ask. Jackson’s mom Laurena was a top super model in her day, and she is still a stunningly beautiful woman, regularly photographed on the New York social scene.

  “Yeah.”

  “That’s such a romantic story.” I’m conscious my voice has this dream-like quality to it.

  He steers me into the master suite. “Pity Dad didn’t remember that.” His tone drips with bitterness.

  “What happened?” I inquire.

  “They have an open marriage, and I’m pretty sure my father is the driving force behind it.”

  “I bet that’s more common than you think.” I peruse the well-proportioned room we’ll be staying in. It’s decorated in calming whites and greens with pale wooden furniture. The space contains a large king-sized bed dressed in white linens, two matching tables, a matching dresser, a walk-in closet, and another door I’m guessing leads to the en suite bathroom.

  Yet it’s the outside space that is most impressive. Beyond the long floor-to-ceiling window lies a two-tier decked area with a hot tub, a couple of lounge chairs, a small table and chairs, and exquisite views of the beach and the ocean.

  This place is a world away from my parents’ more traditional vacation house. I found it hard to relax there, yet this house already feels like home.

  “I’m sure it is, but it’s not how I’d like things for my mom.” He rests his head against the window, sighing as he stares outside.

  I walk to him, draping myself around him from behind. “Thank you for taking me here.”

  He twists around, pulling me into his arms and kissing the top of my head. “I’m glad you came.” His thumb brushes the side of my neck as we hug. The steady thumping of his heart is comforting as I rest my head on his broad chest. All I’m thinking is how much I love him and that I need to summon the courage to tell him.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Vanessa

  I GRAB A quick shower in the opulent bathroom before changing into a strapless black and red Chanel bikini that Melania would throw shade at me for, because it’s so last season.

  I have zero fucks to give.

  I like the way the padded top makes my boobs look, I’m comfortable in it, and I don’t have cash for a new one, so screw her.

  I slather sunscreen on my exposed skin and join Jackson out on the deck. He’s wearing black board shorts that hang dangerously low on his hips, highlighting those V-indents I love and the tempting trail of dark-blond hair sneaking under his waistband.

  “There is juice and water in the mini fridge,” he says, pointing at the corner as he removes his shades. His eyes roam my body while he shamelessly ogles me from head to toe. “Fuck me,” he mutters under his breath.

  What a great idea!

  I drop down in front of him on the lounge chair, handing him the slim gold bottle. “Could you put sunscreen on my back?” I lick my lips, sending him my most seductive smile.

  He sits up, planting his feet on either side of the wide, sturdy lounge chair as he takes the bottle from me.

  Our fingers brush, and an electrical charge zips up and down my arm. He inches closer, and heat from his body rolls off him in waves, digging under my skin, sending delicious tremors coasting all over my body. Desire shoots straight to my core the instant his hand lands on my shoulder, and I unclasp my bikini top, letting it fall to my waist, before I’ve had time to second-guess myself.

  He sucks in a breath, his hand stalling on my shoulder, and a victorious smile creeps over my mouth. His hands move after a couple of beats, gliding firmly over my back and along my sides.

  He’s very diligent as he goes about his task, and my nipples pebble, straining with the need to be touched. Moisture dampens my bikini bottoms as his touch ignites a slow-burning fire inside me. A needy whimper escapes my lips when his fingers accidentally brush the side of my boob. He stops, and I hold my breath, waiting to see what he does when I move my butt back, pressing against his dick.

  Butterflies scatter in my chest, and that slow-burning fire ruptures into a boisterous inferno when I feel his hardness press against my ass.

  Jackson is the only one who can fan the flames, and I want him, need him.

  Right now.

  I arch my back, putting the rest of my body flush against him, moaning as I grab his hand, placing it over my breast. My nipples are already hard enough to cut glass, and I ache for him everywhere.

  “What are you doing?” he asks, his voice thick with lust, his cock jerking against my ass.

  “What do you think?” I rasp, pressing my breast into his hand as his fingers start kneading my sensitive flesh.

  “Jesus. Fuck.” He rests his forehead against my shoulder blade as his free hand creeps around my front, cupping my other breast. “I’m trying to be good, and you’re making it very difficult for me.”

  “I don’t want you to be good,” I groan, pressing against his solid hard-on as his fingers tweak my nipples. “I want you to be really, really bad.”

  He grabs my hips and turns me around so I’m straddling him.

  “You will be the death of me,” he says before lowering his mouth to my breast and sucking hard.

  I rock against him, grinding against his hard length, needing the friction to ease the raw throbbing in my core. Grabbing fistfuls of his hair, I yank his face into my breasts, letting him play with them. His fingers, lips, and tongue work my sensitive flesh until I’m sure they’re red and bruised. I pick up the pace, rubbing my pussy against his cock, clutching his shoulders. “Jackson. Fuck me. Fuck me right here and now.”

  He lifts his head from my breasts, trailing his fingers up and down my spine. “You’re a very naughty girl, Nessa.” He slaps my ass, and liquid gushes from my pussy, staining my bikini bottoms. “Lucky for you, I like it.” He waggles his brows, and his eyes scream wicked intent.

  Hell yeah.

  I silently fist pump the air, yanking his head back and crashing my mouth down on his. His tongue slips into my mouth, and we mutually groan as I flex my hips, grinding down on him.

  “I haven’t stopped thinking about your pussy,” he murmurs when his mouth leaves my lips, trailing along the side of my neck.

  “I haven’t stopped thinking about your cock.” I cry out as his dick prods my entrance through our swim clothes. “I need you inside me now, Jackson. Please.”

  He grips my chin. “You never have to beg. I told you that.” He lifts me off him to shove his shorts down and kick them away. He takes hold of his cock, stroking it in quick pumps as I shimmy my bikini bottoms down my legs. Thank fuck, we’re up high enough the people down on the beach can’t see us.

  I climb over him, positioning my entrance in the right place, ready to impale myself on his cock, when his hand lands on my hip, stalling me just at the moment of impact. “Shit. Condom.”

  “I have the implant, and I’m clean.” He stares at me for a few seconds, and I can almost see the wheels churning in his head. “Jackson,” I plead, hovering over him like a needy shrew. “I want to feel you inside me. Skin to skin.”

  His free hand moves to my other hip while his eyes never leave mine. Indecision flashes in his eyes, quickly replaced with steely determination. Clasping my hips, he slams me down on top of him i
n one superfast move, and I scream at the intrusion.

  He half-laughs, half-groans. “Babe, there are probably kids down there. We don’t want to scar them for life.”

  I doubt they can hear us from here, but I would hate to be proven wrong. “I’ll try to be quiet,” I say, thrusting against him.

  “Goddamn.” His eyes shutter as he holds me in place with his strong hands. “That feels so fucking good.”

  “It’d feel better if you let me ride you.”

  His eyes pop open. “Come here, my little temptress.” He pulls me down, claiming my lips in a searing-hot kiss I feel all the way to the tips of my toes. We continue kissing, with him stationary inside me, and it’s one of the most erotic moments of my life.

  I can feel him pulsing inside me, and my walls clench around him of their own accord. Feeling his hot skin deep inside me, filling me up, heating me from within, is like nothing I’ve experienced before.

  His lips are swollen when we finally break our lip-lock. “Ride me, goddess. Make me bend to your will.”

  I take control, moving up and down on his cock in a slow torturous fashion. His hands roam my body as I ride him, and he moves closer, his tongue darting out, laving my nipples. I pick up speed, bobbing up and down on him, groaning at the feel of his big cock gliding in and out of me. His lips suction on my breast, and he sucks hard in a way I know will bruise me, but I’m enjoying this too much to care.

  Sex has never felt this good for me, and no one has cared as much to make sure my needs are fulfilled. Jackson is a generous lover, and he always ensures I get off. I grab his hair while he worships my breasts, reveling in all the sensations he’s coaxing from my body.

  His touch sets my body on fire.

  His kiss alters me.

  And his cock, his cock is life.

  I angle my hips, desperate to feel him deeper, needing him to fill me all the way up. I toss my hair down my back, grinding and writhing on top of him, moaning and whimpering, as his lips trail a blazing path down my body. “You are so fucking hot like this, babe.” His hands palm my ass, and he fondles my cheeks before his fingers trek up and down my crack.