One Crazy Week

by Claire Kingsley

  “Baby, what’s wrong?”

  Her voice is so soft. “You left.”

  Damn it. I lean my forehead down to hers, our noses brushing against each other. “I shouldn’t have.”

  “I didn’t think I’d see you again,” she says. “I thought—”

  “Shh,” I say, putting a finger to her lips. “I’m here now.”

  “Then fuck me harder,” she says. “I need to know you’re real.”

  I pull out and plunge in again. Her fingers dig into my back, her eyes locked with mine.

  “You want it harder?” I ask.

  “Yes,” she says between thrusts. “God, yes.”

  I pull out and flip her over, guiding her hips so she’s on her knees. She holds onto the headboard, arching her back. I grab her delicious ass and plunge into her pussy from behind. I reach around with one hand, teasing her clit with my fingers. She grinds her hips into my groin, moaning with each thrust.

  “Jackson, I’m gonna come,” she says. She tosses her hair over one shoulder and looks back at me. Her lids are half closed, her cheeks flushed. Fuck, she’s so sexy.

  I pound her harder, feeling my orgasm build. “That’s right, baby. Come for me.”

  “Oh god, Jackson,” she says, her voice tinged with urgency.

  Her pussy contracts, clenching around my dick. It’s more than I can take. I explode inside her, waves of intensity rolling through me. I hold her hips, pushing my cock in deep as I empty into her.

  We pause for a moment, catching our breath. She slides off of me and settles down onto the bed. I lay next to her, drawing her close in my arms. Her quick breathing matches mine. I can still feel the pulses of pleasure reverberating through me, the feel of her body enveloping me. No woman has ever felt so good. I fit inside her like she’s made just for me. I kiss her forehead and let her scent fill me. My body is spent, my eyes so heavy I can feel myself drifting off to sleep already. But I’ve never felt so whole.

  18

  Jackson

  “Jackson, wake up.”

  The urgency in Melissa’s voice wakes me with a start. I’m confused for a moment as to where I am. This isn’t San Diego. Or my condo.

  Right, Melissa’s house.

  I stretch my arms over my head. “What time is it?”

  “Seven-thirty,” she says.

  I groan and roll to my side. “Why are we awake?”

  “Come on, Jackson, get up.”

  I turn onto my back and force my eyes open. She has sage-green walls, a distressed white dresser, and a mirror with a brushed nickel frame. “This room looks like Dennis designed it,” I say.

  “Am I supposed to know Dennis?” she asks. She sits next to me, holding the sheet over her breasts. Tangled dark hair falls around her face.

  “He’s my assistant.”

  “I thought Tammi was your assistant,” she says.

  I prop myself up, my elbow resting on the bed. “I have two.”

  She shakes her head slowly. “Of course you have two assistants. Damn it, stop distracting me.”

  I trace the line of her collarbone. My dick stirs beneath the sheets. Maybe waking up early isn’t such a bad idea. “I love to distract you.”

  “Oh no, not right now,” she says, swatting my hand away. “You have to get dressed and get the fuck out of here.”

  My mouth drops open. I literally have no idea what to say to that.

  Melissa is already off the bed, pulling on clothes. “Seriously, Jackson, we don’t have much time.”

  I narrow my eyes, a sharp spike of anger running through me. I came all this way, in the middle of the night. Is she kicking me out? “What the fuck, Melissa?”

  She yanks her t-shirt down. “My dad is going to be here in, like, ten minutes. At the most.”

  An odd sensation worms its way through me. I freeze. “Your dad?”

  “Yes, my dad,” she says. “So get up and put some clothes on. All of your clothes. It would really be better if you’re gone before he gets here.”

  I stare at her. She wants to get me out of the house before her dad comes over? Are we fucking teenagers, afraid to get caught by our parents? “You’re kidding, right?”

  “No, I’m not,” she says. “Get dressed.”

  The thought of meeting her father should send me running for the door, but fuck if I’m going to let her chase me off like some kid. The initial jolt of fear is replaced by stubborn resolve. “I’ll get dressed, but I’m not going anywhere.”

  Melissa lets out a breath and puts a hand to her forehead. “Listen, my dad’s old school. He knows I’m a grown woman—he isn’t stupid—but seeing a man in my house first thing in the morning will give him a heart attack. So let’s not put my dad in the hospital today, m’kay?”

  I stand and slide on my underwear. “How long will he be here?”

  “Not long—probably just a few minutes, really. He’s heading out on the boat today and he needs to stop by before he goes. It’s just a thing he does.”

  I pull on my pants. “How about I take you both to breakfast, then?”

  “He won’t have time,” she says. “He’s going out to drop the first crab pots of the season. It’s a little early for it, but he says the ocean is speaking to him or some shit, and he knows where the crab will be. Which means he has to come here first.”

  “I… what?”

  “Fishermen are literally the most superstitious people on the planet. He has to see me before he goes out to drop the first pots, or the crab will all go extinct or something.”

  I stare at her again. I have no idea what she’s talking about. “So, you’re kicking me out because your dad will be shocked to see a man here?”

  “Yes, exactly.”

  “That’s fucked up.”

  She stops, her hand on the doorknob. “Jackson, I haven’t told my dad about you.”

  I’m livid. Why the hell does that piss me off so much? “Why?”

  She whirls around. “What should I say to him? ‘I met this rich, cocky motherfucker in a bar and he took me to California and fucked my brains out for a week?’ Believe me, you do not want me to tell my dad that story.”

  I don’t understand what’s happening. Why do I care whether or not she tells her father about me? I certainly haven’t told my father about her. Of course, my father is an asshole and I avoid talking to him at all costs. But Melissa and her dad have an actual relationship. Why is she hiding this?

  Is there a this?

  Fuck.

  “Come on, Melissa,” I say, following her out to her living room, buttoning my shirt. “You said yourself, he knows you’re a grown woman.”

  She pulls her hair up and ties it into a messy bun as she walks. “You don’t understand about my dad. I’m his baby girl. He’s really a big teddy bear, but when it comes to me, he can be pretty fierce.”

  “And you don’t think I can handle fierce?” I say, my voice sharp.

  “No, I’m sure you can, especially if fierce is in a suit and tie. Look, you live in a world where everyone respects you, or wants to kiss your ass—or both. My dad won’t be impressed by your money. He’s not going to have any idea who Jackson Bennett is. And, fuck, look at you.”

  I finish tucking in my shirt and look down at myself. “What?”

  “You’re … god, Jackson, you’re gorgeous. But you look like a fucking model. I don’t know how to explain you to him.”

  The rumble of an engine comes from outside. Melissa’s face pales.

  I smirk. “That him?”

  She nods, her eyes wide.

  “Looks like I get to meet daddy.”

  I cuff the sleeves of my shirt while Melissa answers the door. Her father is a burly man with a thick chest, his dark hair and beard peppered with gray. He and Melissa have the same dark brown eyes, although his are creased at the edges. His face looks weathered, full of deep lines across his tanned skin. His beige t-shirt says Carhartt across the front, and his faded jeans hang over a pair of brown boots.


  “Morning, princess,” he says, leaning in to kiss Melissa’s cheek.

  He hasn’t noticed me yet. I stand near the door to her kitchen, an odd sensation in my gut. I’m not afraid, exactly. I’m nervous in a way I can’t remember feeling since I was a kid, but it isn’t fear.

  His eyes find me and he stops, his smile instantly gone.

  “Daddy,” Melissa says, “this is my friend Jackson Bennett. Jackson, this is my father, John Simon.”

  I step forward and hold out my hand. “Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Simon.”

  John takes my hand. His skin is rough and calloused, his grip firm. He squeezes a little harder. “Jackson.”

  I keep my expression carefully neutral. His instant dislike for me is clear on his face. I can see something of what Melissa was trying to tell me. This man will not be easy to win over.

  But I’m great with people.

  I open my mouth to ask him a question, but he cuts me off before I can speak.

  “Are you dating my daughter?” he asks.

  Melissa puts a hand to her forehead. “Daddy.”

  “It’s a fair question,” John says, never taking his eyes off me.

  I give him a careful smile. “Melissa is an amazing woman, and I’ve been fortunate enough to spend some time with her recently.”

  “Huh,” John says. His eyes swing to Melissa. “When were you going to tell me about your boyfriend?”

  Boyfriend? God, that word. I hate that word. I am not a fucking boy. However, it’s nice to watch John direct his scrutiny at Melissa instead of me. She puts her hands on her hips.

  “Daddy, Jackson isn’t exactly…” She pauses, her eyes flicking toward me. “What I mean is…”

  “Melissa isn’t sure whether she’s going to keep me around,” I say.

  “Huh,” John says again. His sharp eyes move up and down, taking me in. He’s sizing me up, but I can’t read his face. “All right, then. Nice to meet you, Jackson.”

  Melissa gapes at her father. I put my hands in my pockets and wait while John brings out a worn, wooden keychain shaped like a crab.

  “For luck,” John says, holding it out to Melissa. She takes it and squeezes, then hands it back to him. He kisses her on the cheek again. “Thanks, princess.”

  “Of course, Daddy,” she says. “Be safe out there, okay?”

  “Always. You know me. There’s old fishermen, and there’s bold fishermen. I’m aiming for old.”

  Melissa smiles and hugs her father.

  John tips his head to me. “See you treat this woman right. There’s none like her.”

  “You have my word.”

  John leaves, and Melissa closes the door behind him. She leans against the door and breathes out a long breath.

  “All that drama for what, a two-minute visit?” I ask. I’m irritated with her, but oddly proud of the way John Simon looked at me. I start unbuttoning my shirt as I walk back to her bedroom. “I’m going back to bed.”

  “I’m not sure who that was, but there’s no way it was my dad,” she says as she follows me.

  I let my shirt drop to the floor and pull off my pants. “What did you think he was going to do? Threaten to hurt me?”

  “Maybe. It wouldn’t be the first time. He’s universally hated every man I’ve ever dated.”

  “He didn’t think much of me.” I lay down and pull up the covers.

  She sits on the edge of the bed. “Are you kidding? He actually liked you.”

  I raise an eyebrow. “Why are you so shocked?”

  “Because this is a first,” she says, looking away. She clears her throat. “I don’t think I can sleep. I’m going to go shower.”

  I grab her hand before she can get away, and gently pull. I’m too sleepy, and she smells too good, to stay mad. “Bring that hot ass over here.”

  She climbs into bed and tucks herself against me. My cock swells as her ass presses against it, but more than anything, I just want to feel her. I hug her close, my hand on her belly, my face in her hair.

  At first, she feels stiff, like she doesn’t want to be here. I’m about to relent and tell her to just get up, when she relaxes into me. She takes a deep breath and nestles in, arching her back a little.

  “How long can you stay?” she asks.

  “I’m supposed to go to a banquet tomorrow,” I say.

  “What sort of banquet?” she asks.

  “Some kind of benefit. I can’t remember what it’s for. I pay Tammi to remember those things.” I run my hand up her ribcage to the bottom of her breast. My eyes are heavy, but she’s so sweet and warm. “Do you want to come with me?”

  She’s quiet for a moment and I almost drift off. “Do you want me to come?”

  “That’s why I asked.”

  She pauses again. “Sure, I’d love to.”

  I slide my hand back down to her belly, feeling a strange sense of satisfaction. I can’t remember the last time I cared about winning someone’s approval, but I like being the one man Melissa’s father didn’t hate on sight. Despite what I said to her, I knew. I saw it in his face. He was skeptical, and cautious—and I respect the hell out of him for it—but despite that, he looked at me with acceptance.

  That probably should scare the fuck out of me, but somehow it doesn’t.

  19

  Melissa

  Jackson’s surprise visit leaves me reeling.

  Despite being half asleep and more than a little bewildered, I wanted to cry with relief when he showed up at my door. I’ve barely spoken to him since he left me last week, and although he texted at least once a day, saying he missed me several times, I didn’t know when I’d see him again. I was afraid to ask. I wasn’t sure what I wanted the answer to be.

  I spent a week with this man, and regardless of how incredible of a week it was, I’m freaked out by how attached I feel—how intensely I missed him. I’ve never felt this way about anyone before, and it isn’t just that I missed how he can fuck me into a coma. I missed the way he touched me, the way he looked at me. The way his eyes narrow when he smiles. I missed his smell, and the feel of his warm body next to mine at night. My own bed felt so cold.

  Seeing him again is wonderful, but it also scares the fuck out of me.

  My dad didn’t help. I feel so bad for trying to make Jackson leave before my dad could see him, but I expected it to get ugly. My dad is usually somewhere between aloof and openly hostile when he meets a man I’m dating. I know Jackson can handle anything my dad can dish out—that wasn’t my worry. But depending on how far my dad decided to push, Jackson could have decided I’m not worth the hassle of a contentious father. I thought my dad would drive him away, and I wasn’t sure I could handle that.

  Dad’s response to Jackson completely caught me off guard. He said Nice to meet you. He’s literally never acted that way toward a man I’m dating. Instead of filling me with relief, the fact that my dad was friendly only scared me more. Are Jackson and I dating? Is this turning into a relationship? I still don’t know what this is, and my dad seemed ready to welcome him into the fucking family.

  Either that, or Dad could already tell it was nothing. Maybe he sensed Jackson wasn’t here to stay, so he wasn’t worth getting upset over.

  That thought doesn’t make me feel better.

  I spend Friday showing Jackson around town—not that there’s a lot to show, but I have fun taking him to some of my favorite places. We eat fish and chips for lunch (and I manage to pay without my damn card being declined), stop by the art gallery he’s buying, and drive past the school where I work. His driver brought him to town, but I don’t think we need to drive around in a limo so we rumble around in my old Ford pickup. He laughs at my truck, but I love that old thing. It isn’t much to look at, but it’s sturdy as fuck. Jackson seems to appreciate it more when I tell him I was in an accident a few years ago and the other car was definitely on the losing end of that interaction.

  We stay at my house again that night. I’m glad my only neighbors are eld
erly and neither of them can hear very well—otherwise they would get an earful. Jackson and I make up for lost time, fucking on the couch, up against the wall, on the kitchen table, and in the shower. We fall into bed that night, utterly exhausted.

  Saturday morning, Jackson calls for his driver to pick us up early. He says we need time to get to the banquet. I doze for the first part of the drive, still tired from the night before. Jackson spends most of the trip on the phone, talking business. I love seeing that side of him; his cold, calculating voice is such a turn-on. By the time the driver pulls up in front of his building, I’m ready to rip my panties off and jump in his lap.

  He leads me into a gorgeous, old brick building. It’s been beautifully restored, with lavish furnishings and a sparkling crystal chandelier in the lobby. We get into an elevator that takes us to the top floor.

  I try not to gape like a small town hick when we walk into his condo. Everything is sleek and modern—masculine, but not just an expanse of dull gray. He has a big sectional sofa facing a huge wall-mounted TV, a gorgeous kitchen with bar stools pulled up to the island, and an entire wall of glass. I wander over to the floor-to-ceiling windows. It looks like every iconic picture of the Seattle skyline was taken from this spot.

  Jackson stands behind me and slides his hands around my waist.

  “This view is insane,” I say.

  “It’s why I bought the building,” he says. “I’m glad you like it.”

  “Bennett.”

  We both turn at the voice behind us. A slim man in a well-tailored suit stands in the living room. His dark hair is styled in a tall swoop and he wears black-rimmed glasses.

  “Dennis, this is Melissa,” Jackson says.

  Dennis steps forward and takes my hand, bringing it up to his lips. “Melissa, it’s an absolute pleasure.”

  I feel my face flush. “Thank you, Dennis. It’s nice to meet you too.”

  Dennis shares a glance with Jackson, his eyebrows raised. Does he look surprised?

  “We have a black tie benefit tonight,” Jackson says. “Melissa needs something to wear, and we have to leave in an hour.”