Her face hardens. “Don’t you dare pity me, you little whore. You think you can sleep with my husband, get knocked up with his bastard, and then pity me?”
I glare at her. Yep, any pity I had is gone now. I could give zero fucks for this lady. “He told me you were divorced.” Most of the time we met at his house—a necessity since I was still living in the dorms. Why wouldn’t I have believed him about the divorce? “I’m sorry you can’t have a baby, but that doesn’t mean you can steal mine.”
“It’s not stealing. It’s David’s child,” she gestures at Manny and turns for the door, but not before pausing for a parting shot over her shoulder. “And our team of lawyers have more than enough ammunition now to gain full custody against whatever paltry little family lawyer you can scrape up enough cash for.
“We have quite a story to tell, after all,” she leans closer as the vicious words continue spouting. “Poor little college girl with a habit of seducing older men. It started early, with the executives at her father’s bank, whoring herself out to get favors for Daddy dearest. Or maybe because you just like the control it gave you, having him twisted around your little finger.”
Her words hit me with as much force as a bat to the stomach.
David told her.
I trusted him with my darkest, most painful secrets. He told her. And he’s going to use it against me? I— I just— I mean, I know now that he never loved me, but I thought at least—
My knees feel weak.
No, don’t let her see she’s affecting you, Cals. Don’t let her see. You have to be a fortress. You have to be—
But I must fail because her face brightens in triumph. “Didn’t think anyone would ever find out about that, huh, Callie? Or should I call you Lolita? You’ve always sought out men of power, haven’t you? Does it validate your existence, is that what you get out of it? First your daddy’s boss, then your professor, now Jackson Vale? You pretend to be the wide-eyed victim all the while leaning over in those skimpy trash outfits, rubbing your oversized chest in their faces. Seducing them away from their wives and their morals so they’ll fuck you. But that’s all you’ll ever be to them. A toy to fuck and then toss away. Like the trash you are.”
My hands tighten into fists but I give her the opposite reaction to what she’s trying to goad out of me.
Oh sure, I want to stab her eyes out with my hair pins. But I lock it all down, deep, deep inside. I’ve had practice with this. Don’t let anyone see. No one can ever know.
Look what happened when I did open up and tell someone. David betrayed me in every way possible.
No—I swallow hard at the new stab of pain—shove it down deep like a lake that freezes over. From the surface, no one can see any movement at all. This bitch wants hot anger and reaction so she can catch it on video. So I give her ice. Indifference.
I yawn. “You done?” I stretch languidly. “I’ve got a date to get back to.”
Her eyes narrow. Oh, she’s good and pissed now. I don’t let my gratification show on my face. The only vibe I give off is boredom.
The door opens behind the Shrew and three women come in, all chatting together. They pause in surprise when they see Manny.
Just before I can offer the helpful idea that we call security about a man in the women’s restroom, the Shrew jerks her head and Manny follows her quickly out the door.
I just stand stock still for a long moment, watching them as they go. After the intensity of that showdown, my thoughts feel sluggish.
Bad. That was all very bad. The things David and the Shrew are going to bring up about me in court… Mr. McIntyre, the bastard my father worked for, saying I seduced him, as if I wanted it… a shudder starts deep in my bone and works its way outward.
Mr. McIntyre called me his little Barbie. He started touching me when I was sixteen and threatened that he’d get my dad fired if I ever told anyone. It lasted until I left for Stanford at nineteen.
David was so outraged on my behalf when I eventually told him about it. We were in bed one night and he’d just promised that we’d be together forever. I’d never known happiness like that and I didn’t want any secrets between us. I was scared but I told him anyway because I trusted him.
David jumped off the bed, he was so pissed. He said he’d kill him. I had to beg him not to go on the rampage. He made love to me so tenderly afterwards, telling me that he’d protect me from anything bad ever happening to me again.
He made me believe heroes were real.
But it was all a lie. A horrible, devastating lie…
My lip starts to tremble.
I open the door. My knees are even shakier now. I force myself to walk anyway.
But I can’t block out the Shrew’s words. My stomach roils. If their lies sway the judge, I’ll have nothing left. I will be nothing. I survived Mr. McIntyre, in part because of David. I survived David’s betrayal because of Charlie. But if Charlie’s taken away from me?
A numbness starts to steal over my entire body even while somehow I manage to stay upright and continue walking.
No. There’s no way I’m letting them take my baby. They can’t. We’ll go on the run. I’ll change my name, change my hair, hide in Mexico, anything, oh God, anything—
“Calliope.” A hand closes on my arm as I dazedly stumble out of the bathroom. I look up and Jackson’s large form fills my entire field of vision. His face is tight with some emotion I can’t name.
All I can manage is to stare vacantly at him. I’m supposed to be salvaging the night. It’s very important. There’s a voice in the back of my mind yelling at me to pull my shit together.
But… Charlie. That horrible woman is trying to steal my place as mother to my Charlie. She doesn’t know how I sing to him before bedtime. How we snuggle together in the mornings. That smile he has just for me—
“Enough. Tell me what’s wrong, right this moment.” Jackson drags me off to an alcove created in the corner by a column.
“I,” I start, but then pause because there are genuinely no other words in my mind. I’m just blank. Other than: Charlie. My baby. Charlie. “Home,” I finally manage to pull out through my mental fog. “Need to go home.”
Thank God, I must have gotten out some words that made sense, because Jackson takes my arm and starts to lead me out of the ballroom in long strides I have to hurry to keep up with. Relief hits through the numbing haze. Home. I’ll check in on Charlie and then curl up and sleep.
Sleep. Yes, that’ll help. Tomorrow I’ll figure all this out. Of course I’ll figure it all out. I always do. Don’t I? I have to.
Except of course for the first court hearing where David won partial custody. And sure, I have a better lawyer now, but is he really going to measure against the team the Shrew’s family is paying for? And all the horrible things they’re going to accuse me of? Habit of seducing older men.
Oh God, I could lose Charlie. I really could. I always said nothing on this earth could separate me from my little boy.
But it’s not true.
David, the Shrew, and their team of lawyers might—
My breaths start coming in short, gasping pants. I try to gulp in air, but I barely manage a short wheeze.
My little boy.
He’s my life.
They can’t take him away—
I barely realize that we’ve stepped into the cool night air before the limo slides in front of us. Jackson all but pushes me into the back of it.
“Breathe, Calliope. Take a deep breath, you’re hyperventilating.”
I try. I really try. But every time I open my mouth to gulp in air, the image hits—policeman holding me back while that horrible woman drags a screaming Charlie away from me. Then the air that I desperately need is gone again.
Spots dance in my vision. Oh God, oh God, oh God—
Then, wait, what’s going on—?
Everything goes head over ass and not just because I’m lightheaded. Jackson’s spun me over so that I’m face down against the
seat. And wait… Is he…?
He is. He’s bent me over his lap.
Ass up.
And now he’s hoisting my gown up.
Before I can even fully comprehend what’s happening, his hand comes down on my ass. It doesn’t hurt, per se, it’s more of a slight sting, but the resounding smack of it and just the shock of—did he just spank me in the back of a moving limo and wait, can we get back to the part where the guy I barely know just spanked me?
And then he does it again. The other ass cheek this time.
Jackson’s voice is calm as he slaps each cheek twice more with slightly increased force, “Your safe word is red.”
CHAPTER 12
“I assume you know what a safe word is?” he continues, “They’ve become something of a pop-culture reference.”
I just lay there, shocked. I mean, certainly enough in my life has shocked me over the past two months, but I think this just might take the cake.
“Answer me, Calliope.” His voice is a commanding growl. “Say the safe word.”
I take a deep breath in, ready to tell him to go to hell when I realize what I’m doing. I’m breathing again. Not hyperventilating. But right when I realize it, the crippling terror comes rushing back. Charlie. David and his wife threatening to take him away. The very real possibility that I’ll lose my baby. Just like that, my lungs constrict again and my whole body begins to shake.
“The safe word,” Jackson demands. “Acknowledge it.”
“Red,” I squeak.
At then it’s like opening the floodgates. Both literally and figuratively. Jackson’s hand starts coming down on my ass, a sharp percussion that stings at first and then becomes progressively harsher until I’m squirming in his hold.
It hurts but in the part of my mind still capable of thought, I can tell he knows what he’s doing. He’s holding back and giving only what I can take, not putting his full strength into it to actually hurt me.
And then my mind seems to detach completely from everything else. My concentration narrows to each slap as it lands. He works up and down my cheeks, down to the curve where my butt meets my thigh and then back up again.
I don’t even realize I’m crying until the blows slow and then stop. It’s not from the pain. I don’t even try to make sense of it. I can’t. I don’t want to. And in this moment, it feels like I don’t have to. I don’t have to think at all.
Jackson’s hands are gentle now as he caresses the stinging flesh he was smacking moments before. It only makes me cry harder. Me, who never cries.
“That’s right,” he murmurs, “let it out.”
And I do. My ass is warm—no, red hot—under his hands. He continues his gentle stroking and when his massage moves lower to between my thighs, I press back against his touch. Needy. Because God, I was too mixed up to realize it even seconds before, but the spanking didn’t only make my ass hot.
I’m wet. Drenching wet. It doesn’t make any more sense to me than anything else since I’ve stepped into this limo tonight, but Jackson’s hands are so sure, so decisive. He’s so perfectly in control in a moment where I’m anything but.
One long finger slips easily inside me and he hisses out a long breath. “So ready. So perfect. You’re so beautifully made.” A second finger joins the first and even though it’s probably the least sexy thing in the world, I can only cry harder at his words. Perfect? Beautiful? How can he say that?
“That’s right, beautiful,” he whispers, his deep voice a rumble as his thumb finds my clit. His other hand delivers another sharp thwack against my ass.
I yelp even as I writhe on his lap. That’s when I feel him hard underneath me. He’s not unaffected by all of this. Should I be touching him in return? Is that what he expects? His talented fingers continue their exploration and my back arches in pleasure.
Yes, I should try to give him some of what he’s giving me. I move to maneuver a hand between us to grab at him, but he gives my ass another quick smack. Then he holds my hands above my head, pinning them to the smooth leather seat in one of his with a growl. “Keep them there.”
I do and then he’s back at work, massaging me everywhere. He has the globe of my ass in one hand while plunging in and out of my pussy with the other. My breaths get shorter and shorter, but it’s not like before. No, this is all ramping up toward a goal. That pressure between my legs that’s building, oh God, building…
I writhe against Jackson’s hand. No one has ever touched me so masterfully. His fingers thrust in and out and then in again, hitting a spot that makes light explode behind my eyelids and my stomach swoop crazily.
Oh God, almost there, almost. I’m teetering on the most glorious edge and I kind of don’t want to drop over. This is such a beautiful, exquisite torture.
But then Jackson leans over and bites my ear. “Come for me now,” he says through his teeth, at the same moment pushing the tip of this thumb into the tight rosette of my ass.
And I come and I come and I come.
I come so hard I feel the vein in my forehead pulse with that moment of blinding whiteness, like all the blood in my body is pushing outward with the force of the orgasm. When I come back into my body, I’m wracked with aftershocks that make my legs shake. What had been a gentle crying before turns into outright sobs.
I’m embarrassed and I should be doing something in return and then there were all the things I was upset about before all this—Charlie, oh God, Charlie—
“Enough,” Jackson says, settling the skirt of my dress back down. He lifts me and settles me on the seat beside him.
Right. Of course he’s had enough of me. This was supposed to be some hot, kinky thing, but instead I was just crying the whole time? Not what he was probably hoping for when he picked me up tonight. Are we at my house so he can just drop me off and get rid of me yet? I’m hiccupping through the sobs as my breathing gets short again.
I’m so weak when I swore I’d be strong. Stupid, stupid, weak Calliope.
But Jackson doesn’t put distance between us or look uncomfortable. The limo isn’t slowing down either. Instead, Jackson pulls me onto his lap and secures my head against his chest where I can hear the slow and steady beat of his heart.
“You can cry more or you can talk to me about it,” he says almost conversationally, “Either is fine. But you’re not allowed to keep torturing yourself about whatever is going on in your head.” Short pause. “Or I don’t care how sore your ass is, we’ll go for another round.” Then he begins to stroke my hair, pulling out pins as he goes so he has better access to work his fingers through it.
This all seems crazy, insane, batshit, what-the-fuck—
I take option one out of necessity. I cry more.
But only a little while longer, because it turns out being held in Jackson’s strong arms while his soothing hands work my scalp is so calming, I sink against him. Even though part of me knows it’s dangerous letting myself feel so safe here.
There are no heroes. This is all a delusion, letting myself forget my worries and pretend things are okay. But I’m so tired and Jackson feels solid and strong and gentle and good and…
When my eyes blink sleepily open, the world is bouncing. I’m cradled in Jackson’s strong arms, my face pressed into his chest, his piney, manly scent invading my senses.
The hell?
“Where are we?” I stiffen against his body.
“Shh. Rest. We’re at my home.”
Okay, now I’m wide awake. “What? Wait.” I struggle a little in his arms. “Let me down.” It’s dark out. But other than that, mostly all I can see is Jackson’s massive chest.
“No.”
I sputter. “No?”
“No. We’re almost to the door.”
I blink more and really take in my surroundings. We’re standing outside a huge house. Strike that. House is the wrong word. Mansion. We’re at the side entrance of a huge mansion. Jackson hefts me in his arms easily, bracing me with one arm while he reaches into his pocket
with his other hand to grab his keys.
“Really, just put me down. Or actually, call me a cab because I have to get home tonight.”
“I already used your phone to call your sister,” he says easily. “She said she’d be delighted to watch over Charlie for as long as needed.”
The fuck? I put my hands to my face. Everything comes flooding back. David’s horrible wife. Charlie. The way I fell apart in the limo. Not just the sobbing. The orgasm, too. Oh God. Was that really me?
Now it all feels like some strange dream version of myself. And yeah, not exactly the Cinderella dream the night started out with. Pretty sure Disney never covered getting spanked by the prince in the limo after the bitch wife of Cinderella’s ex causes her to have a panic attack by bringing up her fucked-up past and threatening to take her son. Ugh, even thinking through the recap exhausts me.
“Look,” I start to say, but Jackson pops the door open and then we’re over the threshold and inside. He kicks the door closed and then carries me over to the couch where he finally lays me down. Several motion-activated lights turned on at our entrance.
He leads me into a wide living room area that’s decorated similarly as his office—sumptuous rugs, leather couches that have an almost antique appearance with carved wooden legs and detailing along the backs. It’s not like an antique store with lace draped around or the Victorian style of cramming tons of little trinkets everywhere. It just reeks comfort and manly elegance. A man lives here, not a boy.
But I can barely take in the luxury of the house because Jackson quickly crowds out everything else.
“Look,” I try again, embarrassment heating my neck. “Everything that happened, back there,” I gesture lamely toward the door, “that’s not who I am. I don’t go around crying about things.” I leave out the bit about not normally letting almost-strangers spank me in their limos.
Jackson tilts his head to the side, observing me in that way of his that always makes me feel like he’s seeing too much. “So if you’re not a girl who cries often, it must have been something pretty big to make you do it tonight. Tell me what it was.”
Crush Me Page 16