Cut So Deep: Break So Soft Duet

by Black, Stasia

  I writhe against Jackson’s hand. I didn’t know it could be like— No one’s ever touched me like— His fingers thrust masterfully 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 part of me doesn’t want to drop over. This is such a beautiful, exquisite torture. I want to stay here forever. With him. Drowning in him.

  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.

  God. Ooooooo God.

  I gasp for breath but can barely manage it. Warmth suffuses my entire body as I slump, spent, over his lap and partially onto the back seat.

  I mean, I know what orgasms feel like. Or least I thought I did. I touch myself sometimes. And there have been the few terrible times with Gentry but each of those encounters have been quick, sharp, and drenched in shame.

  But this… this… God, is this what it could really be like?

  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’s 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 can better work his fingers through it.

  This all seems crazy, insane, batshit, what-the-fuck—

  I take option number 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 house.”

  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, let me get an Uber because I need to get back home.”

  “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 of 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. Hopefully that goes without saying.

  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.”

  I shift in the overly large couch cushions so that I’m sitting up. I feel my cheeks heat and my hair tumbles around my shoulders. The hair he was running his fingers through just a while ago in the limo. The remembered intimacy makes my stomach tingle. I keep my eyes trained on my lap. “It was nothing.”

  At his disbelieving scoff, my eyes flash back to him.

  “Nothing I can’t handle,” I amend.

  “Maybe so,” he says, “but you’re still going to tell me what it’s all about. I saw that woman follow you into the bathroom. Who is she?”

  I avert my eyes. I don’t want to go into my messy history. The mistakes I’ve made. Though I can’t really even consider them mistakes since they brought me Charlie. Everything in my past is what it is. As is my present. The devil’s bargain I’ve made with Bryce. Whatever the hell it is that’s brought me to this moment. I lean my head back against the overstuffed couch and stare at the ceiling.

  The only way out is through, isn’t that what they say? Charlie and I will get through this. Somehow.

  “Calliope,” Jackson’s voice snaps. He hasn’t sat down and as tall as he is, he towers over me. “I’m tired of you dodging my questions. I swear I’ll take you over my knee again if that’s what it takes to get answers.”

  My head jerks up at the threat. His face is dark but it’s what’s in his eyes that makes me capitulate. In spite of his demanding tone, his gaze is full of what looks like… concern. Like he actually cares about what’s going on with me. And when was the last time that happened? Other than Shannon, who is somewhat contractually obligated as my sister to care, who else ha
ve I had in my life to give a fuck what happens to me?

  So I tell him. At least about David. As the words flow out of me—I know it’s a cliché, but I do feel like a weight is lifted off of me. The stress compressing my chest like a tightening anvil loosens suddenly with the telling.

  “So let me get this straight,” Jackson paces in front of me. “This man took advantage of his position of power and was never punished. Even though you were forced to drop out of college a semester short of getting your degree. Then he told you to get an abortion but now suddenly he wants to take your child because his barren wife decided she wants a baby?”

  I cringe. “Yep, that’s about the sum of it.” I sit up straighter. “But they aren’t going to take Charlie from me.” The more I say it out loud, the more I can believe it, right? I’ll just ignore the wavering quality of my voice.

  “I don’t care how fancy their lawyers are,” I continue. And then quieter, but with no less determination: “I’ll take Charlie and go on the run if I have to.” Shit. I shouldn’t have said that out loud. What is it about this guy that makes me confess my every thought?

  Jackson’s eyes narrow and I hurry to add, “Not that it will come to that. Now that I’m working for Bryce, I can afford a great lawyer.” Then I frown. Because my position with Bryce is dependent on my ability to sway Jackson and I haven’t even broached the subject with him tonight—

  “What? What thought just made you frown right then?”

  I sigh. I’m not playing this smoothly at all. I could probably try to twist this into some kind of sympathy ploy, but I hate that kind of shit. I’d rather just put it out there straight.

  “I need you to agree to collaborate with Bryce. It will secure me a higher position.” I meet his clear blue eyes. “But I’m not saying I think it’s something you should just do out of some kind of—” I shrug “—pity for me.”

  Then I feel a blush rise to my cheeks again. “Not that you’d make such an important business decision based on something so dumb, but, um.” For Christ’s sake, get your goddamned foot out of your mouth, Cals. “You’d get to collaborate on what I truly believe is a quality product. What Bryce has created genuinely is the next phase in drone technol—”

  “Come work for me,” Jackson cuts me off, stare intense. “Give Bryce your resignation and come work for CubeThink.”

  I laugh out loud. “Oh.” My laughter stops abruptly. “You’re serious.”

  His stern face says it all.

  I blow out a huff of air and give him the full force of my glare. “And you want me to do the same thing for you that Bryce has me do for him? Be your Personal Assistant?”

  “No,” he all but barks. For the first time all night, Jackson looks like he’s about to lose his composure. His jaw isn’t just rigid now, his skin starts to look mottled like he’s barely keeping his temper in check.

  I scoot further down the couch. I really don’t know this man very well, and here I am alone with him in this big empty house. It’s true, I’ve never felt unsafe with him, but…

  He takes a deep breath as if steadying himself. “No, I would never expect sexual favors from you as part of your position. Bryce is a snake. He begs for scraps from government contractors, cuts corners, and is all about the bottom line, not innovation.”

  “CubeThink is light years ahead in terms of global application. We can use drones to solve real world problems—ones without military applications.” The disgust is clear on his face.

  Then his eyes meet mine. “Maybe I’m not saving lives, but that doesn’t mean I don’t do meaningful work. Planting trees, taking stable oceanography video, delivering care packages to refugees, these are the kinds of things I’m interested in. The commercial stuff is just to gain capital for the experimental projects I’m really invested in.”

  I can only stare at him for a moment. “So why did you ever agree to a meeting with me if you knew you’d never work with him again?”

  He shrugs a little too casually, finally sitting down. He sits so close there’s only about a foot between us on the couch. When he crosses one leg at the ankle, his knee brushes my thigh. A little jolt rushes through me at the contact.

  “Keep your enemies close,” he says. “I’m not going to turn down an opportunity to look at his prototypes. And after all these years he wants something from me. Enough to give my father’s patent back, which he lorded over me for years.”

  “What was the patent for?” I ask, swallowing and trying not to let him see how his proximity affects me. “And how did Bryce get it?”

  Jackson’s jaw hardens, the way it seems to do whenever Bryce is brought up. “I told you my dad was an inventor?”

  I nod.

  “Come on,” he says, getting up. “Let’s walk.”

  He stands and holds out a hand to me. I take it, letting him pull me to my feet. Again I feel a zing at the contact. Damn, what is up with that? It’s like I’m back in Jr. High when a cute boy I have a crush on looks at me and I get swoony at the stupidest little things. I shake my head at myself.

  Jackson leads me through the living room and then flicks the switch to illuminate a large inner courtyard covered in greenery before he opens the glass doors.

  When we step out, I’m immediately assaulted by the smell of flowers. The lights illuminate several blooming beds that run along the edge of the house. It’s not all flowers, though. There are trees and all kinds of other tall standing bushes.

  The lights have made the outdoor garden come to life. Old-timey lampposts dot the garden, their lights glistening off the pond in the center of the courtyard. Jackson walks toward the pond as he starts talking. It’s covered with lily pads and other flora. Everything out here is full of life. I bet there are actual fish living in there too.

  “Dad never had the capital or even the…” Jackson looks out at the surface of the pond as if trying to find the right word, “…entrepreneurial interest to really try to make a go of any of his inventions. He loved his machines and working with computers, but he and my mom were always more interested in human projects.”

  “Like you.” I smile gently but also feel like crying as I think of Jackson as a vulnerable, misunderstood teenager and the couple that saw in him what no one else could. Damn it, it’s like now that I’ve accessed the emotional watershed inside, I could just burst again at every little thing.

  Jackson nods as we walk the path around the small pond. “I wasn’t their first foster kid. They were retired and supposed to be done with fostering when one of my dad’s contacts called to talk about me. They changed their minds for me.”

  He swallows hard but he doesn’t look away. “Dad gave me everything he had and while my behavior did improve…” He shakes his head with a bitter laugh. “I was far from perfect. I worry sometimes I took years off his life.”

  “I’m sure that’s not true.” I look at him closer to see if he’s being serious, but I can’t tell. Surely, he can’t believe that.

  He shrugs and gives a self-deprecating smile. “We’ll never know. Either way, when he passed, he was working on a project to create an emotionally intelligent computer. Or at least one that could give a realistic enough imitation. He envisioned it as a tool for at-risk teens—to try to give them someone to talk to when they feel like there’s no one else.”

  This time it’s me swallowing back emotion. “That’s amazing.”

  “That was Dad.” His lips tip up, and it’s a smile that conveys so much—sadness, pride, grief. Or maybe that’s all in his eyes. I don’t know, but I feel it. There’ve been times where Jackson seems unreadable, but he’s opening himself up to me again, just like he did on the limo ride to the Gala.

  Why me?

  In my Google research, Jackson is rarely if ever pictured with a girl at his side. He’s notoriously quiet about his private life when it comes to interviews. So why is he being so open and transparent with me? Isn’t he afraid I’ll go revealing everything he’s telling me to the papers? Sure I want this dea
l to go through, but I’m Bryce Gentry’s employee. Even more reason not to trust me.

  We’ve stopped walking and right beside us is an orange tree. Small unripened oranges are bursting everywhere. We just passed some vines with a ton of strawberries a little while back, and I saw cucumbers before that. I think of Jackson picking strawberries from his own garden to eat, of him sitting out here and enjoying the beauty of his courtyard sanctuary.

  It’s overwhelming to picture him like that so I try to get back to the point of the conversation. “So how did Bryce get the patent?”

  After the words are spoken, though, I sort of wish I hadn’t because the shutters on Jackson’s eyes that were so open moments ago slam closed.

  “I took Dad’s death hard. I was a sophomore in college and I…” he huffs out a heavy breath and it’s like I can feel his back stiffen. “…went off the rails for a little while. Drinking more, sleeping around, that kind of thing.”

  “Bryce was a freshman, too—” His features go hard the second he mentions Bryce’s name, “—and I had a class with him. Then he was at one of the parties I went to and we got to talking. He flattered me, told me he’d heard all about the things I was doing in the lab. He knew the ridiculous robots website, of course.”

  Jackson’s features darken. “I was clueless back then. Couldn’t see that he was manipulating me the whole time. Trying to collect me. I was swept up by his charisma. He talked so big. He was smart. We started collaborating on some projects. It was exciting. It was the first time since Dad’s passing that I’d felt alive.” He shakes his head, the sneer of disgust taking over again.

  “I saw how he treated other people.” Jackson starts walking again. “How he liked to mess with people’s heads. Sometimes he’d even draw me in to help. It all seemed harmless enough at the time. Just like pranks. Sometimes I’d tell him if something wasn’t cool, and he’d ease off for a while.”

  Jackson shakes his head. “But he was always pushing the boundaries of what I was comfortable with. We were doing such good work together, though, I downplayed it all. I was stupid and even shared my dad’s idea with him. We were working on developing it together.”