by Paula Mabbel
“So, what do you like to do?” he continued.
She raised an eyebrow at him. “Hmm.”
“Well, it’s just that you always ask about me when we talk.”
“That’s my job.”
“But you aren’t working right now. And I never ask about you. You asked me what I like to do, and now I want to know what you like to do, Ms. Fox.”
“Abigail,” she corrected, and then felt her cheeks getting warm. She lowered her head slightly so he wouldn’t see her blush. “Call me Abigail.”
“OK, Abigail,” he said. “What do you like to do?” His dizzying smile became teasing and heart-stopping as he ran his fingers over his lips, innocently enough, like he was considering something, but his blue eyes deepened as he watched her.
“I like to paint.”
“You any good?”
“Are you any good at football?”
“Touché.”
“I don’t do it for artistic expression, per se. It calms me down, is all.”
His brow wrinkled. “I don’t know that I can picture you not calm.”
“Believe me,” she chuckled, “it happens.”
It’s happening now. You just don’t know it.
“So, do you see a therapist?”
Her eyes went wide.
“I apologize for that,” he said quickly. “I don’t mean to pry.” And then the corners of his eyes wrinkled as his smile returned. “It’s just that’s what you always see on TV, the therapist talking to their therapist.”
“No,” she said. “I’m not seeing anyone. Not right now, anyway.” She wondered if he caught her real meaning. Stop flirting, Abby. “I prefer to paint.” She took a bite of her muffin to stop herself from talking.
He kept shooting questions at her, and she kept answering them. Where did she grow up? Did she like her job? Did she prefer dogs or cats?
She was beginning to understand how he must have felt every week in her office.
“I should go,” she said after a while. “I’ve got work in the morning, and I still have a lot of case prep to do.”
He nodded and stood. They walked outside together, and he walked her down to the corner. “Well, I’m going this way,” he said.
“I’m going that way,” she replied, pointing in the opposite direction. “Thank you for the coffee. See you on Thursday?”
“I’m still a little crazy, so yeah, I’ll be there.”
She giggled. “You’re not crazy, Jackson.”
“You don’t even know the half of it.” His lips spread into a grin, his dimples showing as he stepped toward her and placed his hand on her arms. Her insides turned to jelly as his head dipped, anticipating his lips on hers. But then he froze, close enough that his breath warmed the skin on her face. “You have to go,” he murmured like he was reminding himself, and then released her and stepped away.
~
“You seem to be in a much better place than you were when we were here last,” said Abigail. She shifted slightly in her chair. There was something different about him. Or was there something different about them? Or maybe it was just the air, or maybe her imagination, but it was harder to breathe this time around.
His body language was definitely different. He relaxed back in his chair, legs spread in a V, utterly sexy and radiating dominance, even in this causal stance. His hat was gone now, his blue eyes bright under dark brows, and they were focused on her. She kept her eyes on her yellow notepad and pretended to scribble things while he talked.
He talked about football for the entire hour, his voice taking on an excited, childlike enthusiasm. She wanted to smile, but forced herself to bite her lip every time the feeling came over her. She kept her head down, knowing that if she looked up and directly into those eyes, she was done. There was something in those eyes that excited her and made her feel…she didn’t know what, but she wanted to find out.
Already she could feel moist heat spreading between her legs, and she flushed in embarrassment.
She shifted in her chair again, uncrossing and crossing her legs.
He’s your patient, she said over and over again to herself while he talked. Thankfully, he kept going and didn’t seem to notice her distraction. She hadn’t even realized it when the session had come to an end.
“Abigail?” he said, and she looked up. Damn, he had tricked her. His smile was disarming. “Same time next week?”
“Yes, Jackson. Same time.”
“Jack…you can call me Jack.”
She nodded and then stood and went to the door. He needed to go. Now.
He walked past her, but before he left, he turned. “Can’t wait to hear about your game,” she said.
“We could talk about it over dinner. After the game.” He raised an eyebrow at her.
Everything in her body screamed yes, but she managed to get the other word out. “No,” she said, lowering her eyes. “I can’t.”
Suddenly, she was very conscious of his eyes on her. There was a playful spark in his eyes that was dangerous, that could talk her into anything. She knew she should say that it was inappropriate, that she shouldn’t see him at all outside this office, but instead she said, “I made other plans for that night.” With just a look, he so easily chipped away at the part of her that tried to be smart and pull away. That part of her didn’t stand a chance. Not when her desire for him drove out all sense.
“Maybe next time.” His grin was unsettling, knowing, and he turned quietly to leave.
She almost called after him. But she went back inside, leaving him before she could let that thought, and his stare, lead her somewhere she might regret.
~
Abigail had tucked the last of the groceries into her canvas tote bag and went out onto the street. She had the day off tomorrow and planned to make herself a nice dinner and relax. She stopped on the way home for a bottle of wine.
Balancing one bag in her hand, while hefting the other over her shoulder, she turned to cross the street.
“I’ll help with that,” she heard someone say from behind her, and before she could turn to see who it was, she felt the bag being lifted from her.
“Where to?” said Jackson, flashing that smile she was becoming just a little bit obsessed with. She smiled and jerked her head in the direction of the stoplight. “My place is just around the corner.”
They fell into step beside each other and a few minutes later, arrived at her front door. “Don’t tell me it’s a fifth-floor walk-up,” said Jackson.
She laughed. “Should be a piece of cake for you. But no, I’m on the first floor.”
He walked her to the door and looked at her expectantly while she fiddled with her keys. “You hungry?” she asked. The question was out of her mouth before she could really think about the implications.
“Starving,” he replied with a broad grin.
She opened the door. “Come in. I’ll get started on dinner in a few minutes.”
He helped her put the bags down on the kitchen counter and then sat on one of the stools while she hung up her sweater, washed her hands and began to chop vegetables.
“So, you excited for the game this weekend?”
“No biggie. Just a practice game.”
“Nervous?” She attempted to read him, sensing a shift in him, a vulnerability that she wanted to grasp, but he covered it up quickly – if it was truly there to begin with.
“Not exactly.” He shook his head. “I plan. I prepare. I predict. All to the best of my ability. It'll be a busy week for me; that's why I wanted to see you.”
She nodded, dropping the diced red bell pepper into a large pot.
“There's an event on Friday and some people coming into town this week that I have to meet with.”
“People from home?” she questioned, curious about any hint of his past. Besides the mention of not talking to his mom in one of their sessions, all she knew of his life before the Navy had to do with him playing football in college.
“Yeah,
” he stretched the word out with caution.
“Family?” she kept questioning, pressing her luck.
“Not really.” He shook his head, eyes trained on her.
She decided not to take it any further and change the subject.
But then he said, “My grandmother raised me. That's my only family.”
She had the strange urge to thank him for sharing, but she resisted. “Did she teach you to play football?”
He laughed, a real laugh, and it sounded like music, deep and melodic. “No, but she signed me up for every after school rec league offered, in all the sports. What about you?”
“Hm?” She was content to just listen to him. “I wasn't much for sports.”
“What about your family? Is it a big one?”
“Only my parents and my sister.”
“Older or younger sister?”
She took a breath. “Older by three years.”
“You two close?” He was studying her responses much too closely.
“Not anymore.”
When dinner was finished, they sat in the living room to eat. Abigail set out two beers. “Thank you,” said Jackson between forkfuls of rice. “This is delicious.”
They talked with ease for hours. About nothing. About everything.
“I’ve got practice in the morning,” he said finally, and she felt a tug of sadness. “I should head out.”
She got up to walk him over to the door. “I had a nice time,” she said.
He stepped closer to her. His eyes dropped to her lips, the heat in them unmistakable as he licked his own.
She took a step back and then smiled weakly as she met the door. “Give ‘em hell on Saturday.”
“I will.” He dipped toward her, his hand propped on the door behind her, lips skimming hers. “Can I stay?” He leaned into her, and the wall was at her back again, keeping her from retreating.
“What will happen?” she questioned, but she let his confidence take them over, submitting as she looked up into his gaze – a gaze full of wanting. That burning look was her undoing. A smile flickered on his lips as he dipped close, brushing them against hers with a feathery softness. It was that softness that tipped her over and her lips melded with his, keeping his slow, hypnotic pace. His light breaths against her mouth were just as delicious and heated as his lips.
Her hands shook as they moved to his stomach, gripping his shirt in her fist. It held his warmth, but the danger of not being able to pull back kept her from touching him. Control over anything was forgotten when his hands dropped from her head, and his long arms wound around her waist, pulling her to him in a sudden sweep that effortlessly took her off her feet, and his tongue plunged into her mouth, setting everything ablaze. All concerns dissolved into ashes. He surrounded her, his entire being wrapped around her, and she never felt so desired.
Her arms slid up his solid chest, over the soft t-shirt and smooth curves of muscle till she wrapped them around his neck, pulling herself up his body further as his hands traveled over her, guiding her thighs to circle his waist. When she opened her mouth wider and slid her tongue against his, his throaty growl vibrated. His hands flexed on her, pulling her hips against his arousal. And she was gone, hurling into some oblivion at a chaotic speed. She lifted herself on him, trying to better reach his lips as her fingers twined into his hair, no fear of being dropped. He had her in a firm grasp. His kiss slowed as he spoke. “Let’s go to your room.”
She settled back into her skin, back into the reality of the moment as he lowered her to the ground. But her body was surging, desire drowning her thoughts. He was urging her to walk to the room, still wrapped around her and taking steps that moved them both in that direction.
His lips covered hers and his tongue swept into her mouth in a cool, minty kiss. But as he lowered her to the bed, pressing her to the mattress with his body, and his hands slid up her shirt, fires ignited where he touched, and the heat of him consumed her. She interrupted the kiss to slide her shirt over her head, pulling him to her, craving his skin against hers. He moved slow, hands trailing along her stomach and back, and then the clasp of her bra came undone. He kissed down her neck, and the tips of his fingers slid her bra down her arms in a whisper.
Her certainty wavered the lower his hands got, the closer they got. Nerves rose in her gut, clashing with the sensations he caused with his touch, his lips. She had started this but was unsure how to finish it. She was frozen, letting him take control. But when his mouth found her nipple, all voices stopped, and all doubt ceased. Sensation took over. It all centered on him. Her hands clamped on his shoulders as he played with her. Pleasure shot through her, building in her core, and her hips rocked under him.
He squeezed her breasts together, slipping his tongue between them and then to the next nipple. Her hands slid down the firm muscles of his back and under the elastic of his boxers, grazing the top curve of his butt. The way he licked and sucked and nibbled was driving her wild, and she wrapped her legs around his back, giving in to the need of pulling him closer, pulling him in. Her body demanded it. His hands slid up her legs, and her chest ached to get them back. But he unwrapped her legs from him and held her thighs to the bed as he kissed down her stomach, till his lips hit the edge of her jeans. He dipped his tongue under the waistband as his fingers jumped to the buttons. But it was his stare that slowed her down. He locked his gaze with her, his eyes fevered and bright as he slid her pants down her legs. “These are nice.” He ran his fingers along the edge of her lace underwear but didn't break his stare to look at them. She had to look away when his finger slipped past the thin material and plunged into her without warning. Her body pulled tight, and she closed her eyes with a moan as he continued his skillful touches.
“So pretty,” he murmured as he slid her underwear down her thighs and they disappeared. “So sexy,” his breath hit her inner thigh, and she melted with desire. “And it's all mine.” He pulled her hips with his hands, lifting her center to his lips. Within moments, he had her shaking and spinning. And she wanted more. She wanted everything. She pulled on his shoulders, maybe she was begging for him, but she couldn’t hear it. There was nothing besides the hunger, the desire surging through her.
He was hovering over her body everywhere, but no weight on her. Except there. She could feel the tip of him between her legs, pressing, rubbing her slickness. He dropped some of his weight onto her and buried his head in her hair, pressing against her neck. He was cautious and slow, following the rhythm she created. It was all so slow and overwhelming. His breaths rasped, and muscles were taut as he rocked his hips into her over and over, straining with his control. His slow pace eased into something harder, faster – something she couldn’t keep up with, and it was only the edge of his power. She could only grip him and hang on, biting his shoulder, close to crying out from the intensity. And then he locked up, holding his hips deep in her as his muscles released and twitched under her palms. She could feel him shaking inside her.
When Jackson woke, he instinctively reached over for Abigail. But the bed next to him was empty.
The smell of coffee was wafting from outside the door, so he got up and made his way to the kitchen.
“Morning,” he said when he saw Abigail standing behind the counter. He smiled at her, but she didn’t return his smile.
“Coffee?” she asked.
He nodded, and she handed him a mug.
“Don’t do that,” he said.
“Do what?”
“That morning after weirdness thing. Stop it.”
Abigail sighed. “I’m sorry,” she said. “Listen, last night was fun –”
“Just fun? You came five times.”
“OK, more than fun. But we can’t continue this. I crossed a serious line sleeping with you. I could lose my job.”
He smiled and stepped closer to her. “I won’t tell anyone.”
“It’s not that simple, Jackson.” She couldn’t finish her thought because he interrupted it with a ki
ss. She tried to push him away, but soon her body relaxed against his. So much so that she didn’t even realize he had pulled her down to the kitchen floor until after she was on her back with him on top of her.
An hour later, she was lying on the floor, panting and smiling. “OK,” she said. “You win.”
He smiled and draped his arm over her. Propping himself up on his other elbow, he turned to her. “Hey. You want to go to practice with me later?”
~
Abigail was sitting in her office – she had taken her last patient for the day – and decided to go and get lunch from the building cafeteria.