by Ivy Carter
I can’t believe he’s saying these words. After all this time, leaving me hanging, he feels the same as I do.
I turn my body to face him. “Why did you try to stay away? Why not just be with me?”
“Because,” he says. “My life…the way I am…I’m not good for someone like you. And yet,” he smiles, “I can’t stop wanting to try.”
I can’t believe he’s saying these things to me. To know that this man in front of me feels that way about me is shocking…and a totally sexy.
“Well,” I say, lowering my voice to quiet, soft levels that he’s using. “You’re definitely in trouble for what you did.”
A grin creeps up on his lips. He takes a small step closer. “What’s my punishment?”
Now I’m grinning. What did I just start? If he expects me to do dirty talk I can’t possibly. I drop my head, embarrassed.
Jackson moves closer still, slipping his hands around my waist. He dips his head close and says, “Tell me what you want and I’ll do it.” When I don’t say anything because oh my God I am blushing so badly he says, “Should I kiss you?” I nod yes as my heart pumps wildly in my chest.
His lips meet mine and it’s like I’m home. We kiss slowly at first, tentative. When his tongue pushes softly into my mouth it’s like nothing else matters expect the feel of Jackson. I rest my hands on his biceps, so firm beneath his elegant suit, and I give them a squeeze, delighting in how strong he is. I know that nothing bad can happen when I’m in Jackson’s arms.
He tugs me closer, our hips pressed up to one another. His kiss deepens and I do the same, each of us trying to get more and more of the other. I move my hands up to his shoulders and neck, then up into his thick hair, digging into it while pressing his face closer into mine. His hands are roaming all up and down my back, our bodies mashing up against one another but it’s still not enough.
“Oh! Excuse me,” a voice says.
I quickly move away from Jackson and turn to find Jules, my boss, standing at the corner having just witnessed Jackson and me groping each other like horny teenagers.
“Jules, oh my gosh,” I say because I don’t know what to say.
Jules doesn’t seem to know either. She just gives me this look—disappointment?—and turns on her heel and walks back into the ballroom.
“Oh, great,” I say. I feel like my insides have just been frozen, recalling that look on her face. It was masked, but it was still obvious disgust.
How unprofessional could I be? Making out at a fancy fundraiser with a donor? I’m seeing shades of prostitution in that scenario. “I’m in so much trouble.”
“I’ll talk to her,” Jackson says as he rubs my back.
“No, that’ll make it worse,” I say. “I don’t need you smoothing anything over. Oh my god. Now I have to go back in there. My face must look like a mess. Am I all splotchy and red?” I turn for his inspection.
“You look absolutely beautiful,” he says. “Honestly, don’t worry about it.” He puts his arms around me again.
“So what do you propose we do?” I ask. “Stay out here and wait to get caught again?”
“No. I have a much better idea.” He whispers into my ear, “Come home with me.”
I smile, pulling back slightly to look at him. “You want to take me to your place?”
“You make it sound so seedy,” he says. “It’s not a dorm room. It’s a house.”
“And I’ll bet it’s in Back Bay.”
He gives me a look and says, “Do you want to come with me or not?”
I know that what I really should do is go back in and try to repair the damage with Jules. What I really should do is learn from past mistakes and not be involved with this man.
He’s admitted himself that he’s no good for me.
I’ve already been hurt once, and I’m sure to be hurt again.
But my pulse is already racing as I think about spending more time with him, tonight, right now. And so I find myself doing the exact opposite of what my brain says I should do.
“I want to come with you,” I whisper, and then he takes my hand and leads me outside.
Jackson
I’m kissing Emily in the car on the way to my place on Marlborough Street. I’m kissing her as we walk up the steps of the brownstone. I’m still kissing her when I insert the key and go through the front door. I kick the door shut and press her up against the wood-paneled wall and devour her some more. I just…can’t…get…enough. The way she digs her fingers into my hair, pulling me into her makes me absolutely insane. But I need to take her. I need to show her how spectacular she is, how out of control she makes me feel, and just how much I want her.
If I can get us out of the foyer.
I pull back from her and take her hands. If I could magically make my bed appear, I’d do it but frankly I don’t have the patience to take her up the stairs. I’m guiding her into the formal sitting room off the entrance—there are couches and a plush rug if it comes to that—but we still don’t make it far.
“Jesus Christ,” Emily says, her eyes drifting up toward the curved staircase and dark, high ceilings. “This place is huge.” I tug her toward me, covering her neck with kisses to distract her. I don’t want her to see my house. I want her to feel me. Her hands go back around my neck. Briefly. “No, seriously, Jackson. This is some major old money home.”
I pull back and look at her. “This is Boston. The houses are old. This place was built in 1860.”
She looks into the sitting room with the modern cream couch some decorator picked out to help counter the stuffiness of the home’s original details. “You have a fireplace?” She says this like it’s outrageous, like I have a pony in the courtyard.
“I have five,” I say.
I love watching her walk around in awe—not because I’m trying to impress her, although a part of me definitely wants Emily to be impressed by me, and in every way possible. I love the way her face lights up, her eyes scanning the room and catching every new thing. You’d think she just stepped through the looking glass. I guess maybe for her, she has. Of all the women I’ve brought here, many were impressed with its old-world charm or its size—I own two side-by-side brownstones—but none looked at it like they were in the queen’s palace the way Emily is.
“Will you give me a tour?” she asks.
I groan. “Yes. But later.” I pull her back into my arms, right where she belongs. “I’d rather be the one taking a tour.” I run my fingers down her side.
“Ha ha,” she says, but her eyes are getting that heavy, lustful look back.
“Get back here,” I say, pulling her into me again and crushing her mouth with mine. The taste of her is so sweet and delicate that it’s all I need.
Except it’s not. My body needs to pressed against her hard, be closer, feel more of her. I want to do everything to her at once, and the fact that I have to touch and kiss and lick her one place at a time makes my head spin.
We are panting with passion, our hands clawing all over each other. Emily’s hands run down my chest and I take off my suit jacket and toss it on the floor.
“More,” is all Emily says, reaching for my tie. The fire in her eyes makes her meaning clear. I tug it off as she begins working the buttons of my shirt, her fingers fumbling in her haste.
“Let me,” I say, swiftly getting the shirt and undershirt off and tossing them to the floor with the rest, my gold cufflinks clanging on chestnut floor. Her hands touch my bare chest, tracing over the lines of my pecs, studying me as if she’s memorizing every ridge. I chill to her warm touch, restraining myself for a moment to let her feel me. Waiting is hard because I’m already pushing out of my shoes, ready to take more off.
Emily begins to take off her own shoes—sexy little black heels with straps going this way and that—but I stop her. I don’t want her to have to do anything. I want to touch and feel every inch of her. I want to care for Emily; that’s what she deserves.
I kneel down before her and unbuckle
the doll-sized straps of her shoes, helping her step out of each one as she leans back against the wall. Her feet are so small and perfect that I hold one up and kiss it. I can’t help myself.
“Jackson…” she says, and hearing the smile in her voice delights me beyond measure.
I stay kneeled before her, running my hands up her smooth legs, going just under her skirt enough so that I can hear her breath quicken. I feel her body across her dress, the shallow breathing telling me how she feels under my touch.
“I can’t keep standing,” she says, her hands flat against the wall behind her.
“Wait a moment,” I say. “I want to look at you.”
I stand back up, reaching behind her to find the zipper that’s keeping this beautiful body of hers covered. I pull her hair to the side and kiss the soft insides of her neck, tasting her with my tongue as I lower the zipper down to her waist. I take her face in my hands and look at her, her eyes heavy, her lips full and parted, and I softly kiss her, our tongue mingling in a flawless dance together. I take the straps of her dress and lower them down from her arms, pulling away from her lips when the dress is to her waist. She wiggles her hips a little as I help shimmy it down to the floor. Then I step back from her and look.
“My God, you are the most beautiful creature I have ever seen in my life.”
“Stop,” she says, but she doesn’t cover herself. It would be a crime to my eyes if she did. I need to drink this in. Her skin is luminescent. Her breasts rise and fall like an ocean wave, full and luscious in a black lace bra. Her mismatched panties tell me she didn’t get dressed this morning thinking anyone would see her naked, and that fact fills me with gratitude. I run my hands over her rounded hips, down slightly to the part of her I’ve had, the part of her that I taste in my dreams. But I don’t fully touch her there yet. I'm finally getting my time with her, and I intend to go slow and savor every moment.
“Come here,” I say, taking her by her hand and leading her over to the small plush sofa in the sitting room. I’ve only used this room a couple of times for formal aperitifs before equally formal (and boring) dinners. I sit her down in the center of the sofa, and before I can make another move she reaches out for my belt.
“You,” she says. I love that she’s only able to speak in one-word sentences. She starts to open the buckle, but I stop her. I do it myself, watching as her eyes stay focused on my body. If she’s going to stand displayed in front of me, I suppose it’s only fair I do the same for her. And gladly. The look on her face is pure appreciation. Knowing I’m already giving her such pleasure makes my dick strain even harder.
My pants are quickly discarded on the floor along with my socks, and I stand before Emily as she runs her hands over my stomach and chest, relishing in the feel of her hands on me. Her hand dances circles around my cock, going from my abs around my hips to my thighs. Her mouth is open, eager. I take her hand and rub it over my stiff cock, showing her what she’s doing to my body. Her fingers wrap around the outline of my dick as we slide our hands together, the slight friction and feel of her hand on me making my head spin. I could come right now if I let myself. But I’m not even close to being done.
When she moves to the edge of the couch, closer to me, I grip her hand a little tighter. She looks up at me, and I shake my head. No. She moves back on the couch. I need to control her, not to keep her from getting pleasure but to ensure that she gets all I have to give her.
I put my knees on either side of her, pining her to the spot. I press my lips to hers, taking her in, getting off on the little moans that escape from deep inside her. Her hands run over my skin, enjoying the feel of me as much as I enjoy her touch. I pull her forward slightly, my next target her bra. With my hand on the clasp, I ask, “Is this okay?” I want her to know that, even though I am in control, she has a say. But I never ask a question I don’t know the answer to.
“Yes,” she says, her voice hoarse with lust.
I release her full breasts from the confines of that sexy black bra. How did I manage to only devour one of these perfect tits that night at the restaurant? I take them in my hands as she arches her back, offering them up to me. I lick her nipple, her skin even more tantalizing here, and I once I’m here I don’t know how I’ll ever stop. I kiss and lick her, then give the same attention to her other gorgeous breast. She moans clearly now, loving the feast I’m having on her, and that only encourages me more.
I move to the floor in front of her and watch her eyes as I slid the last scrap of fabric covering her body. She raises her hips and I take those little panties down, tossing them aside.
I run my hands over every part of Emily. I feel her stomach, her breasts, her shoulders and arms. I touch her thighs, all the way down to her toes, painted some kind of light purple, which for some reason makes me smile. I kiss her toes, literally kiss her feet, because at this moment I would do anything for this woman.
I kiss up her thighs, ready again to take her the way I did at the restaurant. I could do it a thousand times and it wouldn’t be enough. Kissing my way up her thighs, Emily writhes her hips, as eager for my tongue as I am to give it to her. I look up at her; her cheeks are flushed pink. Her breathing is heavy and she keeps biting her lips. I swear I almost come when her hand reaches for my head, gently nudging me toward her.
I kiss further inside her thigh, her smell animal and alluring. She scoots a little further down the couch, eager like she was at the restaurant, presenting herself to me, giving her sensual parts over to me. I let out a groan and with no further ado, flick my tongue over her pussy. Emily immediately responds with another moan. Her hands are gripping the edge of the couch, nails digging in. I lick the full length of her sex, savoring it. My tongue tastes the hardness of her little clit, brushing back and forth until panting noises come from Emily and her hand is once again reaching for my head. Just when I think she might come I change course and let my tongue roam across her slick folds, tasting all the parts of her.
“Oh, God, Jackson,” she moans. She has no idea how much pleasure that gives me. I reward her by slipping my finger inside her, her juices covering my finger. Those sexy noises of Emily’s pick up—she’s got her hand over her face as if she’s trying to keep some sort of composure. I work her hole gently at first, slipping easily in and out. My mouth goes back to work on the hard little nub of her clit, sucking gently on it while my finger pumps in and out of her tight little hole. Once she’s been thoroughly worked I add another finger, opening her up even more, pumping her like I intend to pump my dick in her, stretching her a little further, a little wider. I push my fingers deep inside her and hook them at the top, giving her even more pleasure.
“You’re gonna make me come,” she pants. “God, Jackson. Stop or I’m gonna come.”
Her hand tangles back in my hair and she keeps my face pressed between her thighs. I work double time on my efforts, lapping at her clit, pumping my fingers inside her, sucking her, doing everything I can to get her off now that she’s so close. I’m rewarded when Emily cries out, bucking her hips into my mouth as her walls clench, her hand digging in my hair. I ride her out until she’s done.
“Oh my God,” she says, her eyes closed and her head dropping to the side. Her body has gone limp. I kiss her thighs, giving her a minute.
“Don’t go anywhere,” I say, standing up. She doesn’t move. I don’t think she could right now if she had to.
I move to one of the hall closets and grab armfuls of plush blankets and pillows the housekeeper stacks neatly in here, and which I have no recollection of ever buying. That’s the thing about having a staff—things just appear, and sometimes at the best of times.
I lay the blankets on the floor in front of the fireplace and drop the pillows down as well.
“Come here, beauty,” I say, helping Emily up and guiding her to my little bed. I’d take her upstairs to my bed but this somehow seems more intimate. I’ve never been with anyone else in this room.
She lies down and I toss a coup
le of the blankets over her and she snuggles down in their warmth. I start a fire, then burrow in next to her, wrapping her naked body up in my arms. I kiss her neck, taking in the scent of her skin and hair. She giggles and lifts her shoulder.
“That tickles,” she says.
“What, you mean this?” And I nuzzle in even more until she squeals and squirms. “You weren’t complaining a moment ago, all the things I did with my mouth.”
She grins. The golden oranges flicker over her face, making her even more beautiful, if that’s possible. “I hope your neighbors didn’t hear me. God, I’ve never made that kind of racket before in my life. You’re amazing.” She nudges her ass back into a little; I pull her tighter.
“I don’t have any neighbors,” I say.
“What do you mean? You’re on the corner but there’s the brownstone next door.”
“I own that one too.”
“God, why am I not surprised?” she says. “I should have known you live in a double wide.” I laugh along with her. “All that and a fireplace.”
“I have eight,” I tell her.
“You’re ridiculous,” she says.
“So you keep telling me.” I kiss her arm, running my finger over her skin.
“You’re in this big double house all by yourself? Not even a dog?”
“Not even a goldfish,” I say.
After a moment she says, “That sounds lonely.”
“You live alone,” I say. “Are you lonely?”
“Sometimes,” she admits. “But my studio is cozy and I use every part of it. How many rooms does this place have?”
“Too many” I say. I kiss her arm, preferring to concentrate on her body than my house.
“I bet there are rooms you never even go in.”
“Probably,” I say, continuing my kissing. “Definitely.”
“So why have such a big place?”
I stop and look at her. “Because I can.”
She holds my eyes for a moment. A grin slides across her face and she looks back to the fire. She nudges her shoulder back at me, and I go back to my light kisses. “Well, I think it’s—”