Because He Loves Me (Because He Owns Me, Book Ten)

by Hannah Ford

  “Okay, so I don’t know much about wines and I really don’t want to know about the vineyards in California you might own,” she begins, “but I do have a recommendation on which pizza we should get if you don’t mind. It might sound boring but it’s amazing, I promise.”

  “Whatever you want,” I say. “This is your deal.”

  When the waitress comes over Emily order the pizza margherita. She explains to me that it’s really simple but they use great ingredients so everything really shines. I kiss her check when she finishes her explanation because, oh, sweet Emily. I don’t want to spoil her fun by telling her that I have had this very kind of pizza in Naples, that they invented it, and that nothing is better than the local Napoli ingredients. But I’m sure the pizza—and the Chianti she orders with it—will be great. One thing is for sure—nothing can beat the company.

  “What else do you have planned for tonight?” I ask. We haven’t stopped touching her under the table. I keep nudging her skirt a little higher on her thigh, and she lets me.

  “It’s not as big of a surprise as a private pool,” she says. “But I when I was an undergrad I used to go to this place a lot for drinks and music. It’s really cool and I can’t wait to see how you look in there with your slim pants and highly polished dress shoes.”

  “What’s wrong with how I’m dressed?” I asked, not that I care.

  “Absolutely nothing,” she says, and kisses me. She puts her hand on mine, and I swear she nudges me even higher up on her thigh. Her tongue slips past my lips, and for a moment I forget we’re in public.

  “Pizza margherita,” the waitress announces, and we quickly pull apart.

  The pie is set precariously on the table along with our wine. Emily picks up her glass and makes a toast. “To Jackson Croft, slumming it in the South End.”

  I roll my eyes but clink her glass. “So what do I need to prepare for tomorrow?” I ask her as I put a slice on her plate, then mine. “Is your father going to ask me what are my intentions with you?”

  “No,” she says. “My parents are super casual, easy going. They’re going to love you. Although Sabrina might ask that question.”

  “Younger sister, right,” I say, remembering. She told me about her family one night when we were curled up in my bed. She spoke about them with a love and enthusiasm that was hard for me to fathom. She clearly not only loves her family but likes being with them. “How old is she again?”

  “Twenty-one,” Emily says.

  “Oh my God,” I say, having just taken the first bite of the pizza. “This is extraordinary.”

  “What’d I tell you?” she says, clearly pleased.

  “I was keeping my expectations low but this is pretty much as good as what I’ve had in Naples.”

  “Slumming tastes pretty good, huh?”

  “Stop,” I say. “I’m not slumming and I don’t think I’m slumming. Now tell me about Sabrina. And Dax. And your parents.”

  “Sabrina is opinionated, so I’m really excited to see what happens between the two of you.”

  “Great,” I mutter. “Nothing like being set up.”

  “Dax is more thoughtful,” she says.

  “So he’ll judge me silently. Got it.”

  “He works in development for a non-profit in Framingham. One of those big national one,” she says. “And then my parents…”

  “Yes, please do tell,” I say. I take another sip of the Chianti and realize that everything balances out perfectly—this meal is damn good, including the wine. I had come in with a snob attitude but look at me now, ready to come back any time.

  “I’ll let you figure them out on your own,” she says.

  “Great,” I tell her.

  “You know,” she says, wiping her hands on her napkin, “you never talk about your family.”

  She’s right. We’ve only skimmed over the topic, and I’ve done a good job at dodging and weaving even then.

  “All I know is that your father passed away, you have brothers in New York and Los Angeles, and your mom is—where is she again?”

  “Monaco. Now you know everything you need to know.” That’s me, weaving away.

  “Your brothers are in the family business, right? Are you guys close?”

  I try to stifle the laugh but it only makes me cough. Once I’ve recovered I say, “No, we do not get along. We speak as little as necessary.”

  “Why? Did something happen? I’d think that with your dad gone and your mother living overseas that you’d want to be close to them.”

  “Well I don’t.” It comes out more harshly than I meant so I feel the need to explain. Since I’m meeting her family tomorrow, she deserves to know more about mine. “My father was an asshole. Simple as that. It’s why my mother moved so far away—she couldn’t take him and his harsh rules. And there was one rule in our house: fall in line with whatever Edward Croft said. If you didn’t, you were punished.”

  She lowers her voice when she asks, “Did he beat you?”

  “No, nothing like that,” I say. “In fact, I can’t remember any time at all that my father laid a finger on me. Not in punishment and not in love. The most important thing to my father was success. Success at any cost. My brothers and I had to be winners, even when we were competing against each other.”

  “How could you all be winners if you were all competing against each other?” Emily asks.

  “Exactly,” I say. “We couldn’t. Two out of three would always be punished. And my mother had no control. She’s not a strong person anyway, but no one could stand up to Edward Croft. He was just way too formidable. So she left.”

  “She divorced him?”

  “No,” I say. “Father would never allow that. Bad for the image, he said. Are you ready for the most ironic part? Looking like the good family man was one of his keys to success. He drilled into us the importance of choosing the right partner.”

  “If you don’t mind my saying,” Emily says, “it doesn’t sound like your father was exactly the definition of family man.”

  “I said looking like a good family man was key,” I say. “When you tell your three sons whoever builds the tallest, strongest Lego building will be his favorite child for the evening, you pretty much lose out on any father-of-the-year award.”

  “I’m so sorry, Jackson,” Emily says, resting her hand on my thigh.

  “Don’t be,” I say. “Honestly. It’s all in the past.”

  “But your brothers,” she says.

  This is definitely going on too long than I’d ever want talk of my family to go.

  “Let’s just enjoy the rest of the evening. What do you have planned for us next?”

  It turns out that what’s next is a place somehow smaller than the pizza joint. It’s a tiny club that is dark and crammed by the time we arrive. There’s a jazz band blowing it up on stage, and although I’m not a huge fan, the energy is pretty cool.

  Emily says something as I hand her the drink I just got at the bar.

  “What?” I say.

  “I said,” she says, her voice almost a yell in the noisy club, “they play different kinds of music on the weekends. Sometimes funk, blues, even country. I wasn’t sure what kind…”

  “This is perfect,” I say back.

  I find a space along the wall that I lean back against and hold Emily in front of me. After another drink I’ve got her pressed up against the wall and am doing everything in my power to not get arrested for lewd conduct in public while still feeling every inch of her. By the time I suggest we head out, my lips are bruised and Emily has destroyed my hair.

  “Can we go to my place?” she asks as step outside.

  “But there are still rooms at my house you haven’t found yet,” I say. “We can go exploring.”

  “We always go to your place,” she says. “You haven’t seen inside mine yet. Come on, Jackson. Come see where I live.”

  I do want to know everything about Emily that I can possibly learn, even if I’m not thrilled about s
pending the night in a studio apartment in Allston. But for Emily, I’d spend the night at the bus station.

  Emily

  I’m nervous for him to see my place. It’s nothing to be ashamed of—I’m one person, I don’t need a lot of space. And the neighborhood is good, mostly BU students. Jackson is so used to opulence and grandeur, so I’m not sure how he’ll react, but he is going to meet my family tomorrow so he should see where I live.

  I guide him around to the back of the house where the entrance is. As I put the key in the lock, he nuzzles my neck, his hands around my waist. How is it that I can never satiate my appetite with him?

  “Here we are,” I say, opening the door and turning on the lights. I have a small kitchen to the left, and straight ahead is my living room/bedroom combo, a couch and TV on the right and my bed on the left.

  Jackson looks around, sticks his head in the kitchen, looks at the desk by the door where I do my work and sometimes each meals.

  “It’s…charming,” he says.

  “It’s small, I know,” I say, because that’s what he means.

  “Don’t you go stir crazy in here?”

  “I try not to spend long stretches of time here,” I say. “I go out to study a lot.” The way his eyes drift over everything, I’m starting to feel self-conscious about my place. “We can go to your place if you’d rather.”

  He looks at me. “No. I want to stay. I want to be here with you.” Which melts my heart a little. “Are these your siblings?” he asks, pointing to a photo hanging crooked on my wall. Jackson levels it.

  “Yeah,” I say, stepping closer. “That was a few years ago. Before Dax went to school the three of us decided to go to Six Flags. Sometimes hanging out with them is more fun than hanging out with my closest friends. We laughed so much that day.”

  “Looks like a good day,” he says. “And these are your parents?”

  “Yep,” I say at the other photo he points to.

  I can’t tell if he’s being polite or if he’s nervous being here, out of his element. He doesn’t need to be. I’ve relaxed, and now the heat from earlier is seeping back into my body. Truthfully, having him here—on my home turf, so to speak—and seeing how it discombobulates the great Jackson Croft is kind of a turn on. It makes me feel powerful.

  “Did they grow up around here?”

  “I don’t want to talk about my parents right now.” He looks up from the photo, confused.

  I walk over to the back of the couch. I lean forward on it so that my ass is sticking right toward Jackson. I hike up my skirt and say, “Could you help me get these off?”

  Jackson is on me in two strides. He falls to his knees and pushes my skirt up over my hips until only my pink lacey panties are showing. I watch over my shoulder as Jackson slowly slides them down.

  “Spread your legs,” he says, and I spread my legs nice and wide for him. He pops my ass with his palm, startling me. He sits up a little more on his knees, takes my ass, and spreads my cheeks. His tongue covers my wet slit in one long stroke that starts at my clit. He licks me again, getting me even wetter as little bolts of lightening shoot through my stomach. I stick my ass back further for him and he smacks it again before burying his face back into my pussy, his tongue a magician on my cunt. He swirls around my swollen clit then licks the hole of my cunt, darting in and out of me. Jackson moans as he feasts on me, voicing how much he loves the taste of me, which only makes me hotter, wetter.

  I can’t reach back for his head, but when I push back on him again his moans make me pant until I feel like I’m losing my breath. Suddenly his fingers are inside me, his mouth gone but on my ass, kissing me still as he pumps me with two fingers, pulling out to circle my nub before dashing back up inside up, all the way to his knuckles I’m sure, giving me so much pleasure I’m not sure my senses can take it.

  I’m not sure if he does or I do but suddenly I’m turned around and standing up, back to the couch, Jackson still on his knees before me. His fingers never left me; he’s still slipping them in and out of the wettest pussy that ever existed. I hold my skirt out of the way as I watch him staring at his fingers pumping me with fascination. I use my other hand to grab a fistful of his hair and tug him closer. I need more, I need all of it. My cunt is throbbing, and he fucks it with his fingers as his mouth covers my clit again, flicking his tongue over it, lapping at it. I can hardly stand, leaning back on the couch for support as my hand stays buried in his thick hair. God, watching him from above, his face digging into my crotch, is too fucking sexy. He works his fingers in me, pushing higher, pumping harder, and I feel the walls of my sex tightening, sparks of light flashing as I squeeze my eyes, and come all over Jackson’s mouth and hand.

  “You can’t keep doing that,” I say when I finally catch my breath. “You can’t keep giving me all the pleasure. It’s not fair.”

  “It’s more than fair,” he says, his hands roaming my thighs and hips under my skirt. “As long as you’re enjoying it, I’m more than enjoying it.”

  I look down at him. “But what about you?”

  “I’m fine.”

  “Yes, you are,” I say, combing his hair back into place. “But you need more. I want to give it to you.”

  “All I need is you, Emily.”

  I believe him when he says that. What he doesn’t realize is that it only makes me hotter for him.

  “You’re in my house now,” I say. “You have to play by my rules.”

  A smile twitches on his lips. He may think he’s satisfied, but he needs more.

  I lead him over to my bed and sit him down on the edge. It’s my turn to strip him down, let him be naked before me. I can still feel the wetness of his tongue between my legs, and I want to do my best to give him some of the same pleasure he gives me every single time I see him. I sit down on my knees before him and begin by taking off his shoes and socks.

  I’m nervous. I don’t know if I’m any good at this, and knowing Jackson has been with many women before me doesn’t help matters.

  Still, I want him. I want to take him. I want to go further with him than I have any other man. Admittedly, that doesn’t take much for me, but there’s no one I’d rather be with than Jackson Croft.

  I start with his shirt—even though I can see his impressive bulge through his black pants. I bite my lip to keep from going straight there as I pull the soft fabric of his shirt up and over his head, mussing his hair as I do. His chest is a work of hard planes and deep valleys showing the ripples of his abs. I trace my fingers tenderly over his skin and the light hair that covers his chest. I run my hand over his heart and pause to feel its beating. It’s a quickened pace that tells me whatever I’m doing is right. So I go for his belt buckle and watch as his chest rises and his stomach pulls in. He’s eager.

  I unzip his pants and tug them down as he adjusts to help. I leave his boxer briefs on, partly to tease him but also to take it slow for me as I build up to it. I kiss his taut stomach, feeling his warm skin on my lips. I scoot further between his legs and when I lean in again to kiss his chest, my breasts push up against his dick, which is long and rigid and pushing to get out. I press down a little to feel him more, running my hands over his strong arms, lingering over the carve of his triceps. He catches my face in his hands and kisses me, his tongue pushing past my lips like he’s searching for air. I lean into him more, onto him more, wanting him more. I move my hands down to his waist and slip my fingers under the thin fabric of his boxer briefs.

  He eagerly lifts his hips so that I can drag them off his body, and I watch as his impressive cock bobs up after being released. Jackson takes it in his hand and gives it a slow pull. He angles it toward me slightly and I lean forward and lick the top of his dick, tasting the wetness that is already there. He keeps pulling on himself, and although it’s hot as hell I want to do all the pleasing. So I nudge him away, and take him in my hand.

  The skin is so soft and pliable against his big rigid member. I stroke him softly at first, to get him a lit
tle more excited and to give me a moment of my own pleasure as I feel him in my hand and watch his eyes get that dark, lustful look. I increase the tempo and lean in to kiss his chest, letting my tongue drag across his hard stomach as he sucks in another breath.

  When I’ve teased him enough I pull my hair to one side and lick the top of his dick. I stretch my jaw wide and wrap my lips around the top. With my tongue flat against him, I slid him into my mouth as far as I can take him. Jackson let out a moan.

  “Emily…”

  I’m careful to keep my teeth out of the way, but other than that I’m not sure what I’m doing, but I know I love the feel of his dick in my mouth. I let my tongue drag up the pronounced vein, licking around the tip before taking the whole cock in my mouth again. I use my hand for more leverage and more pumping. Jackson’s hands dig into my hair—something I love to do to him when he’s driving me insane with want, so I know I’m doing something right. I keep up the pace, taking his dick deeper and further into my mouth, nudging down my throat. Having him in a new place inside me, tasting his skin, smelling the soft scents of his body, makes me wetter than ever. I can’t wait for him to come. I can’t wait for him to fuck me.

  I pick up the pace on his cock, unable to control myself. I sucked him and jerked him until his moans tell me he’s close. I keep up the pace, pushing his dick deeper into my throat. The more I work him, the more relaxed I become—the hotter I become—and my body relaxes in response. I could never take him fully in my mouth—at least, I don’t think I could—but damn if I don’t try my best to wet his dick with my mouth and tongue.

  “Emily,” he pants, his hand guiding my head faster and deeper onto him. “I’m going to come. I’m going to come.”