by Hannah Ford
When he does, I feel his hot juices explode in my mouth and down my throat. I groan over him, the warm sensation so sweet and sexy as I drink all of him down.
“Jesus Christ,” he pants, his head hanging low as he catches his breath. The sight of him so worked over makes me feel unbelievably sexy. I crawl up on the bed and wrap my body around his, gently kissing his neck and shoulder. I run my hands over his solid arms, amazed that I get to touch them, that they hold me.
I get us a couple of waters, which we both gulp down, and then we snuggle down in my bed—not so big or so soft as his but just as warm and comforting. I rest my head on Jackson’s chest, basically feeling deliriously happy to be up against his (naked) body. I let my fingers dance lazily across his skin, feeling his hard lines and muscles as his eyes drift closed.
A little while later I wake up, still in our same positions. I press my body, still wearing that night’s outfit, sans underwear, up against Jackson’s body. I begin kissing his neck, running my tongue softly over the skin. I breathe into his ear as I take his lobe between my teeth, pulling gently. He shifts slightly, and I let my hand drift down his body, right to that (perfectly trimmed) patch of coarse hair. He moves his hips in response, and I drape my leg over his, getting closer. The more I kiss him the more his breathing picks up. I feel his dick nudge my leg, responding on its own to my touch. I take him in my hand and slowly begin pulling, feeling him harden in my hand.
I slid over on top of Jackson, burying my face in his warm neck as I rub my crotch up against his dick. He’s half asleep, half awake, and something about taking over his body in that state is so hot to me, like maybe he’s dreaming this is happening and he’ll wake up to see it really is. I’m so wet that I easily glide up and down on him, feeling him push open my slick walls. I press into him on the grind down, pushing on my clit, already swollen with need. I know I'm going to take him but I wait a little longer, letting him stay in that dreamlike state.
I reach under my skirt, between my legs, and take his rock-hard cock in my hand. Jackson’s breath stops. I guide that dick to my hole and slowly lower him into me. Jackson lets out a moan, his eyes opening momentarily. He grabs hold of my waist as if he needs to stay grounded.
He’s so fucking thick and long that I pause for a moment, letting my pussy get used to sudden deepening and stretch. I move up on him, then fall gently back down, grinding my hips into his to really push into me further. I spread my legs wider and rest my hands on his hips. There’s a slight pain far inside me from taking so much of him at once but I’m determined to work through it. I lift myself off him only the slightest bit, and then I begin slowly rocking back and forth. Jackson moans my name, his hands squeezing my hips. I pick up the pace, loosening myself up and suddenly wanting him deeper. I’m fully on him, his dick as far up inside me as it’ll go and it’s heaven. Jackson’s body inside mine, filling me up, it’s like it’s all I need in the world. I can’t believe how much I need this man, and even more amazing is that he seems to need me as well. I look down at him, such a beautiful specimen, his body so perfect. I can’t imagine—I don’t want to imagine—a time in the future in which we’re not together. How would I breathe without him? The need for him has become so great it’s as if we couldn’t possibly function without each other.
Jackson suddenly has his hand around me and flips me on my back in one quick motion, startling and delighting me. Yeah, he’s definitely awake now.
“Come here,” he says. He takes my hand and pulls me up into as much of a sitting position as I can with his dick still inside me. “Get this off.” We clamor to get my top off and he wastes no time in removing my bra. His mouth is on my tits immediately, kissing and sucking at my nipples, kneading me not so gently with his hand. I’m trying to figure out how to arch my back toward him so he can take more of my breasts while also pushing my pelvis further into him.
He pulls back from my chest, his hands working furiously around my skirt, trying to find the zipper. It’s been twisted around my body so many times I’m not even sure where it’s ended up.
“Where the fuck is this thing,” he says. I giggle as we both feel around the fabric until he finds it. I want to cry when he pulls his dick out of me to rip down the skirt, which he tosses to the side. I push my knees wide, waiting for him to take me back, but he pauses. He looks down at my body, his eyes scanning me as if he’s memorizing every curve and every line. “This body,” he says, his eyes drinking me in, “is stunning. I love this body.”
Damn if it doesn’t make me want to come right then. Instead I let out a whimper, scooting down closer to him, needing him back inside my pussy that is absolutely throbbing. I can feel how swollen my cunt lips are. I reach down to give myself some relief as he takes me in with his eyes. When I start to circle my clit with my finger, Jackson’s mouth falls open. He licks his lips, watching.
My thighs are tingling with anticipation as my finger gets soaked in my own wetness.
“You have no idea how sexy you are,” Jackson says, watching me with fascination.
“Take me,” I say, pushing my hips up toward him. “Please, Jackson. Take me.”
In a flash he’s got his dick in his hand and is shoving himself into me, making me gasp with delight. My eyes flutter shut as he moves into me in slow, hard punches. My tits jiggle with each thrust, and he reaches out and holds and rubs me, his thumb crossing my nipple as he slams into me again. I reach back and put my hand on the wall, bracing myself from the hard slow pump from Jackson’s powerful cock. Jackson moves his hands to my hips, holding me in place so he can use all the power he wants, and I take it, pushing my legs still further apart. His thumb finds my clit, and with increased speed he picks up where I left off. With my hands on the wall, his cock slamming into my cunt and his thumb working my clit I'm going absolutely mad. He picks up speed with his dick, going faster and impossibly harder. I don’t even try to hide my screams. It’s all too much, too good, my skin too hot as my pussy gets fucks so hard. I’m crying out as the world explodes behind my eyes, my entire body turns to spasms as I buck and scream out, sweat rolling across my entire body.
“Jesus fucking Christ,” I say, and Jackson laughs.
“You are the sexiest beast I have ever seen,” he says. He slides out of me, and I feel his absence immediately. I let out a little groan at the loss. “How am I going to not think about this tomorrow while I’m sitting at the table with your family?”
I smile. “That gives me a good idea. I should totally tease you under the table.”
“Don’t you dare,” he says.
He holds me to his chest and kisses my head. My mind is spinning with the amazing things we just did, and even a little excitement for tomorrow. It’ll be the first time I’ve ever introduced a guy to my family. Well, it’s the first time I’ve had a guy to introduce, but it’s a big deal. I know they’ll love him. Jackson Croft may be a killer in the boardroom—and the bedroom—but I know that in real life, he is sweet and smart and caring. And he really likes me. (Oh, and he loves my body. Just sayin’.)
We fall asleep in each other’s arms, and I know nothing can go wrong.
“Oh, shit. Jackson.”
I look at the clock and it’s after nine. We have to be at my parent’s by ten-thirty and even though it’s a little more than a half hour drive—in no traffic—we still have to go by Jackson’s so he can shower and change.
“Wake up,” I say, nudging him.
But he only wants to wrap me back up in his arms. He pulls me back to him and covers my neck in kisses, his hand instinctively cupping my breast. And it feels so good, and there’s almost nothing I’d rather do than see this morning in bed through, but we have to get going. Even though my parents are super easygoing, I don’t want to stroll in flushed and late and smelling like sex. So we have to get showered and get going.
“Come on, I’m serious,” I say. Goosebumps spring up on my arms from all his kisses and touches. I sit up, scooting out of his reach. I throw th
e covers off him, intending to make him cold so he’ll get up. All I manage to do is expose his sculpted body—and his dick, rising to the occasion. He moves toward me like a lion hunting its prey—slowly, methodically, eyes on the prize. “Don’t you dare, Jackson,” I say. “I’m serious, we have to get dressed.”
But I want it just as much as he does. I laugh as he tosses me on my back. He takes my bent knees in his palms and pushes them back toward my shoulders. “Don’t worry. I’ll make this quick.”
My body is ready to take him as he slides his dick back in where it belongs. I moan as he moves inside me, more slowly than the last time and despite the clock ticking away. I don’t care, though. My mind goes blank to everything except the feel of Jackson in me, his hands on me, keeping my knees pressed to my shoulders so that my pussy is fully open to him. When we come, we come together, sweating and panting.
“See? That wasn’t so bad,” he says in my ear, kissing me one last time before sliding out of me.
We’re both a bit dizzy as we get dressed. We decide we’ll both shower at his place, and I grab some fresh clothes and my makeup bag. I might have to finished dressing in the car on the way out to Lexington. This is my whole deal, from last night to this afternoon, and I have to admit I didn’t plan it very well. Even if we had gotten up earlier, and even if he hadn’t just taken me, we’d still be pressed for time having to go back into Back Bay before driving out of the city.
I just want everything to go perfectly today. Yes, that was the perfect way to start my day, but I don’t like the feeling of being rushed. My parents don’t appreciate tardiness. As we fly out of the city, I hope we can get there on time, and the day can continue without a hitch.
Jackson
Emily’s family home is a little tan ranch-style house on a quiet street filled with trees and dog walkers. It’s like I’ve died and gone to suburban hell.
That’s mean. It’s actually quite charming in a Norman Rockwell kind of way. It’s just so totally opposite from what I grew up with. This place oozes warmth and we haven’t even made it through the front door yet.
Emily is fidgeting as I pull up in the driveway. I take her hand.
“Nervous?” I ask.
“A little.”
“Why? Do you think I'm going to blow it or your parents won’t like me?”
“Neither,” she says, and then, “I don’t know. I just want them to like you as much as I do, see what a good man you are. I don’t want any of the differences to matter.”
By “differences” she means money—specifically mine. I kiss her fingertips. “You have nothing to worry about. Everything is going to be perfect. I promise.”
Her parents greet us with open arms—literally. I’m going in for the cheek kiss on Mrs. Brown when she envelopes me in a full-on hug. It throws me off. And then I reach out for the handshake with her father and he does the same thing. I’m not a fan of social touching. I think it’s presumptuous and frankly a bit invasive.
“Come in!” Mrs. Brown says. The house is warm and stuffed with tchotchkes that would have my mother breaking out in hives. Mrs. Brown touches my back as she guides me from the foyer, overflowing with rain boots and umbrellas and, God, even a beach ball.
“Thank you for having us, Mr. and Mrs. Brown,” I say. I present her with the bottle of Veuve Cliquot I brought as a gift, thinking there’d probably be mimosas.
“What in the world? Champagne?” Mrs. Brown says. “I wouldn’t even know how to open this. And it’s Martha and Joe, sweetie.”
I give Emily a quick look. Who doesn’t know how to open champagne? You just unscrew the cork. Whatever, Martha and Joe, I can get used to that.
Emily’s siblings are in the living room, and they both rise when we walk in. I’m introduced to sister Sabrina and big brother Dax, who eyes me with the sort of suspicion I can respect from a girl’s big brother. Extra points for not hugging me. Dax shakes my hand and Sabrina gives me a little wave.
Martha sets the bottle of champagne on a side table and invites everyone in to the dining room table. A feast is set out with stacks of waffles, a plate of eggs and another of bacon.
“Martha, this looks amazing,” I say, choosing a seat. Emily sits next to me. I can tell she’s still a little nervous. A pleasant smile has been plastered on her face since we walked to the front door. I reach for her hand and give it a squeeze.
“Aw, so sweet,” Sabrina says. I move my hand away from Emily’s—I hadn’t intended for anyone to see what was meant as a private moment. “Don’t stop on my account,” Sabrina says, not missing a thing. “You should see my parents slobber all over each other. It’s disgusting but also sort of sweet.”
I realize the entire family is looking at Emily and me—do they expect me to touch her again? What do they want from me? Whatever it is, at this point I prefer to keep my hands to myself if it’s going to cause this much commotion.
“So, Mr. Brown—”
“Joe,” he says, sitting down. Martha has set a pot of coffee on the table and…a can of whipped cream? Everyone is seated, parents at the heads of the table and Sabrina and Dax across from Emily and me.
“Sorry, Joe—”
“Jackson?” Martha says, interrupting. “Before we get started would you like to say grace?”
I am momentarily stunned. Grace? Like, the prayer? My family attended church on the major holidays—Christmas and Easter—but that was strictly for appearances. During services, my mind always wandered to my homework or a project I was working on. I absorbed nothing because I knew it meant nothing. I’ve never said a prayer in my life, out loud or to myself.
“Mom,” Emily says. “He’s the guest.”
“That’s exactly why he should do it,” Martha says. “Please, Jackson. We’d be honored.”
Jesus, I’m not the pope here to bless their food.
“No, truly,” I say, going for modesty. “I’ll just end up mangling it. This is your home. You or Joe should say grace. I insist.”
There’s a beat of silence that tells me maybe that was the wrong thing to say. I could have made up some words, blessing the food and thanking God for this day. But I don’t think perfect strangers should assume I’m religious. It’s like they’ve put my faith—or lack thereof—to the test, and I failed. Little do they know that being tested and being set up are two things I really fucking hate.
Joe says the blessing and soon we’re passing the dishes of food around the table. I hope the awkwardness has passed and I can get back on my game. I’m so good with adults—I was around them more as a kid than people my own age—and to not do well today would be failure on so many levels.
“Martha, this all looks so amazing,” I say, doling out scrambled eggs onto my plate.
“Dad made it,” Dax informs me. “We don’t go along with the patriarchal ways around here. There’s no women’s work.”
“Jesus, Dax,” Emily says.
“Emily, watch your mouth,” her mother says. Sabrina stifles a laugh. Grown adults being reprimanded at the dinner table. Okay. This is different.
I stare across at this guy, only a couple of years younger than me. “I didn’t mean that at all. Whoever set this all up, it looks amazing. I’m thankful you all invited me.”
“Jackson, tell us about your work,” Martha says in a clear effort to smooth things over. “Emily hasn’t told us much about you but she did mention that you met through the Children’s Education Fund.”
“It’s such a great organization,” Joe says. “What made you decide to get involved?”
“Emily,” I say. “She stormed into my office one day, demanding money.”
“It didn’t happen like that,” she says. “We had an appointment and he tried to cancel—at the last minute and for the third time. I couldn’t believe it. I was so annoyed.”
“You’ve got a headstrong daughter here, Joe,” I say. “She wouldn’t take no for an answer.”
“So what’d you donate?” Sabrina asks. “Time? Services?
”
“Oh yeah,” Dax says. “CEF has that great mentorship program. Is that what you’re doing?”
“No,” I say. “I donated money.”
“Yeah, but what else?” Dax asks. I stare at him for a moment, not understanding the question. Finally he says, “I mean, you didn’t just write a check, did you?”
“It was a check for a hundred thousand dollars,” I clarify.
“Jackson was very generous,” Emily says.
“Yeah, but I mean,” Dax continues, “what are you doing now?”
I’m ready to strangle this guy’s neck when Joe steps in and says, “I think maybe what Dax is getting at is perhaps how you got involved with CEF. What drew you to them out of all the other worthy non-profits?”
“Just Emily, really,” I say. “Truly, she was very persuasive.”
“Being so wealthy you probably donate to lots of causes?” Joe asks.
“Just Emily’s.” I smile at her, hoping she’s feeling more relaxed. “And I’m not that wealthy.”
“Oh, come on,” Sabrina says. “Everyone knows you’re rich as hell.”
“God, Sabrina,” Emily says.
“Sabrina, please,” Martha says, looking a little mortified. “I’m sorry, Jackson. We shouldn’t talk about such things anyway. Although it must make life a little easier, not having to worry about money.”
“I still worry about money,” I say. “My company certainly has profit goals every quarter. If I don’t make them, I hear about it from the board.”
“Croft International is one of the wealthiest companies in the country,” Joe says. “How can you sit and worry about making even more money?”
“It’s my job,” I say simply. “We have shareholders who expect a certain amount of return on their investments. I don’t think it’s too outrageous to give them that.”
“But don’t you think, at some point, it’s enough? How much money do you have to make for you to say, Okay, I’ve made enough. Now I’m going to start giving it away?”