“It’s not nasty cum. It’s very nice cum, actually.” She sighed and closed her eyes as he ran the warm rag over her skin. “It smells like green apple slices with salt on them, just like it always did.”
“You never told me that,” he said as he softly wiped away the last of the stickiness and began to dry her with the towel.
“Yeah, well, I was all shy and shit.”
“Right.”
“I was!” She laughed, belying her words. “Besides, I thought all cum smelled like that. I’d never been so up close and personal with a guy’s spooge until you and me.”
“Spooge? That’s classy.”
“You prefer jizz?”
“Even classier.” He tried not to smile as he crossed the room and threw the towel and rag in the dirty-clothes basket. The decorator really had thought of everything.
This cabin was better outfitted than his house. And he loved the way Patricia had used his suggestion of Nicky’s favorite colors in decorating her room, but still managed to make it look like a woman’s place, not a teenager’s. The little getaway was so comfy, a part of him wished he could stay forever. Forget Miami and his and Christian’s tattooing empire. He could just live here in the woods with Nicky, happy as a pig in shit.
Too bad that scenario was about as impossible as they came.
Is it really? Look at her, man, she still cares about you. A lot. This weekend might have a happier ending than you thought possible.
Jackson pushed the thought away. He couldn’t let himself start thinking happily-ever-after thoughts about him and Nick. That path led to nothing but heartache. He’d just have to enjoy this weekend for what it was—a fun forty-eight hours and nothing more.
“How about jism, or squirt?” Nicky asked, her head emerging from her nightshirt as he turned back to the bed. She’d decided to get dressed. Probably a good thing or their chances of getting out of this bedroom today weren’t going to be good.
“How about plain old semen? Or cum?”
“I knew a guy once who called it baby batter.” She threw him his boxer briefs and pajama pants and started hunting for her underpants. Jackson saw them on the floor a few feet away, but decided to let her look for a while, enjoying the glimpses of her bare pussy as she bent over to look under the bed.
“I don’t want to hear about guys you’ve known,” he said, the idea of anyone else with Nicky making him unreasonably cranky.
“Relax, he wasn’t a lover. He was a guy I worked with at this restaurant in Santa Monica.” She found her panties and pulled them on as she chattered. “He had six kids. And a very sweet, though certifiably insane, wife. I mean, six kids. That’s too much of a good thing if you ask me.”
“How many kids is enough of a good thing? In your opinion?” Jackson asked, ignoring the part of him that said those kinds of questions were the dangerous breed of stupid. He and Nicky were never even going to date again, let alone shack up and start making babies together. How many kids she did or didn’t want was none of his business.
“I don’t know. I always thought I wanted three, but now I think two might be enough,” she said, a wistful look on her face that reminded him she wasn’t the girl he’d known eight years ago. That girl wouldn’t get bummed out talking about making babies. Even at sixteen, Nicky had talked about wanting a big family and kids she would lavish with all the love they hadn’t been given as children.
“What changed your mind?”
“I’ve done some babysitting for girlfriends. Newborns are a lot of work. Especially if you don’t have any help.” She ran her hand through her hair, anger replacing the sadness in her voice. “My husband didn’t like to touch anything human under six months of age. So he wasn’t much help on the nights I was on babysitting duty.”
“Afraid he would break them?”
“No, he called them blobs. Said they weren’t real people until they could do something other than sleep and shit. I think small babies disgusted him.”
“He sounds like a winner,” Jackson said, unable to keep the anger from his voice. What the hell had Nicky been doing with a man like that? Hadn’t she learned enough self-respect to know she deserved better? She’d always despised Phil’s wife for being a doormat to her abusive husband, yet it looked like she’d gotten herself into a very similar situation.
“Derrick is a piece of shit, but I didn’t know that when we were married,” she said, as if she’d read his thoughts. He shouldn’t be surprised. They’d always been eerily connected when they were younger, finishing each other’s sentences so often their friends would make fun of them for it. “There were . . . situations that developed after we were together for a while that changed things between us.”
“What kind of situations?”
“Just . . . unexpected things.” Nicky shuddered, as if the memories of her marriage were repulsive enough to cause a physical response. “But you know, I really don’t want to talk about my stupid past decisions. Let’s go get some breakfast and you can catch me up on all the dumb things you’ve done in the past eight years.”
“Assuming I’ve done such things,” Jackson said, trying to smile and lighten the mood, though a part of him wanted to keep pushing at Nicky, to find out what she was hiding about this Derrick character.
Of course, if he found out the man had been more than emotionally abusive, he was going to land himself in another sticky situation. If her husband had dared to hit Nicky or manipulate her with the threat of violence the way their foster father had his wife, Jackson knew he wasn’t going to be able to rest until he did something about it. And unfortunately for him, he was no longer a minor who could get away with beating the shit out of any guy who hurt his girl.
His girl. God, but he wanted to be able to say those words and have them be true. He wanted Nicky to be his again. For now, and for as long as he could have her. Of all the things he’d worried about when he’d planned this weekend, begging her to come back to him and give them another chance was the very last thing he’d anticipated.
“I’m betting you’ve done a stupid thing or two.” Nicky laughed as she took his hand and pulled him through the bathroom into the bedroom where he’d passed a restless night, knowing he was so close to her. “There’s no way you went straight from law-abiding citizen to kidnapper without a few stops on the crazy train in between.”
“Considering you’re my kidnap victim, you really shouldn’t be finding that funny.”
Nicky paused at the top of the stairs and turned back to him. “I know you would never hurt me, Jackson. Not really hurt me.”
“Even when I alter your tattoo tomorrow?” he asked, the guilt that washed over him at the idea of doing anything to Nicky against her will so strong it sickened him. The longer he spent with her—talking to her, making love to her, laughing with her—the smaller the chance he was actually going to go through with what he’d planned.
“Even if your stubborn ass insists on messing with my tat, it won’t be enough to hurt me. Not really.” She dropped his hand and crossed her arms, the defensive gesture making her look smaller all of a sudden. “I certainly wouldn’t respect you as much as I do now, or trust you. But I’d be fine. You’d have to take a lot more than a tattoo away from me to break me.”
Before he could think of what to say to those words, she’d turned and scampered down the stairs, yelling something about being ready for her slave to make waffles. But he couldn’t seem to concentrate on her words, not when his head was spinning. Lose Nicky’s respect and her trust. His gut reaction to the thought was another nauseating twist of his stomach. He didn’t want to lose her trust. Hell, he didn’t want to lose her, period.
Even remembering the way she’d betrayed him didn’t provide any comfort anymore. He’d loved her when they were kids and meant to keep his promises. That had given him comfort no matter how shattered he’d been by her leaving. He’d at least known he’d acted from a good place, no matter what she’d done.
But if he betrayed
her now and abused the faith she’d so readily placed in him—both in the bedroom and out—he was going to be a far more wretched example of a person than she’d ever been. She’d been sixteen, not much more than a kid, and their lives hadn’t been easy back then.
Now he was a successful man with a promising career, friends, money, security—in short, everything he and Nicky had ever dreamed about. If he acted like a lunatic from that place of safety, forcing his will upon a woman who was obviously not in the best place in her life, Nicky would be right to never trust him again. He would be as much a monster as her former husband.
With those cheery thoughts swirling through his mind, Jackson headed down the stairs, no longer certain how this weekend was going to end, just wishing it didn’t have to end at all.
Chapter Nine
Nicky didn’t know why she was surprised that Jackson could cook with a capital C, but she was. Even after she’d consumed her half of a tomato, basil, and goat cheese frit tata and polished off two gingerbread waffles with batter she’d watched Jackson make from scratch, she couldn’t quite wrap her head around it. After all, just because the only other dom she’d had breakfast with couldn’t fry an egg to save his life, it didn’t mean all dominant men were the same.
Jackson had already demonstrated an abundance of differences between himself and her soon-to-be ex. Not the least of which was an insatiable desire for her after-baby body. He didn’t seem to notice that her breasts sagged a little and had stretch marks on their sides, or that the skin on her stomach wasn’t as tight as it used to be. She’d hit the gym every day in hopes of resuming her career and knew she looked good enough to model, but there were things a lover saw that a camera didn’t.
But Jackson didn’t see them. Or if he did, he obviously didn’t find them repulsive.
“You want the last one?” he asked, pausing with his fork halfway to the last waffle on the plate between them.
“No, thank you.” She sat back in her chair with a contented sigh. “I’m stuffed. I shouldn’t have finished that second one, but I’m a sucker for real maple syrup. Soooo good.”
“Yeah, not like that fake butter-flavored crap we used to eat in high school. Remember when we fixed the little kids pancakes for dinner?”
Nicky nodded, noticing Jackson didn’t refer to the other kids by name, either. No matter how much they’d both tried to help the other minors unlucky enough to end up in Phil’s house, they had kept their emotional distance. It was the only way to stay sane when you were underage and helpless to change the lives of anyone, including yourself.
“They thought it was so cool we were having breakfast for dinner,” she said. “Like it was a special occasion.”
“When really we just didn’t have anything else to feed them except cereal.”
“Yeah. Good times.” Nicky crossed her legs in her chair and reached for her coffee. “But I’m more interested in hearing some new dirt. I thought you were going to give me the goods on the lifestyles of the rich and famous.”
“I was on a reality show on an arts station.” He shrugged, as if he really thought it was no big deal that he’d been on national television every week. Of course, knowing Jackson, he probably didn’t think it was a big deal. He’d never wanted to be a star. Not like she had when she was younger and certain she was going to set the modeling world on fire. Now she’d settle for making a decent living for her and Abby. “I’d hardly call that famous. Probably more people know your name than mine.”
“Doubtful.”
“From what I hear your picture was on half the billboards in L.A.”
“That was two years ago.” She laughed, remembering how totally weird it had been to see herself blown up ten feet tall. “In Los Angeles time that’s eons ago. I’m old news.”
“You’re still the featured model on the Good and Trashy Web site.”
“I’m sure that’s just because they’ve been too lazy to change the template. My body is part of the banner.”
“Yeah, I’ve seen it. That red corset thing is . . . very nice.”
Nicky laughed. “Stop trying to change the subject. I want to hear about you.”
“Me.” He sighed as he scooted his chair back and began to gather up the breakfast dishes.
He hadn’t served her on his hands and knees like he’d promised, but he had cooked, set the table, and motioned for her to stay seated as he continued cleaning up. A dominant man who didn’t mind serving as well as being served. God, she’d never dreamed such a person existed. She’d be falling for Jackson even if this were the first time they’d ever met.
“Yes, you.”
“Let’s see. After high school, I did the part-time tattoo artist, part-time bouncer thing. I built up a nice portfolio in the first six months and started planning my move to Reno.”
“Just like you said you would. Good for you.”
“But then I got an offer to move to Vegas and work as a bouncer for some new club. They were looking for a certain type and I fit the bill.”
“The tall, sexy, and scary type?”
“Something like that.” He poured himself another cup of coffee and then refilled her cup before easing back into his chair. “So you think I’m sexy, huh?”
“No, I’ve been faking all those orgasms,” she said with a roll of her eyes.
“You’re an excellent actress.”
“I’m thinking about trying my hand at movies if the whole modeling thing doesn’t work out.” She grinned at him over the rim of her cup.
“Really?” he asked. “I bet you’d be great.”
“No, not really. Modeling is bad enough. I couldn’t deal with all the actor crap.”
He laughed. “So the famous thing isn’t as great as you thought it would be, huh? Hate to say I told you so, but . . .”
“No, you don’t. You love it. You always did.” Nicky’s smile faded as she narrowed her eyes in Jackson’s direction. “Must have been the dom in you, dying to come out and impose his will on people in need of his guidance.”
“I don’t know about that. I just thought you’d be happier doing something a little more low-key. You always hated it when people paid too much attention to you at school, I couldn’t imagine the attention of strangers would be any better.”
“You were right. It was weird getting that much attention, especially the lingerie-model kind of attention. But by the time I got the Good and Trashy gig, I was pretty tired of working ten-hour shifts at restaurants to pay my rent. The money made up for the weirdness factor.”
“Money does help. I was against the reality show idea at the beginning, but my partner, Christian, was right to push me into it. It was amazing free publicity. Quadrupled our business in the first year.”
They talked for another hour and a third pot of coffee, the conversation flowing more smoothly than any in her recent history. How long had it been since she’d been able to sit and have a relaxing conversation with a good friend? It seemed like forever. And she’d never felt so homey with a man.
Derrick had been the type of man who liked to keep his dom hat on at all times. At first, twenty-one-year-old Nicky had thought that was a wonderful thing, but after six months she’d started to crave some downtime. Time when they could just be comfortable together. She’d started to wish for a dominant and submissive relationship where the different roles underscored their relationship like music, not smothered it like a wool blanket.
It would be different with Jackson. She could just feel it. Sitting across from him at the breakfast table already felt achingly familiar. They’d never had the chance to live together, just the two of them, but this is how she’d always dreamed it would be. Hell, it was even better than she’d dreamed it would be. In her younger fantasies, she hadn’t known how much she craved the thrill of submitting to a dominant man or guessed that her first love would grow up to be her dream guy.
Of course, she should have known. Jackson had always been a total knight in shining armor, the kind of brave,
confident, caring man who seemed extinct in modern times. Even in the BDSM club scene it was rare to find a man in possession of himself the way Jack was. A lot of crazies who lacked the personality or finesse to win a woman in the “real world” assumed they could come into a club and find a docile little submissive to put up with all their crap. A real dom was a damn hard thing to find.
“So how did you get into the scene anyway?” Nicky asked, not realizing she’d propped her toes on the edge of Jackson’s chair until he took a foot in hand and began to run his thumbs along her instep. “Breakfast and a foot rub? I must have been a very good girl.”
He laughed softly under his breath. “You were.”
“I tried to use the shower nozzle last night. I wasn’t planning on obeying that last order of yours,” Nicky said, the confession spilling from her lips before she could think better of it. The compulsion to be honest with Jack was just too strong. No matter what her rational mind had to say about it, her inner sub wanted to turn over control to this man, to trust him with every thought, every secret.
He didn’t pause in his massaging of her feet for a moment, but Nicky saw the muscle in his jaw get tight. “So what changed your mind?”
“My body did.” He raised an eyebrow, silently urging her to continue. “I couldn’t come without your permission.”
“You couldn’t come?” he asked, sounding more curious than angry.
“I physically couldn’t. And I tried, believe me.” She bit her lip as she set her empty coffee cup back on the table. “But a part of me wanted to please you too much.”
Jackson just stared at her for a few minutes, his dark eyes unreadable. When he finally spoke, his silky dom voice was back in full effect. “I think that’s one of the hottest things I’ve ever heard.”
“Yeah?” she asked, a part of her hoping he’d prove it by tackling her to the floor of the kitchen and showing her just how hot he was.
But he only smiled, and then he turned his attention back to her feet. “Yeah.”
Skin Deep Page 10