Beloved (The Belonging Series)

by Corinne Michaels

  We reach his unit on the twentieth floor. He smiles and opens the door, allowing me through. “Welcome to my home.”

  While my apartment is modern, it has nothing on his. Jackson’s place is masculine, but a woman could easily fit in.

  “This is it,” he says with a shrug and places my bag in the middle of the living room.

  I take my shoes off and walk into the middle of the room. “It’s amazing. I love the architecture and the color choices.”

  He slowly walks toward me. I stand rooted, unable to move an inch. Once he reaches me, his rough hands graze down my bare arms and I briefly close my eyes. “Let me show you around.”

  It takes a second to process that he said something. “Sure.” As long as the tour ends in the bedroom I’m completely fine with it. My body is still humming with lust from our hot and heavy make out session outside the restaurant and in the limo.

  Jackson shows me around the rest of the apartment. Every room has the same feel, like fire and ice—cold blues against warm reds. However, it’s all somehow in perfect harmony. We enter his bedroom and the view … The view is magnificent. The bedroom is warm and romantic, its ambiance completely different from the rest of the house. The massive king size bed faces windows that overlook the park. Jackson turns on the wall-mounted fireplace and the tension from the car returns full force. Desire courses through my body. Fire, heat, and lust are all I feel.

  “I had other plans for the night,” he says smoothly as he walks toward me.

  “What happened?”

  “You did.” Jackson stops. He stands still, illuminated by the flames. I take a step toward him.

  “Me?” I whisper, and he takes the final step so we’re within reach.

  “Yes. You, Catherine.” His hand cups my face as his thumb rubs across my bottom lip. My head naturally tilts into him palm.

  Please don’t hurt me, I silently beg.

  His eyes are warm and even though I’m fully dressed I feel completely naked. “I told you before, you do something to me. I need you and I haven’t allowed myself to need anyone for a long time.” He leans down, pressing his lips against my cheek. His voice is low and gruff. “When I’m around you all I can think about is being buried deep inside you.” Jackson’s lips graze the corner of my mouth as he continues his seduction. “I see you and all I see is every beautiful inch of the skin I know is underneath your clothes. I watch you talk and I think of what your mouth looks like wrapped around my cock.”

  I moan as his hands slip around my back and unzips my dress. No man’s ever talked to me like this. I’m so aroused I could come from his words alone. He’s speaking to every part of me—my heart and my core. I try to reach for him but he steps back.

  “Stay still.” His voice is strained as he makes the demand.

  My body is begging for him, needing to touch him, yet I stand still as he circles me. His right hand stays in contact with me as he approaches my back and slowly pulls my hair to the side, opening my unzipped dress and pushing it off my shoulders. I stand facing the fire, so I can’t see when he steps away from me, but I know just the same. The loss of his body close to mine is unmistakable, even in the heat. It feels like forever since he’s moved or done anything and I can’t take it anymore. I have to move. I need to see him, touch him. It’s too much to fight.

  I turn and he’s standing there staring at me with fire in his eyes. My dress was too tight to require a bra and I chose not to wear panties since I didn’t want lines. It seems to have worked in my favor. Now it’s time to turn the tables on him. I shimmy out of my dress completely and approach him as his eyes drink me in. It’s unnerving, yet I’m empowered by his silence.

  “You know…” I pause, letting the statement hang out there while I reach for the top button of his shirt. “You aren’t the only one who’s turned on.” My hand drops to the next button. I make sure to take my time with my words and my hands. His eyes are locked on mine as I start to seduce him. “I think about you all the time. I have to fight the urge to beg you to take me.” After undoing the final button, I slide my hands back up his chiseled chest and his head drops back. I glide them under his shirt and push it down his toned arms, feeling every muscle tense beneath my touch. His reaction makes me stronger. It’s exhilarating to know I elicit the same reaction he pulls from me. “You’re impossible to resist.” I tug on his belt and pull him closer to me, unbuttoning his pants and sliding them and his boxers down, trailing my fingertips on his legs as they descend. We’re both bared completely to each other now, and I stand back up before speaking my last words to him. “But when you touch me, I’m lost to you.”

  His head snaps up at my admission and I realize we’re both fighting the same temptation, both fighting something neither of us can explain—a connection that’s powerful and scary. I see the emotions I’m feeling mirrored in his eyes.

  His lips inch closer to mine and his words are soft and dripping with honesty. “You’re never lost, Catherine. I’ll always find you.” His mouth crushes down on mine as his words resonate through me, bringing tears to my eyes. And there he is—my hero.

  There’s no more time for talking as we express what our hearts are feeling with our mouths and tongues and hands and bodies. He hooks his arm under my legs and carries me to the bed. Tenderly, he lays me down and hovers over me. This time is different for me. A part of my heart will be his tonight, and I’m willingly giving it over. I know I’m not in love with him yet, but he’s breaking my defenses slowly but surely. I fight him and myself all to no avail. It’s only a matter of time.

  Our entire night was foreplay and now, I’m aching for him. “Jackson, don’t make me beg.”

  “No need for begging.” His head drops to my neck as he kisses and licks the sensitive skin behind my ear.

  I start to shift and squirm, desperate for him to fill me and make me whole.

  “Stay still,” he says as he pins my arms down and restrains me.

  “I need you. Now.”

  Instead of responding to my pleas, he releases my hands and glides his tongue down my side, purposely avoiding my breasts. Making his way farther, I grow anxious as he continues across my stomach and then up my other side. I’m going fucking crazy! His strong arms keep me still and my body is tight, vibrating with need. When he makes his way back up to my ear, I’ve lost all control. I can’t take another second.

  I’ve finally snapped. “I want you to fuck me. Right. Now.”

  “I have all intentions of it, but first I’m going to drive you absolutely fucking crazy. Just like you do to me. This has just begun. The more you beg, the more I’ll make you wait.” The combination of his words and the timbre of his voice when he says them is too much. My muscles contract and deep-seated need courses its way through me, calling for him to take me and claim me.

  He pushes up and puts the condom on, moving me higher on the bed. Lifting my leg, he pulls it to his mouth and makes his way down to my core. I lie there watching as he gets closer and closer, and my breath hitches as he avoids the one place I need him most. His tongue trails to the other leg and I groan and throw my head back. My breathing is erratic. I’m going out of my mind. We lock eyes as his tongue swipes up my center. My eyes close from the intense pleasure of finally being touched only to have him stop.

  “I want you to watch me. If you look away, I’ll stop.” His low voice is fierce and commanding.

  Keeping our eyes locked, he leans back down and licks my pussy again, stirring an involuntary shudder. I watch as he begins sucking and licking over and over again. I’m fighting the urge to close my eyes. If he stops, I might combust, so I keep my eyes trained on him. It’s the most erotic thing, watching him. He looks up as he inserts two fingers, pumping, and my body tenses. Every muscle is locking, ready to finally release, and my eyes slam shut. Immediately, I feel his loss. No!

  “I told you keep your eyes on me.” I nod, unable to speak from being so close and then having it taken away.

  Jackson wa
stes no time as he sucks on my clit. When I feel his teeth bite down, I’m gone. I shout his name over and over and writhe in a pleasure only he gives me. I splinter into a million pieces as he pumps his fingers, drawing out my orgasm until I finally settle and become coherent.

  When I open my eyes he’s above me, waiting for me to come back to reality. I bite my lip as I feel the tip of his dick brush against my sensitive clit. I spread my legs and press the heels of my feet on his ass, pushing him into me. His jaw is tight and he seems to be fighting his own needs. I push again but he’s so much stronger than me, so he barely moves.

  “Please, fuck me,” I beg softly.

  “I’m not going to fuck you this time,” he says in a hushed tone. “I’m going to go slow.” He leans down and kisses me deeply, swirling his tongue with mine as I moan, begging for more. “I’m going to show you how sexy and irresistible you are, how you test my patience.” He nips at my ear and then runs his tongue over where he just bit. “Then I’m going to fuck you until you beg me to stop.”

  I rub my hand against his rough cheek. Once his eyes meet mine I groan and say, “Then do it already.”

  His eyes blaze as he slowly fills me, stretching me and then pulling out fully. He enters me again and my eyes are heavy-lidded as he stares through to my soul. With each thrust he’s tearing me apart and then putting me back together again.

  Quickly, he flips our positions so I’m on top. I push against him, grinding down and enjoying the intense fullness while he holds my hips and sets the pace. I lean back, bringing him impossibly deeper. He rubs his thumb on my clit and I lose my breath as the force of my sudden orgasm rips me apart. My body takes over, riding him harder, and I hear Jackson groan as he orgasms, both of us riding out the bliss together.

  I’m spent.

  Completely and totally useless.

  I’m lying against his chest, still unable to catch my breath. He runs his fingers lightly against my back before shifting me to go clean up. I groan and stretch as my muscles loosen from the aftermath of our intense sex session. The tightness reminds me of the obstacle course and how much my body ached afterward. But this is the kind of physical workout I welcome.

  Jackson returns and flops on his stomach, giving me a view of his perfect ass. He really is magnificent. I kind of want to pinch myself—surely this can’t be real. He turns his head toward me with a smile and I place my hand on his back. I’ve never gotten a good look at the art on his shoulder. It’s really remarkable, so intricate, and has so many different parts to it. In the center are the bones of a frog. Its body wraps around from the front of his shoulder and ends with the head facing down on his back. In the frog’s hands is the trident of Poseidon, only the three spears of the trident aren’t spears, they’re names. Brian, Fernando, and Devon are written in an elegant script and the number four serves as the handle. It’s surrounded by black tribal ink. My finger grazes the frog and the labyrinth of tribal markings around it. Below it is the most beautiful quote.

  We have this hope as an anchor for our soul, firm and secure. – Hebrews 6:19

  It’s profound and speaks to my heart. There’s meaning behind each word. Hope is something we all have, and it’s often the only thing we can grasp when our world is shattering. I hoped for my father to return. I hoped for Neil to be faithful. Neither of those things happened, but that hope is what kept me going every day.

  Jackson rolls and faces me with sad eyes, so different from just moments ago. I reach up, placing my hand on his heart, and he pulls me in, close enough so I can see the front of the tattoo. “What does your tattoo mean?” I feel him tense.

  “It’s the tattoo you get when you lose someone on the team,” he says matter-of-factly.

  “Is that the loss you’ve mentioned?”

  “Some,” he replies and laces his fingers with mine, holding our clasped hands between us.

  I want to push him to tell me. I want him to share with me—more like I want him to want to tell me. I’m just not sure I should try to force it.

  “Why a frog?” My curiosity gets the best of me. I don’t understand some of his world.

  “SEALs are referred to as Frogmen.” He smiles and squeezes my hand gently. His eyes are warm and he continues on, “I got that tattoo to remember my three friends who died on a mission.”

  My heart swells that he’s opening up, but aches for the pain of his loss. “I’m so sorry.”

  He removes his hand from mine and wraps his arm around my middle. I scoot closer and return his hug, placing a small kiss on his chest. My mind begins to wander as the silence persists. Do I push again?

  Jackson takes a deep breath and begins to speak. His voice is low, pain threading through his words. “It’s my fault.”

  Pulling back, I look in his eyes. The agony there is evident. “What’s your fault?”

  Jackson struggles to hide his emotions, but I watch each one play like a movie—sadness, anger, guilt, hatred—before his expression goes void. “Their deaths—I was in charge of the mission.”

  “Jackson, I doubt that,” I say softly, hoping he’ll hear the disbelief in my voice.

  He tugs me back against his chest. I’m not sure if he’s done talking or if he wants to hide from me. Giving him what he’s silently requesting, I wrap my arm around him and stay quiet.

  Right as I’m starting to drift to sleep, feeling safe and content in his arms, I hear his deep voice. “When we were in Iraq, we got into some heavy firefight. I was in command of my team.” He pauses and runs his fingers up and down my spine methodically.

  I look up and his eyes are closed tight as if he’s fighting an internal war. Every part of him is rigid and tense. I bring my hand to his face, brushing my thumb across his cheek. “Hey,” I whisper.

  His eyes are vacant as he speaks. “There were six of us and we had bad intel. Something wasn’t sitting right, but I had my orders.” He takes a deep breath and his voice is distant. “So we deviated a little, hoping it would give us the element of surprise. I split the team in half. Mark, Aaron, and I took to the left.” He pauses again and I watch as pain lances through his features. Every single bone in my body is aching for him, but I stay still and quiet as I wait for him to go on.

  “Brian, Fernando, and Devon took to the right of the village. I knew something was wrong. I had that sinking feeling but we didn’t have a choice. We had to fucking go and do our job. When we split up, it made it easier to pick us off. I heard the gunfire, but we couldn’t get to them quick enough. They were shot and killed. I was in charge—it’s on me.”

  “Oh, Jackson.” I gasp and pull myself up.

  I want to comfort him. I’m just not sure what to do. The pain in his voice, the torment in his eyes, it’s lashing through me. I want to take it from him, carry the burden so he’s not hurting, but he keeps going.

  “By the time our extraction team got in, it was too late. They were already dead. Mark and I were both shot. Aaron was the only one who got out without getting injured. Mine was on my arm.” He points to a faint scar on his bicep. I lean over and kiss him. He smiles weakly at me, but there’s nothing but sadness in his eyes. “I carry their deaths on my shoulders.”

  I can’t imagine how much the tattoo hurt, but the agony of reliving that memory while someone permanently etches it into your skin …

  “I’m sure no one blames you. I mean Mark works with you and so does Aaron. Surely, they know what an amazing man you are.”

  Anger flashes in his eyes at my statement, like it couldn’t be true. “They don’t need to. I blame me.” He bangs his fist on his chest. “It was my call. Their wives had to bury them, Catherine. They had to go to their funeral. They had to tell their kids that their dads would never come back again. Had we stuck together, we all would have lived.” He shuts his eyes on the memory and me.

  “You don’t know that. You can’t know that if you stuck to the plan, or together, that all of you wouldn’t have been killed.” My voice is small but strong. I’m trying
to give him the other side of things.

  He doesn’t respond. I know it’s futile to try to argue. Ashton tried to tell me hundreds of times that my father probably had a reason to leave, and how Neil might not be the best guy for me. Sometimes it doesn’t matter because you can’t see past the image in your own heart.

  We lie here together, unspeaking. Two broken ships trying to find a way through rough seas. I close my eyes and settle back on his chest, listening to the steady thrum of his heart as he tenderly holds me. And though I feel for his loss, I’m grateful he was spared.

  He kisses the top of my head, and I move back so he can see the truth in my eyes. I need him to really hear what I’m saying. “I think you’re a wonderful man. From what I’ve seen you’re kind, loyal, trusting, and wouldn’t purposely put anyone in danger. You’ve comforted me and I saw how worried you were over the situation at your company.”

  I grab hold of his face, forcing him to look at me. He shouldn’t carry guilt over something that wasn’t his fault. “You, Jackson Cole, are a man worth following. Those men wouldn’t want you to carry their deaths on your shoulders.”

  “Those men should be alive,” he says almost inaudibly. Then he tries to move his head out of my grasp, but I’m not having it. I’m not done.

  “True, they shouldn’t have died. No one should have to die, but would you have taken the bullet for them?” I raise my brow, already knowing his answer.

  Without hesitation, he responds forcefully, “In a heartbeat.”

  “Well, don’t you think they would do the same for you? I know loss too, Jackson. I’m living it now.”

  I know he’s upset and hurt, but he’s failing to see that he wouldn’t want them to suffer if the situation were reversed. If it were Ashton and, God forbid, something happened and I was gone, I wouldn’t want her to live with that kind of guilt. I would want her to pick up her life and live on.

  “You’re not telling me anything I haven’t heard before. Bottom line—I was there. I lived it.” His eyes narrow in anger. “I watched it happen and I couldn’t stop it. I fucked up and no one is going to tell me different. Their blood is on my hands. Did you kill your dad? No. So don’t compare.” His voice is cold, fused with frustration and defeat.