by Kat Catesby
If I’m honest with myself, my instinctive reaction to Jackson is disturbing, our behavior around each other isn’t normal; I know next-to-nothing about him, yet I’m somehow okay with exposing myself and my vulnerabilities around him.
I don’t understand it and that makes me uneasy.
Jackson gently lays me on his comfy, king-size bed and all I want to do is roll over and fall asleep, but apparently, he has other ideas.
“I know you’re tired, Angel, but I bathed you with your underwear on, which is now soaking wet. You can’t sleep like that and I’d prefer to not have a damp bed.”
He walks over to a chest of drawers, pulls out a baggy black t-shirt and two pairs of boxers. Through sleepy, heavy eyelids I see him drop his towel and pull off his wet underwear...
Fuck...
I’m not surprised to see an ass as firm and muscled as the rest of him, but I am surprised that he keeps his back to me as he pulls on the clean, dry pair of boxers.
Jackson doesn’t strike me like the shy type…otherwise, he’d have locked his goddamn door while he was fucking Sonya.
Slowly my brain joins the dots; he’s trying to make me feel comfortable…because I can’t sleep in wet underwear…which means I’m about to get naked…in front of Jackson…
There is no shade in existence to describe how badly I blush.
Trying to get ahead of the situation, I sit up and awkwardly try to wrap the towel around myself with one hand while the other reaches behind me for the clasp on my soggy bra, but I’m too drowsy to be co-ordinated.
“It’s ok, Angel,” he says gently. “I promised you I would behave, and despite your efforts, I have, so I’m not going to tarnish my impressive record now.” Jackson seems genuinely pleased that he’s kept his hands to himself.
“Why would not sleeping with a drugged freshman constitutes as impressive?” I ask sluggishly.
“You and me on any other night? We’d have never made it to the bathroom…” he winks and his devilishly wicked grin finishes his sentence for him, which does nothing for my blush. “Keep still and don’t provoke me with that sexy body of yours.” With that, he slips his hands under the towel I still holding around myself and with practiced ease, unclasps my bra. I’m still hung up on being called sexy that I fail to be shocked by his hands; no one has ever called me sexy before.
“Take your bra the rest of the way off and dry yourself,” he commands as he runs his fingers lightly across my ribcage from back to front, and then reaches for the black t-shirt he placed on the bed next to me.
I shrug out of my bra, freeing my suddenly aching, full breasts and do my best to ignore the sweet sensation of the soft towel on my tight nipples as I dry them.
“Arms up,” Jackson orders, the hint of a smile tugging at his perfect lips.
Hmm…so much for behaving.
I obey regardless, lifting my arms above my head and sending the towel tumbling to my feet, baring me to him.
To his credit, he tries to ignore the breasts that are pressed pretty much against him as he pulls the t-shirt over my head and tugs it down into place, concealing my breasts once more.
“It gets worse,” he murmurs dangerously.
As I straighten the t-shirt, he bends down in front of me and peels my off my wet, lacy thong, dragging the material tantalizingly down the backs of my thighs to my calves and ankles.
“Step,” he demands.
I lift one foot at a time, hyper-aware that his face is distractingly close to there. I try in vain to hold off the onslaught of erotic images fighting to take over my mind.
“Step again.”
“Yes, sir,” I tease as he pulls a pair of boxers up my legs and over my butt, making me decent once again.
“Sit,” he gestures to the bed.
“You are a very bossy man,” I murmur sleepily.
“Simple commands are easier to understand when you’ve been drugged,” he shrugs nonchalantly and begins examining the small cuts and developing bruises scattered across my body.
“You drug a lot of women?” I’m too tired to put any real effort into the accusation.
“No, Emilia, I don’t. Do you think I need Rohypnol to get laid? Sorry to burst your bubble, Princess, but plenty of women want to fuck me, including you.” I don’t like his stern and somewhat arrogant tone, so find myself looking anywhere but at him.
“I’m sorry. That was rude of me.”
“You said it,” I mutter.
“I would never roofie anyone, Emilia,” he says more calmly this time. “Some of the guys use it, but only when their lady of choice requests it. Shaun is an asshole and shouldn’t have done that to you. I promise he won’t get off lightly.”
“Pretty sure you already smashed up his face.”
“He deserves worse,” Jackson mutters darkly and I don’t doubt Shaun will pay for what he’s done.
“Why would a woman who’s willing to sleep with a guy request Rohypnol?”
From the look on Jackson’s face, I can see this has tripped him up and he fumbles to articulate an answer.
“It helps them relax and to forget…sometimes it just makes the first time easier for them.”
“I wouldn’t want to be out cold if I were losing my virginity.”
“We’re not talking about their first sexual experience Emilia,” he says as if this explains everything and closes the conversation.
“Then what are we talking about? What first time experience would make a girl ask to be drugged?”
“I can’t explain this to you now. You’re in no fit state to hear what I have to say and despite your annoying questions, I still want you…badly. I’ve just seen you naked, that t-shirt clings to your breasts in a way that is wholly indecent and I am fighting to stay in control of myself around you. Don’t make it harder for me by questioning me into a corner. I will answer your questions, but only when you are rational enough to deal with the answers.” He’s leaning over me by this point and I am struck silent by his blatant admission of desire for me.
Jackson picks up my towel and starts to rub my hair as dry as he can get it before grabbing a comb to get out the worst of the knots.
“You have a fair few bruises and lots of little cuts, but nothing serious. I would offer you some ice for the bruises but they’ve come up purple already, so I don’t think there’s much point. Would you like me to get you anything else? A drink? Something to eat?”
“I’m just tired, thank you, Jackson.”
Jackson pulls the quilt back so that I can climb into bed.
“I’m not as tired as you, Emilia,” he says, his voice deep and husky, “so I’m going to stay up and work on our paper.”
I nod as he climbs into bed next to me but stays sitting, opening his laptop and balancing it on his muscular thighs. He strokes some hair out of my face and lowers himself so that he can brush his warm lips across mine.
“Get some sleep, Emilia.”
Chapter Five
I’m woken by a gentle knock on the door and Jackson climbing out of bed to answer it. I’m not sure what time it is, but I can still hear music playing downstairs, so the party isn’t over yet.
Jackson opens the door, wearing only his tight black boxer briefs…much to Sonya’s delight.
“Now that’s how you greet a girl,” she coos.
“I’m busy, Sonya, what do you want?” she flinches at his impatience.
“I’m sorry; did I get you out of bed?”
“Yes,” he replies flatly.
“Then, how about we go back to bed?” Her suggestive tone pisses me off, so I shut my eyes and hope she’ll go away soon.
“My bed is occupied, so if that’s all you want then goodnight.” He moves to close the door, but she stops him.
“I think I left my bra here when we were so rudely interrupted,” she whines. “That must be it on the back of the chair.”
“Don’t play dumb. You deliberately didn’t put it back on so that you could have an excuse to co
me by later in the hope of round two.”
“You can’t blame me for that, not when you were fucking me as if your life depended on it. I was under the impression that I was staying the night with you. Then that little slut spoils our fun and suddenly she has my place in your bed. Seriously?! What the hell, Jackson?”
Jackson’s voice takes on a sinister edge and I’m glad it’s not me going toe-to-toe with him.
“Firstly, you and I are not a couple. We fuck, occasionally…and it’s a fun enough way to waste some time, but make no mistake, what you have to offer is replaceable. I don’t give a shit about your feelings, only about what you provide, just the same as you want to be fucked by someone skilled enough to give you multiple orgasms. That’s our agreement.
“Secondly, if you ever call her a slut again, I will make you regret the day you ever met me…and you know enough about me to realize what that implies. And thirdly, that’s not your bra. I left yours downstairs when I ran out of the house earlier,” he hisses dangerously.
To her credit, Sonya tries to stand her ground against Jackson’s vicious tirade.
“If that’s her bra then perhaps you want to reconsider your second point regarding the word ‘slut’, she spits.”
This is the point I lose my temper completely.
“I don’t do sloppy seconds, bitch,” I shout. “Now, fuck off.”
Sonya wasn’t expecting me to defend myself and I feel a small amount of satisfaction from her surprised expression.
“You heard the lady. Night, Sonya.” Jackson’s face is smug as he closes the door a little too firmly in her face.
“You are full of surprises, Angel,” he purrs.
“Not really. I’m tired and she woke me; that puts her on my shit list. I also saw more of her than I ever want to again. Not to mention the god-awful image of you two fucking that’s now seared into my memory. That makes me hate her. It doesn’t make me that fond of you either.”
“You’ve changed your tune from earlier. You were all ‘kiss me, fuck me’ in the bathroom. I still can’t get the image of your glorious breasts thrust up in that bra out of my mind,” his voice is dangerously seductive.
“With sleep comes clarity,” and I’m proud to say I mean that. I’m not letting his sex-god status lure me in again, not until we’ve talked about all the nonsensical, messed up crap that needs talking about.
“Is that so?” His velvet voice is trying to tempt me, like my own personal sex-devil with an arsenal of tantalizing tricks designed to weaken my defenses.
“Yes. And I’d like some more before I tackle you any further.” I huff and roll over, eventually drifting off into a fitful sleep.
* * *
I’m vaguely aware of Jackson sliding into bed with me and that he wraps one arm around my waist, but it’s just one of many jumbled images my mind throws at me.
After a few hours of blood and fang nightmares – a few gratuitous shots of a naked Sonya thrown in for good measure – my subconscious mercifully decides I’ve had enough sleep.
I’m pleased to discover the world is no longer spinning and that the drugs appear to have worn off.
I open my eyes, and in the gloom, they settle on the wall space that only hours earlier, supported a writhing Sonya as she was skilfully fucked by the sexy man sleeping next to me… the man who still has his arm draped around my waist.
I don’t like it.
I don’t like much of what’s happened this evening, And I especially don’t like how pathetically my body betrays me and responds to Jackson Smoak so completely.
It’s like my body is giving him a free pass to be intimately pressed against me mere hours after fucking Sonya and that’s not okay. Does monogamy mean nothing to these frat-boy assholes?
And what about those things he said to her when she came to his room? I can still hear him telling her, quite horribly, that she’s replaceable and what she offers is paid for by him giving her multiple orgasms.
I’ve never been with a man who could do that.
Stop, brain. Get back in your box. I get that some part of me wants to be fucked by Jackson, but that voice needs to shut the hell up. There are bigger priorities than my visceral reaction to the man-whore next to me.
I roll my eyes and sit up, fed up with silently arguing with myself.
I don’t need an orgasm so badly that it negates all of the convoluted things Jackson has said to me.
‘I’ll explain when you’re rational enough to deal with the answers’…what does that mean?
And the way he talks about us, with such familiarity…I’ve only just met the sex-fiend. He confuses me in a way that really hurts my head.
“Can’t sleep, Angel?” Even thick with sleep he sounds seductively dangerous.
“Since when did I become your ‘Angel’?”
“It’s a term of endearment,” I don’t fail to notice that he avoids the question.
“Okay, since when did I become dear to you? Because I genuinely feel like I’ve time-warped and missed the part where I got to know you. Usually, I like to have that experience before getting naked in front of a guy and then hopping into bed with him.”
He rubs his tired eyes and grumbles himself into a sitting position – showing me exactly why I let my desire lead me astray and into his bed. I mean, really, who has abs like that?
“Firstly, if you could’ve ‘hopped’ anywhere you wouldn’t have needed to be in my bed. You were drugged and I wanted to keep you safe because secondly, you’ve been dear to me for a very long time,” he says, an edge of worry to his otherwise confident voice.
“You met me on Monday. I get that you guys are hot enough to go through plenty of women, but there’s something very wrong with you if you think five days counts as a long time,” I reply flatly.
He just looks pointedly at me.
“Unless of course you genuinely mean a very long time in some sort of creepy, stalker type way?” I say, my voice shaky with increasing concern.
How the hell has he known me for a long time?
If we knew each other before this week, I’d remember…wouldn’t I?
“The latter, but a little less of the ‘creepy, stalker’ remarks, please. And while we’re at it, a few less man-whore insults would also be nice. I’m far from perfect with more flaws than I’d care to count; I don’t need you throwing extra at me.”
“I’ll throw them if they’re deserved.”
For a moment, Jackson looks wounded, but then his whole demeanor changes and I get a glimpse of the stony eyes that Sonya was probably treated to earlier…I’ve pissed him off.
“I don’t get this version of you. At all. I know you’re attracted to me and I’ve made it pretty damn obvious I feel the same. I’ve also bent over backward to be a gentleman toward you and keep you safe. So, tell me what it is that I’ve done that upsets you so much? I’d think it was Sonya, but you’ve been off with me since I sat with you on Monday?”
“Sonya, me, the cheerleader groupie from last Friday…exactly how many women do you have on the go? And how can you behave like I mean so much to you, because if I really did then why were you fucking her when you were supposed to be with me?”
“I don’t have women ‘on the go’, not in the way you think. And I do very much care about you, but I told you not to come around after nine.” He’s doing the strained, angry whisper thing that people do when they’re mad but don’t want the world to know it.
“That’s not an answer, Jackson. ‘I like you, but don’t come around too late as you’ll catch me fucking the other woman I like’…do you even know the meaning of monogamous?”
“I’m rapidly getting to the point where I can’t stand Sonya, quite frankly. And I can’t explain it all to you now, as you’re too mad to listen and attempt to understand.”
“You’re right about that. I don’t understand any of the convoluted things you’ve said to me,” I say, my voice rising with irritation. “You say strange things like not liking this ver
sion of me and you act like you’ve known me for much longer than we have. You look me straight in the eyes, my real ones, and you don’t so much as flinch and that’s not normal. You don’t even freak out when I tell you about the most disturbing dream I’ve ever had – one that has been haunting me for years. You’re in that dream…did you miss that bit? Because, honestly, if someone I only just met had a dream like that about me, I would be deeply concerned. This is me pissed off before I’ve even taken into account the mixed messages you’re sending by fucking someone else. I don’t understand any of it.” I’m not trying to keep my voice down at this point. I’m exasperated and confused.
“You’ve had the dream for years?”
“That’s what you’re taking away from what I just said? Yes, I’ve had the damn nightmare for years. But don’t panic, your face wasn’t in it until I met you on Monday. I’d never had the ballroom aspect of the dream before then either. That’s what I saw the first time you looked at me and before then the man in the dream didn’t have a face.” I’ve had enough at this point and start hunting around for my clothes.
Jackson climbs out of bed to stop me and his eyes are kinder by the time he reaches me.
“Don’t leave. Not like this. It’s true that none of the things you’ve told me or shown me have bothered me because…,” he takes a deep breath and shrugs, “I already know.”
He gives me a moment to absorb that bombshell.
How?
That’s all my brain keeps asking on a loop.
“And looking at you now,” he continues, “I’m not sure if you’re ready to hear why or how I know. I’m not trying to be awkward, but if I tell you too soon, you’ll do exactly what your trying to do right now and leave. I’ve only just found you again and I can’t spend another lifetime looking for you.” His sincerity knocks me sideways.
“That last bit sounded desperately romantic, but I get I’m afraid that’s not how it was intended, not completely; you sound like you’re being literal,” I’m not sure what I’m trying to get at, but my stomach is cramping up in knots.