Two Weeks

by Andrea Wolfe

  We handle the broccoli as a team. He makes a cheese sauce in one pan and I cook the broccoli in another. After that's done, we each make a salad out of the greens and sit down at the table to start eating while we wait for the rest to finish.

  The salad is simple, but it's fresh and satisfying, a nice start, especially with everything else we'll be eating. It's some kind of natural ranch dressing and it's really flavorful. The greens are actually a little spicy.

  Jackson checks on the steaks periodically. "How do you want yours cooked?" he asks, brandishing the greasy spatula from the grill like a sword.

  "Medium rare," I say.

  He smirks. "My kind of woman."

  "Whatever," I say. "I just don't like it burnt to a crisp."

  He disappears again. As I wait, I wonder how often he cooks a meal like this. I wonder what he eats when he's alone.

  The door slides open a few minutes later and Jackson carries in the pan holding our two juicy steaks. I can smell them immediately and my mouth starts to water.

  "I forgot—there's white wine in the fridge too. Why don't you pour us a couple of glasses? They're in the cabinet next to the sink."

  I happily fulfill his request, pausing only to grab the potatoes from the oven. After everything is done, we fill our plates and sit down at the table.

  Everything is just as delicious as it looks, which means it's amazing. We end up with far more cheese sauce than necessary for such a small batch of broccoli, so we cover the steaks with it too.

  "This steak is awesome," I say. "The marinade is out of this world. It's zesty and spicy and lemony and sweet all at once. You barely soaked it too."

  "It was my dad's favorite recipe. He lives on through his marinade."

  "No kidding," I say. "It's perfect with the cheese too."

  The mood is great. Time flies by.

  Jackson suddenly rises from his chair. "Let's go sit outside and watch the sunset," he says.

  I nod and stand up. We do a brief clean up job and refill our wine glasses

  When we get outside, it's definitely cooled off. It's still muggy, but it's quite pleasant. We sit down together on the cushioned hammock swing, and I lean against him, cradling my wine glass between my fingers.

  Jackson wraps his arm around me and together we stare at the beautiful, golden orb as it slowly descends in the sky. "I'm so glad I'm here," I say. I'm a tad bit drunk, but not wasted since we ate so much.

  "Me too," he says. "I'm really glad you stayed."

  "I can't believe how beautiful this is." I'm in awe at the incredible display in front of me. The reflection of the sun against the water is entrancing. The surface of the pond gently shakes, distorting the straight path of the beams of light. "You should charge admission for this view," I say.

  "Who should I charge? You?" He laughs and it shakes my body since I'm against his arm.

  We sit in silence for a while, listening to one another breathe. It's hard for me to even fathom how romantic and wonderful this whole evening has been. It makes me realize that there was never a period like this with Max. He wasn't capable of it. It wasn't in his DNA.

  We never slowed down to savor anything.

  I'm thrilled to be here with Jackson, and despite Liz's morally-questionable suggestion to use Jackson as a mere rebound, I'm just glad she got me to stay here with him. I actually feel like I'm on vacation for once.

  I'm not constantly checking my phone.

  I'm not constantly checking my email for some work emergency.

  I'm just here.

  "I wish we could go swimming," I say, not aware of what I'm getting myself into by saying it. "Why don't you have a pool?"

  "I have a lake," he says matter-of-factly. "We can swim in the lake."

  I stare over at the water. I've never really been the outdoorsy type, but I'm curious. "Is it, uh, clean?" I ask.

  "It's totally fine," he says. "I've swam in it plenty of times."

  For some reason, as much as I want to do this, my mind is still looking for an escape. "Well, I don't have a bathing suit with me."

  Jackson turns and faces me, wicked look in his eyes, wicked smile on his lips. "We could skinny dip." He says the words with the same level of maturity as a horny teenage boy describing porn.

  I'm suddenly filled with an unparalleled sense of excitement. "Uh." I finish off the glass of wine and set it down before continuing. "What if someone sees us or something?"

  "Nobody is going to see us. It's dark."

  "But what if there's a stalker with a night vision camera?"

  Jackson playfully flexes his bicep. "I'll beat the shit out of him." He stands up and stretches out his arms and then discards his shirt on the bench like he's unwrapping a present—just for me. "C'mon."

  My heart is pounding. I've never done anything like this before. It's so subtly exhibitionist. There's a nervous excitement propelling me forward, but I'm still vacillating as far as he's able to tell. I like toying with him.

  "I'll go first," he says. "And I won't look when you get in."

  I bite my tongue. "You promise? I can be shy sometimes. Especially when I'm naked in public."

  He laughs. "Of course I promise. If promising gets you naked then I'll—"

  "Shut up," I snap. I stand up, but I don't move yet. "You're sure it's not full of snakes or piranhas or something?"

  Jackson cocks a brow at me. "Do you think I'm trying to kill you or something, Ally? And myself?" After he catches my sardonic smile, he shakes his head. "Wait, don't answer that."

  I start laughing, only stopping when I again realize how gorgeous and perfect he is. The glowing moonlight gives everything an ethereal sheen, and I can see the perfect chiseled silhouette of his torso. He's studying me carefully. The muscles tense up in my gut, anxiety spilling forth into my body.

  His eyes seem to notice the tension I'm feeling, like they were waiting for it the whole time. It feels sensual, yet I'm trying to make him believe it's mere giddiness—like I just accepted a stupid dare and have to go through with it now to save my adolescent honor.

  But it's more than that.

  I rise to my feet and approach him. When I meet him in the yard, he gently strokes my hair with his hand. His touch is warm, and the sensation rushes through me, spilling through and saturating every pore. I can feel the gentle hardening of my nipples inside my bra. I'm slowly cooking.

  But then Jackson sprints away. "C'mon!" he shouts again. My moment of introspection falls apart. I run after him. I'm filled with joy. My heart is racing.

  Oh, God.

  Jackson's right in front of the water and I catch him dropping his shorts. I can see his incredible ass, along with the rest of his leg muscles. He really is a human sculpture. I'm suddenly imagining his muscles flexing and pulsing as we—

  "I'm going under water until you get in... naked. If you play any games, I'm gonna drown myself, I swear to God." Jackson takes a running sprint and leaps into the lake, settling with a huge splash. The wet shrapnel of the blast barely misses me.

  "Wait, are you kidding?" I shout.

  His head bobs up for a second. "No, I'm not kidding. We start now." Just like that, he vanishes under the water, like a mole in one of those whack-a-mole games that you're supposed to smash with a mallet whenever they pop up. If I don't play this right, Jackson might be one mole that never pops up again.

  I freeze for a second, nervous about going in the water. My shaky hands find the zipper on the back of my dress and undo it. But I don't go any further. Shit, can I do this?

  As much as I'm feeling embarrassed and self-conscious, I actually want to do this.

  Jackson's not coming up. Almost a minute has passed already. "Shit," I say. Something tells me that Jackson is great at pushing himself to the limit. This could turn out very bad.

  Finally, I spring to action. If I don't, he might die.

  I wriggle out of my dress at light speed and then unclasp my bra as rapidly as I can. I shove my panties to the ground, and a few
seconds later, I jump in.

  I fly through the air, shocked that I just leapt into this lake naked. Will the water be freezing cold? Is it actually full of things that will bite me? Had Jackson already drowned?

  Splash! I hit the water and go under for a second, just enough that my hair gets soaked. All of my qualms vanish at once. The water is absolutely perfect. Not too cold, not too hot. It's wonderful. My feet kick beneath me, keeping me from touching the bottom. It's fairly shallow.

  Shit. Where is Jackson?

  I prepare to dive down and pull his massive body to shore and perform CPR when I feel a huge splash behind me. It's Jackson. He's risen behind me like a sexy Loch Ness Monster. He starts laughing.

  "Jackson! You're such an asshole. I thought you drowned! Some way you have of getting girls out of their clothes."

  He shakes his head and runs his hands through his hair. "I'm good at holding my breath. That wasn't even my max time. Plus, it worked, didn't it?"

  "Dick," I mutter. I splash him and then wait for his retaliation—but none occurs.

  "I knew I could do it," he says snidely.

  "Do what? Freak me out?"

  "Get you naked. That's what. I'm goal oriented, as I've explained."

  I go to splash him again in feigned frustration, but he disappears under the water. I try to follow him as he swims past me. He's gone before I even figure out where he is. I groan in frustration. He's like a shark.

  On my own, I frolic in the water, enjoying the night. The moon glows above the pond; we're the only ones taking advantage of its perfect temperature. It's so placid. I'm overwhelmed by incredible joy, totally lost in the moment.

  I totally forget that I'm naked. I'm just having fun. My inhibitions are gone.

  Jackson pops up near me again. "God, you've got a great body, Ally," he says sleazily. "I was taking a look under water."

  "You're such a perv," I say. I'm fairly certain he's lying, but what if he isn't? The thought lights that fire in my core again. Even though he's acting like a teenage boy, he's fully aware that he's teasing me—and he's damn good at it.

  "I'm just kidding," he says. "I shouldn't talk about your body like that."

  I'm already ready to rebuff him, to give him a taste of his own medicine. "Yes, please don't say another nice word about my body," I say. "I'm sick of compliments," I scoff.

  "You like it," he says low and growly. "I know you do." He swims closer to me. All I can see is his face approaching, his body still hidden beneath the water.

  That force is alive inside me again. He's brought it back from the dead. "I didn't say that," I whisper.

  "Do you see anyone out here?" he says, hoisting his arm above the water to point toward the empty wilderness that surrounds us. "I told you it would be fine. Plus, it's kind of liberating, isn't it?"

  "I guess you're right."

  "And to think, you tried to get out of it just because you didn't have a bathing suit. You would have missed out on all this fun."

  I smile and plant my feet against the bottom. I'm standing, but the water is still up to my shoulders. "Yeah, it was stupid of me to say that. Thanks for threatening to kill yourself to get me to skinny dip with you, Jackson. I really appreciate it."

  "It was nothing," he says. "For you, it was definitely worth it."

  I'm just here with Jackson, totally alone, free from the obligations that normally haunt me. I'm not afraid or worried about anything. Nothing scares me right now. The playfulness fades away. It's replaced by something else.

  I swim toward him, driven by a force that's bigger than myself.

  He swims toward me too.

  As I press my body to his, I breathe a sigh of relief. I can feel every bump, curve, and ridge of his muscles. My breasts flatten against him as I wrap my arms around his back. It feels just as good to be in his embrace as I imagined. My heart throbs in my chest. It's nearly out of control, and I swear I might wear it out permanently, right here and now.

  Our lips press together and as they do, he takes control, hoisting me up, better aligning our bodies. My legs instinctively wrap around his hips and I pull myself toward him. I sense the hardness pressing against my butt and it takes my mind to the dirtiest places imaginable.

  I kiss him with every bit of strength I can muster. I feel drunker than I have in a long time—I'm still a little drunk, but not that drunk—but my wits are still intact.

  If my body wasn't fully submerged in water, I'm certain I'd feel a growing wetness between my thighs. My nipples could cut glass by this point. I'm literally breathing in the same breaths that Jackson is exhaling.

  Our tongues are battling, our saliva is mingling. I'm totally lost.

  I've forgotten why I'm doing this with him, the whole plan I discussed with Liz. I don't care about any of that. I just want Jackson more than I've ever wanted anyone in my life. The tension continues to coil throughout me, and it's relentless. I know it won't let up on its own, no way. It could easily strangle me from the inside.

  Jackson abruptly breaks the kiss. "You're fucking beautiful," he says, almost snarling.

  "So are you," I gasp, my voice barely above a whisper. I attack him with another kiss, running one hand along his bicep, the other planted firmly against his flexed buttocks. I hold him as his hand finds my breasts, cupping them, pressing them together with growing lust.

  He tweaks my nipple and I shiver with delight, almost as if he suddenly lowered the temperature of the water by twenty degrees. But the rest of me is still hot, so hot that I'm burning up. We're still kissing somehow; I'm shocked that I haven't passed out from overstimulation.

  My body is anchored to him physically, but my mind is not. And when I feel his hand start to crawl along my belly, I feel a rush of anticipation that almost makes me black out.

  It feels like drowning. Good drowning.

  His fingers move through the soft hair of my mound, taking their very sweet time. It's agonizing, but I keep kissing him. I give his lip a firm, hurry-the-fuck-up-and-touch-me sort of bite, and when his fingers reach my clit, he gets his revenge for the nibble.

  The kiss breaks immediately as I moan, an intense, low sound that's unfamiliar to me. I'm so wound up I can't believe it. Every time he strokes that infinitely sensitive flesh, the nerves fire all throughout me, pleasure flooding my body. I can feel more than I've ever felt before, and his adroit fingers are pushing me beyond the limits.

  He delicately circles, yet it feels like it's been intensified a hundred times over. More. And more. My legs feel rubbery and weak, yet they're still clinging to him, ensuring that he still has full access.

  "God, you're so fucking sexy," he whispers in my ear. I say nothing in return since I can't seem to form any words. I can only groan, and the fact that he's listening so carefully to every intricate sound I make only makes it worse. "I'm going to make you come."

  He knows he’s coaxing all of these sounds of me, and they're all his. He's claiming them, taking them for himself. The fact that I can feel the gentle, methodical thrust of his hips only makes the lust even worse.

  And then, just like he said, I come. So fast, so hard. My eyes only open for a brief second, but when they do, I can see his concentrated expression, his eyes absorbing every bit of the orgasm that he's watching through my face. It's like I'm telling him a glorious secret.

  I press up against him like our bodies are glued together, and I swear I can feel his heart beating as hard as my own. I continue crying out as he manipulates me with such delicate precision. No one has ever made me come like this before.

  Not drunk. Not sober. Not ever.

  He seems to notice as soon as the sensitivity becomes too much, and immediately his fingers retreat and his hand settles on my back. I rest my head against his shoulder, feeling like I've just finished sprinting up twenty flights of stairs carrying a backpack full of cement blocks.

  "Oh, God, Jackson," I pant. I came so quickly, so effortlessly, a victim of pent up sexual frustration and his outstanding
skill.

  "That was so fucking incredible," he says. "You're so hot."

  I blush slightly, but I feel at ease, even though I'm not used to someone paying attention to the finer details of sex like that. When I feel my strength returning, I'm reminded of the hardness beneath me as I uncoil my legs from his thighs and settle my toes back against the bottom.

  A devilish smile forms on my lips. "And now I'll see what you're like."

  "Huh?" Jackson asks.

  An answer isn't necessary after I lower my arm into the water and take his erection between my fingers. He's big and thick, but not gargantuan. More like ideal. I stroke rapidly as low, guttural sounds begin to escape his throat.

  "God, Ally," he pleads, "that feels way too good."

  "You're gonna come for me now," I say and then tighten my grip even more which seems to drive him even crazier.

  His fingers settle against my breasts as I aggressively work him down below. His expression is tightens in the same way mine probably did, his eyes locking closed, his jaw almost unhinging as he groans. Raw, unadulterated pleasure.

  I pump my hand, moving faster and faster. My arm isn't worn out yet, but I know my strength won't last forever. I'm also fighting against the resistance of the water.

  But then he brings me quick relief. "Fuck," he groans. His whole body presses up against me, all of his muscles tightening at once. I feel him twitch as he climaxes, my hand still maintaining that clenched, stroking rhythm. I feel him releasing into the water, his tension disappearing just as mine did a few minutes earlier.

  His face is a grimace of pure ecstasy. All for me.

  He cuddles close as my tempo slows, the giant that's been very quickly reduced to this compromised, hunched state against my shoulder. "Ally, seriously, that was amazing."

  "It definitely seemed like you liked it," I say, smirking. "I guess I know how to beat you in the ring."

  "Oh, Jesus," he whines. "I don't need to imagine that when I'm fighting."

  I raise an eyebrow. "Imagining me? Or the other guy doing it? Is the other guy cute?"