by Alisha Rai
Her face flushed as she remembered the way they’d watched the graphic real-life porno play out in the back alley. That had been hot as hell, but she was on the same page with him about not being the actors in that sort of scenario. “Let’s go.”
He released her and stepped back, waiting until she was inside before walking around the car to get into the passenger side. It was getting too cold for his bike. He’d parked it in the garage. Which was not any kind of sign of permanence, she reminded herself.
She drove home with his hand on her thigh, his thumb stroking her skin through the thin material of her black pants. The tiny circular motions tightened the crank of need inside her, so much so she shuddered in relief when they pulled into the garage. The dim light from the overhead lamp highlighted the curves of his face.
She licked her lips. “Where?” She didn’t need to elaborate. They’d had sex almost everywhere, except inside her house.
His touch went a little higher, flirting with the crease at the top of her thigh. “Your choice.”
How was she supposed to think when he was so big and strong and . . . and . . .
His pinky dipped between her legs and rubbed. Her thighs clenched, trapping his hand between her legs. “We might end up in the car again,” she warned.
“Wouldn’t be the first time.” His fingers curled in the tight space she’d created, finding her clit and plucking it. It was like Jackson had taken a master class on what she liked. “Is that what you want?”
“I don’t know.”
He wedged his hand tighter against her. She’d been right. He could play her like a violin. “I’ll do whatever you want.”
“Will you?”
“Sure. You know, maybe everything tonight should be your choice.”
The blood rushed out of her head and her breath came faster. She clamped her hand over his to still him. His face was utterly innocent, but he couldn’t fool her. She knew what most people didn’t.
The man was a gentle giant in the street and a freak in the sheets.
“Upstairs. Let’s go upstairs.” They’d had sex in his apartment before. She’d wondered if it would be difficult for her, but her brain had apparently now deemed it Jackson’s place.
He released his buckle, the click loud in the silence of the car. She swallowed before speaking again. “I’ll give you a couple minutes. Get naked and wait for me.”
There was that tiny smile again. The sound of the car door closing behind him made her jump, though she was expecting it.
She waited a few minutes, taking the time to apply an extra layer of lipstick and adjust her breasts in her low-cut shirt. When she’d dallied all she could, she got out of the car and made her way to the garage apartment.
She was about to knock, but she decided to go full-on aggressive and shove the door open. The sight inside made her knees weak. She shut the door behind her and simultaneously closed out the outside world and her own too-active brain. All she wanted to focus on was touching him. Wanting him. Lusting with and for him.
He sat on the edge of the bed, totally, gloriously naked, the only light coming from the dim overhead fixture in the bathroom. His fists were braced on the bed behind him, his biceps standing out in sharp relief. His golden, smooth skin was a smorgasbord of muscles and bone and sinew, all knit together to create a perfect vision of manliness.
His tattoo caught her eye as always. The geometric lines on his arm, the leaves draped over his shoulder, and Livvy’s newest addition, a beautiful red rose that popped so lush and real it took her breath away. He said it wasn’t tender anymore, though she’d been careful to avoid the healing wound. She’d asked him what it signified, but he’d only shrugged.
The ink highlighted the muscles of his arm and chest, but the rest of him deserved equal appreciation. His stomach was a ridged slab, his thighs massive and flexed. He had his feet planted flat on the floor, legs spread. His penis jutted between his thighs, a thick, long, delicious length that she’d felt now between her legs and in her mouth and against most of her body.
She wanted him to kiss her like he’d kissed her before, like he was going to die if he didn’t crawl inside her and taste her. Or strip her clothes off and take his time studying her body. Or fall to his knees in front of her and lick her like he’d never get enough. Or hold still while she did the same to him.
So many possibilities. So she did what she always did, and made a mental list.
Sadia unbuttoned her pants and shimmied them down her legs, aware of his hot gaze on her. She stripped her shirt over her head and dropped it on the ground, and then her bra and her panties. He made a motion to grasp his cock. “No.” Her tone was sharp.
He froze and his hand fell back to the bed to clutch the bedspread.
A rush of power swept through her. “Come here.”
He stood and walked toward her, the muscles in his legs bunching and releasing. She wanted to write odes to those muscular thighs.
He stopped in front of her, waiting instruction, that massive cock brushing against her belly, leaving a wet trail. She wanted to fall to her knees and explore it with her mouth, but she had a list now, and she wouldn’t stray from it. She rested her hands on his arms and breathed in deep, taking in the scent of spices and warm bread. He smelled like her kitchen. She wanted him to smell like her, a strange possessive thought she’d never had before. “Kiss me.”
She expected him to kiss her passionately, but instead he cradled her cheek, tilting her face up. His breath ghosted over her skin, and then he was pressing chaste, tender kisses against her forehead, continuing over her nose, down to her lips. He sipped from her lips and her breath caught.
Pampered. Cared for. It was an illusion, but one she’d happily buy into.
“You are so perfect,” he whispered.
She opened her mouth to speak and closed it again, oddly shaken at his repetition of this praise. She was a mess. A failure. “I’m not. What I am is tired,” she confessed, and a stab of shame hit her. She didn’t complain. She never complained. Complaining was also a form of failure.
Jackson wouldn’t chastise her, though. His hand trailed over her shoulder, her arm, down to her waist. “Let me make you forget how tired you are.”
If her body hadn’t been wet before, it would have immediately softened at that offer. Her head tipped back as he drew her closer, until she could feel the hard length of his penis. He was thick and so enticing she pressed harder against him.
“Tell me what you want me to do.”
“There are so many things.”
A stroke on her side. “Use me for all of them.”
She paused. She hadn’t thought anything of him uttering that word use before, but now it left a vaguely bad taste in her mouth.
“What’s wrong?”
“I don’t want to use you.” Not like she’d used other people she’d slept with. That had been a mutual using, an itch to scratch.
Jackson was different. Even without their complicated past, he’d be different.
“But I like it. I enjoy it.”
Sadia cupped his head. “How about we say we’re enjoying each other then? That sounds better.”
He processed that. “Fine. But you can still act like you’re using me.” His smile was bigger and more than a little wicked. “It’s hot when you take what you need.”
Whimper. “In that case, kiss me like you mean it.”
His lips descended on hers and he complied, working her mouth. The kiss was filthy, wet and rough, giving her a preview of what was to come. She wanted that tongue all over her.
She pulled away and leaned back against the door, arching her body and spreading her legs. “Get on your knees and lick me.”
He was on the floor before she could finish the sentence. She kept meaning to groom or shave or something—she wasn’t keen on yanking out her body hair unless someone else was going to appreciate her efforts—but he didn’t seem to mind so it was low on her priorities. His fingers combed th
rough her pubic hair, the crinkling noise magnified in the dimly lit room.
Two fingers opened her up, and his breath puffed over her wet folds. He blew, gently. She cried out. His laugh was low and deep. His laughs were rarer than his smiles, and the noise almost distracted her, but then his tongue swiped her flesh and her knees buckled. His hands wrapped around her, fingers digging into her ass.
He licked her again and again like she was a delicious treat, only taking breaks to suck on her clitoris. Even if she wanted to move, she couldn’t, he held her so tight. She might have bruises tomorrow, but she didn’t mind. Not when he was sampling her body so luxuriously. Climaxes had become a perfunctory act in the past couple of years, to be achieved as quickly as possible so she could sleep or go about her life. Jackson was lazy with his mouth.
He sucked her harder when she grew restless and pressed one finger inside her, then two, and hooked them, rubbing against the bundle of nerves hidden inside her. His hand moved faster as she moaned, not ceasing that perfect pressure. She came with a shudder and a groan of pleasure.
He gave her a chance to come down off the high, his touch light on her sides and bottom. She looked down at his dark head between her thighs, catching her breath enough to speak. “Good boy.”
He nuzzled her. “How good?”
She ran her hand through his short hair. “So good you deserve a treat.”
His tongue ran over his teeth. “Yeah?”
“Oh, yeah.” She tugged at the strands. “Stand up and go sit on that chair.” He got to his feet and turned. Feeling playful, she slapped his ass. He froze, then glanced over his shoulder.
“I liked that.”
She’d just had an orgasm, but her body readied for him again. “Did you?” She slapped his other cheek, and then stroked over the hard flesh. She’d happily touch his ass all day, but then again, there was that list.
“The chair.” She tapped him.
He went to the chair and sat down, his cock demanding her attention. She sank to her knees in front of him, then grasped his erection in her hands. She sucked him deep into her mouth, but pulled away when she felt his hands in her hair. “Nuh-uh,” she said firmly. “Keep your hands to yourself.”
His eyes gleamed in the near darkness. “Will you tie me up if I don’t?”
Funny how verbal the man could be when he put his mind to it. She imagined him tied up in her bed, patiently waiting for her to do everything that lurked in her dirty imagination.
Next time she’d bring some of her silk scarves. “Yes. I will.”
Jackson clasped the arms of the chair. She twisted her hair around her hand and tossed it over her shoulder so it wouldn’t get in the way, then sucked his penis into her mouth again, making him nice and wet.
He groaned when she released him. “Don’t stop.”
“I call the shots, remember? And right now . . .” She grasped his cock in both hands, and stroked the hard, wet flesh. “I want to massage this cock of yours.”
“Massage . . . oh God.” His hands tightened into fists as she rubbed him. She alternated the motion with her mouth, keeping him wet and slick as she manipulated him with her hands until he was groaning.
“Let me fuck you,” he finally gasped.
She licked his cock. “Why?”
“What?”
“Why do you want to fuck me?”
“Because . . . because you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”
Awww. “There are more beautiful women than me.”
His brow furrowed. “No.”
Just that. A simple no. She scraped her nails up the side of his hard thigh. “Stay here.”
She rose to her feet, and as she walked to the bed, she did feel like the most beautiful woman in the world. She arranged herself on the bed, appreciating his tortured moan when she got on her hands and knees, her back arched.
She rested her forehead on her stacked hands. “Fuck me now.”
He bolted out of his seat like she had cut the cord on some invisible leash. His cock brushed over her bottom as he leaned over and grabbed a condom from the drawer in the nightstand.
She had a moment to prepare herself before he shafted inside her, fucking her hard and deep. Her fingers curled into the bedding, and she rested her forehead on the bed. In between the bursts of pleasure, one thought rose up. “Don’t stop.”
“I won’t.” He fucked her harder, pulling her hips up higher.
She whimpered, her disquiet fading in the heat of the moment. The coil of tension tightened inside her and she came with a great rush, her body weakening and softening all over his.
He grunted and went rigid. He caught himself on his arms so he wouldn’t collapse on her, then rolled to his side.
They were both breathing hard, momentarily satiated. He drew her close and she rested her hand on his chest, right under the healing red rose. Her cheek brushed his chest and she studied the Japanese characters written on the inside of his bicep.
When his breathing slowed, she spoke. “What does that mean?”
He lifted his head and looked at the characters. “Translated, it means once in a lifetime, or never again.”
“Oh.” She’d been asking what it signified to him, but she doubted her favorite clam would tell her that.
He kissed her forehead, then rose from the bed. She winced at the bright light from the lamp he turned on. “I’ll be right back.”
She smiled and leaned back on the pillows, watching his ass flex as he moved to the bathroom, trying to avoid the odd sadness inside her. They’d fucked plenty over the past week, but cuddling had been limited. Which was fine. She hadn’t asked him for cuddling. If she had, he would give it to her.
She didn’t want to be cuddled, she told herself firmly. She was fine. Fine.
She rolled over and noticed that the nightstand drawer was still open. Sadia leaned up on one elbow to shut it. She wasn’t sure what caught her attention, but her gaze went to the leather-bound book inside, sitting there like a hotel room bible. This must have been what John had given him. Sam’s journal.
Her love of history and nostalgia had her picking the thing up. She flipped through a couple of pages, rereading words she’d read long ago. Sam had been a no-nonsense, determined man. She wished she could have met him, though John had tried to keep him alive for all of them.
She turned another page and a folded-up piece of paper fluttered out of the book onto the bedspread. She sat up and retrieved it, opening it.
Dear Grandpa John . . .
She didn’t realize she was crying until the letter was pulled from her hands. She looked up, Jackson’s rigid face appearing wavy and distorted to her wet eyes. He’d put on his boxer briefs and jeans.
She shook her head. “No,” she said, and that was all she could say. “No, no, no, no . . .”
He put the letter on the nightstand carefully, like anyone needed to be careful with that. “Sadia . . .”
“No!”
“Listen to me.” He tried to place his hand on her shoulder, but she scrambled backward.
“That’s not real. Tell me that’s not real.”
His eyes darkened. “It’s not real.”
“You’re lying to me.” She dug her palms into her eye sockets, like that could make her forget what she’d read.
Her husband, the man she’d adored and married and had a child with, had not only committed a felony, he’d then persuaded his younger brother to keep his mouth shut when he was arrested.
Sadia swallowed, struggling to keep her nausea under control. “All this time, I thought it was an accident, or someone else did it, and you were a scapegoat. And you were a scapegoat, only it was my husband who made you into that scapegoat.”
“Please don’t be upset.”
“John knew. Did anyone else?”
“My mom.”
“Of course.” She nodded, hysterical laughter bubbling up inside her. “I knew you must have had a reason to cut them both off.” Everything
made sense now, like someone had turned the lights on in her dark world. She still carried wounds over her sisters not standing up for her a decade ago. How must Jackson have felt, when his brother had actively urged him to take the blame for a crime he hadn’t committed. “I can’t believe this is real.”
“I’m sorry. I never wanted you to know.”
“You don’t have to be sorry. Oh god, I’m sorry.”
“If I don’t have to be sorry, neither do you.”
“I was married to him. I should have known.” She couldn’t begin to reconcile the man who had held his infant so gently with a man who could lie to get his baby brother into jail.
“How would you have known?”
“I . . . I don’t know. But either way, he was my husband. I’m responsible for his actions.”
He twisted so he could look at her more fully. “That’s absurd.”
“How did he get you to agree?”
“It’s not important.”
“Tell me, damn it!”
“He told me you were pregnant!”
It was the first time Sadia had ever heard Jackson raise his voice. He pressed his lips tight together immediately after, as if to recall the words.
Too late.
“Pregnant?” she whispered. “I wasn’t pregnant.” She and Paul had always been super conscientious about birth control. It had taken a year of active attempts for her to get pregnant with Kareem.
“I know. He told me he lied after I was released.”
Slowly the truth dawned on her. Paul had manipulated his brother. Because Jackson would have willingly gone to jail if it meant Paul could stay with her and their unborn child.
People. Quality. Fairness.
“Oh my God. How you must hate him.” A thought struck, and horror swamped her. She grabbed the sheet and yanked it up to cover her body. “Fuck, is that what this was? You and me? Were you . . . getting some sick sort of revenge?”
His eyes opened wide and he shook his head. “Oh no. No, not at all.” He grasped for her hands, but she couldn’t let go of her death grip on the sheets.
“He was dead, but I was here, is that it?” Nausea rose up in her throat. “You could punish me—”
“No. Never. I slept with you because . . .”