by Roxy Sloane
“What do you think?” he asked, lowering his voice as he leaned toward me.
“It’s wonderful,” I raved. And he watched me with that intense, blue-eyed gaze as I took another bite and ate it with relish.
At the table, the conversation continued to flow, but Jackson remained uncharacteristically quiet. I looked over at him to see if everything was okay, and that was when I felt his hand on my knee. He smiled at me, then casually looked away. But his hand remained.
Then his fingers moved, tugging gently at my dress, drawing it up over my knees. I glanced over at him but he did not return my gaze, so intent was he on pretending to listen to Susie’s recounting of a charity event she’d put together last month in India, complete with Bollywood dancing. I looked around at the others. Engrossed in Susie’s story, they were unaware of Jackson’s movements beneath the table.
Now his hand was between my thighs, gently forcing them apart. I took a sip of wine and leaned back in my chair, shifting to give Jackson easier access. He stroked my inner thigh, and my breath became shallow.
Again I looked over at him. He still appeared to be listening attentively to the conversation. But below the table, he pulled my thong to the side. Separated the swollen lips of my pussy. And then with his fingertip, he traced circles around my clit, around and around. Then his finger dipped deep into my wetness, making me gasp, emerging to stroke my clit again, sending shockwaves down my thighs and up into my belly. I took a long sip of wine and tried to slow my breathing, but my knuckles were white as I clutched the cloth napkin in my lap.
Jackson was relentless, and he didn’t let up for a second, not even after he noticed my fist clenched in my lap. He tapped gently at my knuckles and then leaned over to whisper in my ear, “Just relax.”
But I couldn’t. As his fingers fucked me, right there under the table, in full view of everyone, I held my breath to keep from crying out. Completely in tune with my desire, he quickened his strokes, bringing me to the edge, my need pulsing through me until I was so desperate I had to bite the inside of my cheek to steady myself. I couldn’t believe he was doing this. That I was letting him. It felt so good, even knowing we could get caught at any moment. I’d never been so turned on.
Still, the others paid us no mind.
Suddenly, Olivia turned to Jackson. “You started this,” she said playfully. “You have to end it.”
“Yes,” said Mark. “Jackson, where do you fall on this? Am I right?”
I had no idea what they were referring to at this point in the conversation, and I couldn’t imagine that Jackson did either. He was silent for a moment while the others awaited his response.
“Well,” he said thoughtfully. “‘There’s no one thing that is true. It’s all true.’”
Mark growled a bit, but then he said, “Alright, I’ll let you off the hook this time, just because you’re the host.”
Olivia just rolled her eyes and said to me with a grin, “Bastard. He can find a Hemingway quotation for any occasion.”
“That’s a good quality,” I laughed. “I probably can, too. The Sun Also Rises might be my favorite novel.”
“Really.” Jackson’s eyes found mine, and he lifted a brow. “You think it’s better than The Old Man and the Sea?”
Before I could answer, he pressed his finger even deeper inside me, not even breaking eye contact. I cleared my throat. “They each have their strong moments, but The Old Man follows a more traditional narrative structure, i.e. simple protagonist man vs. simple antagonist fish, and I tend to respond in stronger ways to more complex and unconventional storytelling.”
Jackson threw his head back and laughed out loud. “Touché. I guess I already knew that about you, though.”
“This little lady’s gonna give you a real run for your money on your next book, Ford,” said Olivia, laughing as she reached for the wine. “If you ever get around to finishing it.”
“That she is,” Jackson said, pulsing one last time before taking his hand back.
I gasped and looked away, trying to cover my reaction with a sip of wine.
Soon after, we retired back to the living room to enjoy the macaroons, Italian cookies, and tiny fruit pastries that Susie and Jeff had brought. I sipped a coffee and nibbled at a macaroon, trying to be ladylike for once, but Jackson sauntered up to me with a plate piled high with the desserts and set it in my hand. “These are all incredibly well made,” he told me. “Don’t cheat yourself.”
So I didn’t.
At the end of the evening, after Mark, Jeff and Susie had left, Olivia stayed to help clean up. When the lion’s share of the work was done she said, “Okay, guys. I’ve really got to go. Jackson, this was lovely as always.”
“It’s been great meeting you,” I said.
She gave me a hug, “Yes, and you too. I’ll visit Maggie’s shop as soon as I can.”
Jackson said he’d see her to the door and I went upstairs to take off my boots. On my way back to the kitchen, now barefoot, I paused at the top of the stairs. I could hear them laughing. They were so natural together. And I still hadn’t figured out what Olivia’s wink from earlier this evening had meant. Did they have a romantic history? Were they childhood friends? Maybe they were seeing each other casually. The thought made my stomach clench.
“Anyway,” I heard Olivia say, “I like the new girl. She held her own.”
“She’s my editor,” he stated, his voice strangely flat. “So she’d better be able to.”
Then Olivia said something in a whisper that I couldn’t quite hear.
“You know I would tell you,” he replied. “There’s no one I trust more than you.”
“Yes, but sometimes you don’t know what’s good for you,” she said.
“Good night, Olivia.” He sounded annoyed.
“Good night, Jackie.” The door creaked open and I heard the shuffle of footsteps.
“Be careful on Pinecrest. It gets slippery up there,” Jackson said.
“I’ll be careful. Love you.”
“Love back.”
I heard the door shut. And then she was gone.
I stood there, at the top of the steps, barely breathing. Olivia was so very beautiful. It was obvious that there was some kind of history between them, and a deep affection. In the movies, I’d be the girl he dated until her realized he was in love with her. And something Mark had said earlier that night still haunted me. Was the phone sex, the fingering under the table, was all that just pleasure, just temporary gratification? Was I the diversion and she the intimacy?
After hearing the door close, I waited a few minutes before taking a few steps down the stairs. Jackson was still standing in the foyer. Hearing my footsteps, he looked up at me and said, “There you are.”
“Thank you for this evening,” I said. I didn’t know what to say or where I stood, if the conversation with Olivia had changed anything between me and Jackson. “I’m really tired so I think I’m going to hit the sack. I’ll see you in the morning.”
He looked at me for a long moment. “Are you alright?” he asked. “Your knee?”
“Yes, it’s fine,” I said. “I’m just. . . tired.”
“Maybe it is time for bed, then,” he said.
“Okay.” But I stood there, waiting, rooted to the spot.
Jackson moved toward me, climbing the stairs one at a time, his eyes locked hungrily on me. I found myself backing up as he approached, my pulse pounding, until I finally stood at the top of the steps, staring up at him in the dim hallway light.
“Would you care for some company?” he asked, tilting my chin up with his finger so we were only a breath apart.
“I—” His full lips on mine silenced my response, and I opened my mouth to taste his tongue as it entered, stroking hard and fast against my own. Kissing him made me hungry, needy in ways I couldn’t control.
My hands were on his chest, pulling his sweater over his head, gliding from his firm pecs to his hard abs, and then I was tugging his belt off
, unzipping his pants, pulling them down his hips and over his thighs as I knelt before him.
“Ellie—” he said, his cock already hard and jutting proudly as he stood there staring down at me.
I squeezed his shaft in my hand and ran my wet tongue along its length, not breaking eye contact as I took the tip into my mouth, sucking softly and then harder. He groaned and tried to thrust but I pulled back, holding his dick just centimeters from my lips.
“I want your cock in my mouth, Jackson,” I said. “All of it. Say I can have it.”
“It’s yours. Back up against the wall,” he commanded. “And stay on your knees.”
I moved backward on my knees until the soles of my feet touched the wall, and then he came over and put his hands around my throat.
“I’m going to fuck your mouth now,” he said, brushing the head of his cock tantalizingly against my lower lip. “Would you like that?”
“Yes.”
“Then say ahh.”
I opened my mouth wide, my tongue ready, tilting my head back as I braced my shoulders against the wall. He grabbed my head and entered slowly, filling my mouth with his dick until it pressed into the back of my throat.
“Is that good?” he asked, his eyes dark with lust.
“Mmm-hmm,” was all I could manage. I felt him hardening, growing even thicker against my tongue.
He pulled back and then rammed into my mouth again, holding my head steady as he choked me with his cock. I coughed a little and he eased up, letting me catch my breath before slamming into the back of my throat again, grunting as he thrusted in short, fast strokes. He felt so good in my mouth, gliding back and forth across my tongue. I closed my lips around his shaft and moaned as he pumped, letting him feel the vibrations against his skin.
“Fuck,” he gasped, pausing for air mid-thrust. I took advantage of the moment and sucked him back into my throat, so deep, applying pressure with my tongue and cheeks as I bobbed my head back and forth. “Fuck, that’s good,” he said.
I slid my hands up the backs of his thighs, up to his sculpted ass, guiding his pace as he fucked my wet, sucking mouth. “Mmm,” I moaned, looking up at him. My jaw was aching, but I could do this all night long. He was right where I wanted him to be.
“I’m going to come,” he said, his voice a low growl. I smiled.
He braced himself against the wall and pistoned even faster into my mouth, and I gave up sucking and relaxed, allowing him to penetrate even deeper as his cock grew stiffer and his thrusts more erratic and desperate.
Jackson’s breaths became even more strained, and then his hands were fisting in my hair and his hot cum was spilling into my mouth as he groaned, the sound making my entire body go taut with my own need.
I took him in my hand and slid his dick out of my mouth, and he watched me as I swallowed every last drop. “You’re amazing,” he said, reaching for his clothes.
“You’re not so bad yourself,” I said, getting to my feet and turning down the hall toward the guest room. “Good night.” I opened the door and hesitated for a second, but when he didn’t say anything to me, I stepped into the room.
“Good night, Ellie,” I heard him say.
I closed the door behind me, pulled off my dress, and crawled into bed.
11
When I awoke the following morning, I popped a few ibuprofen and drew another bath with the Epsom salts to soothe my injured knee. I couldn’t stop touching myself under the hot water, thrusting against my fingers as visions of Jackson Ford pumping into my mouth the night before danced through my head. I came twice, fast and hard, but instead of satisfying me it only made me yearn for him more. Then I got dressed and went in search of him, to see if those pages were any closer to being finished. I hoped I wouldn’t experience a repeat of the frustrating argument we’d had in the library the day prior, though I wasn’t opposed to repeating the make-up sex afterward. But who knew what kind of mood he’d be in today? The only thing I could count on was that I’d need to be on my toes.
As I stepped outside the guest room, I found another note: “Working. I’ll come find you soon.” Well, that was different. It was a start. And I could certainly give him some space, if that’s what it’d take to get his manuscript back on track. Maybe that (and a few more intense, late-night encounters) was really all he needed to stay focused. If so, I had my work cut out for me.
Despite the lavish dinner party the night before, I was ravenous, so I went downstairs to the kitchen thinking about the macaroons Susie had brought. I made some tea, ate some cookies and sliced fruit, and then went back to the guest bedroom and started a fire. I could get used to this.
Of the work I’d brought with me, only one manuscript remained. I removed it from my duffel and settled back into bed to edit. The manuscript was in great shape, but after a few hours I needed to take a break. It occurred to me that, with the limited cell reception, I hadn’t checked into the office since I’d arrived. I figured I’d better at least check my email, make sure there weren’t any fires to put out, but I couldn’t log onto the house WiFi. So I went in search of Jackson, hoping my request for the internet password wouldn’t count as trespassing on his sacred work ritual.
I hoped to catch him downstairs taking a break or grabbing a snack, but unfortunately he wasn’t anywhere on the first floor. I went back upstairs and timidly approached the library door, knocking gently and calling “Jackson, hello?” No response. I tried the knob and found it unlocked, but when I ducked my head into the room it was empty.
I moved down the hallway to the next room and knocked again. This time the door, which was not fully closed, swung open under my fist.
Inside the room was Jackson’s office, and from the looks of things, it was a place that meant business. But he was not there.
Floor to ceiling windows afforded more of the house’s magnificent views of the Berkshire Mountains. Along one wall sat a sofa piled with neat stacks of books and papers and file folders. Against the opposite wall was a long credenza, and I stepped toward it to get a closer look at the books lined up along its surface: they were reference books about martial arts, deadly poisons, weapons of all kinds, and other topics pertinent to his storytelling. I smiled as I ran a finger along their spines, feeling like I’d stumbled upon Jackson’s secret lair.
Shelves on the wall above me displayed his various writing awards, and I nodded with pride at the ones I recognized. That was my critically-acclaimed author they were talking about right there.
I turned and took in the large rough-hewn wooden desk and comfortable chair that took up the center of the room. The only things on the desk were a computer, a printer, and a few pages of text, his handwritten notes visible in red along the margins.
The instant I saw the pages, I had the powerful urge to run and the equally powerful need to know. Heart pounding, I realized he might return at any moment and find me poking around, so I made a split-second decision. I lifted the pages and began to read.
In the passage I’d found, Garrett Addison kills for the first time. In graphic detail, Jackson had rendered the struggle between Addison and his adversary. I could smell their sweat as they wrestled for the gun, feel the pain as they slammed into the floor, the walls. I could taste Addison’s desperation as he clawed at his enemy’s eyes, pummeled him with his fists. And when Addison triumphed by smashing his opponent’s head into the ground over and over and over, the portrayal left me nauseated. When he was victorious, I understood Addison’s pride and his horror.
“What the hell are you doing?”
Startled, I dropped the pages, my head snapping up.
Jackson stood in the doorway, fists clenched at his sides. He was livid, and he had every right to be. I felt the blood drain from my face.
“I—I found this,” I stammered.
“You just can’t take no for an answer, can you?” The fury radiating off him was palpable, and I subconsciously took a step back.
He moved toward me snatching up the page
s from the desk.
“How dare you come in here,” he said, eyes ablaze.
“I knocked,” I said. “The door opened.”
“That’s no excuse!” He hit his desk once with his fist. “This is private.” He struck the desk again. “This is mine. You have no respect for my work.”
“I have deep respect!” I shot back, too outraged at his accusation to be afraid anymore. “For you and your work. That’s why I want to contribute. That’s why I’m here. To make sure you write the best book of your career. Because I know you’re capable!” My breaths were coming fast and heavy, and I folded my arms and steadied my gaze.
Jackson shook his head. “Get out,” he said quietly.
“No,” I said, surprising us both. “You say you want ‘the truth.’ I’ll give you the truth. Your recent work bears no resemblance to your earlier work.”
“Do I have to physically remove you?” he asked, moving closer. I stood my ground.
“But this,” I said, pointing to the pages in his hand. “This is brilliant.”
Jackson went still. He looked down at the pages, then back up at me, his face unreadable.
“It’s your strongest work in years, maybe ever,” I said, going on while I still had the chance. “I felt it. I could smell it. It’s visceral and it’s moving. It feels true. Why would you not want to show this?”
He was silent.
“This is amazing,” I said to him, more softly now. I stepped closer until I was right in front of him, my toes almost touching his. “Look, Jackson, I don’t know what we’re doing here. If we’re keeping it casual, we’re keeping it casual. If that’s what you want, okay, I’m up for that. But I won’t be casual when it comes to the work.”
I reached down and put my hand on the pages, and he let me.
“This,” I said, looking up at him, “is what we can do together. And I want to work together with you, in every way that I can. Don’t you see that?”
Our eyes locked.