by Serena Grey
“I don’t feel anything when it comes to you,” I snap. “Why aren't you somewhere with Elaine, you did spend all evening flirting with her.”
“She’s not you.” He says.
I sigh. “Don’t think saying stuff like that will do you any good.”
He smiles. “That would mean something if I had any good in mind.” His hand catches my wrist and starts to caress the tender skin on the inside. “All I have in mind is the bad things I want to do you.”
“Jackson…” I start.
In one swift movement, he pulls me to him, pressing my body flush against his. I can feel the hard muscles of his chest, the thud of his heart against his ribs vibrating against my breasts, I can feel his warmth, and the hard ridge of his arousal pressed against my hips.
I want him. I want him with a desperation I can’t seem to control, I want to stroke my hands along his hard length and hear him moan, I want to explore the hard contours of his body with my fingers, my lips, my tongue. I want to lose myself in him, to surrender body and soul.
“What did you do to me?” his voice is harsh. “Why on earth can’t I get you out of my mind?”
Through the fog of my arousal, I almost laugh. I should be the one asking him that, I think resignedly.
His hands move up my back, trailing a sweet path up to my shoulders and making me tremble perceptibly. Then he cups my chin and tilts my face so that I’m looking up at him. “Protest all you want,” he says, “It won’t change the fact that this thing we have between us, it’s undeniable.”
“Jackson.”
“Give in to it. Sweetheart,” his voice is soft and tempting. “You know you want to.”
I almost give in just then, I almost allow him to take control of my body, to give me the fulfillment I’m is aching for.
His lips are trailing a sweet path along my throat. One hand cups my breast, squeezing softly as he strokes a thumb over a hungry nipple. His other hand moves down through the waistband of my silk pajama shorts to find the warm, pulsing wetness between my legs.
“Olivia.” The sound is somewhere between a moan and a sigh as his fingers slip through the wet folds. “Don’t say no to me.”
I don’t want to, not when his hands are doing the most sensual things to my body. My back arches when his finger finds the sweet nub between my legs. When he strokes it I almost lose the power of coherent thought, but my sense of self-preservation rescues me at the last moment. I brace my hands against his shoulders and push away from him, feeling the loss as his fingers slips away, leaving me wanting. “No.” I say thickly, “Get out of my room, Jackson. Leave me alone.”
“You know better than to think I will,” He says, the threat obvious in his soft words. Then he turns and leaves the room, his posture relaxed, as if he hasn’t just turned my world upside down.
Chapter Sixteen
I spend the whole night tossing and turning, my body consumed by yearning. Stubbornly I refuse to let my fingers reach for where I’m throbbing uncontrollably and caress myself just as Jackson had done, to close my eyes and imagine him making love to me while I bring myself to a release that would only be a faint shadow of what he could give me, but release nonetheless.
So I toss and turn and try to drown out the sound of Jackson’s voice in my head, the memory of his seductive whisper in my ear.
“Give in to me.”
Well I won’t, even if my body is aching and pulsing with need for him, even if by the time I get out of bed in the early hours of the morning I’m almost crazy with unfulfilled desire.
This cannot continue, I think angrily, as I throw on my clothes. On one hand, I could always let Jackson have his way and give my body what it’s obviously craving. But to what end? I can’t fool myself into thinking that there’s any universe in which I could get Jackson Lockewood out of my system just by sleeping with him. On the other hand, I could always leave. The shoot is practically over, and I’ve taken all my pictures. The fact that the initial arrangement was to stay in Foster for a week doesn’t mean I can’t leave a few hours earlier.
After I’ve pulled on jeans and a light cotton top, I put my hair in a ponytail and make my way downstairs. I’m not a jogger, so I’m not usually out at the first light of dawn. Today, I can see what I’ve been missing, the patterns in the sky as the first light comes from the east, the stillness in the air, as if everything, the trees, the flowers, and even the grass are waiting for the day to begin. I should have brought my camera I think, as I start to walk down the long drive, then out to the road, but then, my mission this morning has nothing to do with work and taking pictures.
I walk for what seems like a long time, passing only two solitary joggers on the road. When I get to cemetery, I can’t help the feeling of guilt when I think of how long it’s been since I was last here. My parents graves are well kept but with none of the personal touches of the graves with fresh flowers and relatives who obviously care enough to visit often.
My eyes scan through the familiar words engraved in the stone, to the phrase at the bottom ‘to live in the hearts of those you love is not to die.’ The last time I was here, I dismissed those words, but now I know they’re true. I will always see echoes of my mother in the mirror, and when I make an effort to be funny, my humor will always be very much like my dad’s. As long as I’m alive, they will always be too.
Over the years, I’ve sometimes wondered if things would have turned out differently if they hadn’t died. Maybe having a mother to talk to would have made me less likely to surrender everything to Jackson. Maybe if I had been living in my own house instead of with Jackson at Halcyon it wouldn’t have been so convenient for us to give in to whatever it was that drew us together.
Of course, there’s no point in wondering, I realize. It’s impossible to change the past. The only thing that matters is never to repeat the same mistakes in the present.
Armed with that thought, I say goodbye to my parents, determined that whatever happened, I wouldn’t give Jackson the satisfaction of surrendering myself to him again.
It’s already full light when I get back to the house, with the sun high in a beautiful blue sky. There’s no one around, so I spend the day reshooting some of the scenes I wasn’t totally satisfied with before as well as taking the pictures I know I’ll keep for myself. To remind me of the house I loved, where I fell in love.
Even though I move around the house, I don’t run into anyone while I work, and I have no idea where Nick is, nor Elaine. By lunchtime, I find Mrs. Shannon in the kitchen.
“I think everyone’s feeling sober that you’re all leaving tomorrow.” She tells me, fixing me a plate on the kitchen table. “Will you be coming back?”
I smile sadly, “I don’t think so.”
She sighs. “Jackson mentioned that everyone is joining him on the boat after lunch. He said to ask you if you would like to join them.”
“I’d rather not.”
She smiles. “He said you’d say that?”
I bristle. “What exactly did he say?”
She shakes her head. “Just that you wouldn’t want to come. It’s always been either sweet or stormy between you two. I suppose right now it's stormy.”
“Right now it’s nothing,” I say with a frown. I don’t want to leave Jackson thinking that I’m afraid of him. I know that he’ll assume correctly that I’m avoiding him, and he’ll know it’s because I’m not as indifferent to him as I claim to be. If everyone is going to be on the boat, then what’s the harm? He wouldn’t try to seduce me in front of his aunt and his sister.
“I think I’ll join them,” I say, “It's a lovely day to sail anyway.”
After I’ve eaten, I change into shorts and a striped tee shirt, and leave the house through the back, walking through the gardens to the path that leads up to the water front. I’m a little late, so I have a slight hope that they would have gone ahead without me, but that hope is dashed when I see the boat, white and gleaming in the sun, at the end of the wooden d
ock.
I can’t see anybody around. For a second I wonder if I got the message wrong, maybe they decided not to go out after all.
Curiosity makes me climb the stone steps to the dock. I’ve been on boats before, but I want to see what Jackson’s is like. I walk to the end and step unto the boat. As beautiful as it is from afar, it’s much more beautiful up close. The deck is spotless and shiny, with cushioned seats and even a coffee table. A door leads to the interior of the boat, where I assume there’ll be more luxurious furniture and a well-equipped stateroom. I take a moment to admire the perfection. Everything gleaming with polish and thorough maintenance, but strangely, there's no one on it.
I’m about to turn around when I hear footsteps, I pause, immediately regretting my decision to get on the boat as Jackson opens the door and steps onto the deck.
Will I ever get over how good he looks? He’s wearing a white polo shirt and tan shorts, exposing strong muscled legs and his perfectly built, athletic body. He looks every inch the model image of a glamorous sailor, only a little more real, more flesh and blood and manly than any model could ever hope to accomplish.
I swallow and take a cautious step back. “Where’s everybody else?” I ask warily.
He shrugs nonchalantly. “Not here.” He says. I watch him with a frown as he loosens the rope tying the boat to the dock, leaving the boat to drift.
“Wait….What…. Aren’t we going to wait for them?" I falter. “I thought we were going sailing.”
“We are going sailing.” He says cryptically.
I watch in horror as the shore, the trees, and the house get farther and farther away. “What are you doing?” I can hear the hysteria creeping into my voice. “Take me back, right now.”
He doesn’t reply. Instead he comes towards me, looking more menacing with every step, and for a moment I consider jumping overboard and swimming for the shore. But as if he knows what’s on my mind, he is at my side in a matter of moments.
“Don’t even think about it,” He says tightly, his hands around my arms making it impossible for me to move.
“I’m not interested in acting out your abduction fantasy.” I snap, injecting as much contempt as I can into my voice.
He laughs softly but doesn’t release me. I don’t try to struggle, of what use would that be? He’s much stronger than I am by any measure. His hands relax around my arms, but he doesn’t let go of me. His palms feel as if they’re burning my skin, fanning the flames of the desire that’s always too close to the surface.
“Let me go, Jackson.” I say firmly.
“No.” He whispers.
I can feel myself start to tremble. “I can’t do this.” I whisper, close to tears. I don’t want to be near him. It hurts and yet makes me hopeful at the same time. I can’t deal with it. “Take me back.”
“No.” he says again, this time, the hint of tenderness in his voice makes my knees weak.
I look up at him, my eyes questioning, his arms relax at my side. I know he can feel that I’m shaking and I wish desperately that there was a way to disguise my reaction to him.
“I can’t take you back.” He says softly.
“Why not?” There’s a pleading note in my voice, but I don’t care. I’m desperate. I’m down to the last remnants of my self-control, and being so close to him, alone on his boat, I know it’s only a matter of time before it totally deserts me.
“I can’t take you back sweetheart,” he whispers, “because I need this.” His voice is so seductive, so soft, so full of temptation, and easily capable of destroying all my resolve. His lips graze my neck, and I can’t think anymore, “Because I need you,” He continues.
“Please don’t do this.” I plead, I can feel the sting of tears in my eyes, and I don’t want to break down in front of him. “Please don’t”
“You want this, Olivia?” he urges, his voice almost fervent. “Why do you want to keep denying what you really want?”
Because I love you too much, I want to say. Because I don’t want you to make love to me and get me out of your system. Because I know I’ll need much more. Because I know I’ll never forget you. “Because I don’t want you,” I say instead.
“No matter what you do,” He says, his teeth nipping at my lower lip, “don’t lie to me.”
He lips cover mine, warm and seductive. He’s so tender that my heart squeezes tightly and I can feel tears staining my cheeks. I start to shake violently, trembling as I’m swamped by such a torrent of emotions that I can’t control my body any longer. I buckle against him, and he pulls me to his chest, enfolding me in his arms.
There is none of the anger or contempt I’ve come to expect from him. Instead, he’s gentle, making shushing sounds in my ear, and reminding me with his tenderness, of a long ago Jackson, the one I fell in love with. I breathe in the scent of him as I lay my head on his chest, relaxing against his warm strength. I’ve dreamed of this, I realize, I’ve wanted this so much.
My tears are staining his shirt. He feels the wetness and lifts my face so he can kiss the tears off my cheeks. “Stop crying.” He says tenderly.
My voice catches in my throat as my eyes search his. I can’t reconcile this man to the man who has openly shown himself to despise me in the past few days. When he leans down to take my lips, I don’t protest. I surrender myself to the hot caress of his lips as they claim mine in a searing kiss.
This time, I don’t bother to pretend that this isn’t what I want. I kiss him back, hungrily, because I’ve wanted to do this for years.
He groans and pulls me closer, until my body is molded to his, and I can feel the evidence of his desire for me through his clothes and mine. It makes me want more. It makes me feverish with pent up need.
He lifts me up, easily, as if I weigh nothing, and carries me into the cool interior of the boat, and into the large stateroom. I don’t have time to see what it looks like. The decor, the finish, none of it matters. All I can feel is Jackson’s lips on mine, his arms around me, his delicious weight on me as he lowers me onto the wide soft bed.
His hands are like fire on my skin. How could I have done without this for so long? I think feverishly as I pull at the hem of his shirt, anxious to get it over his head and off him.
He laughs softly at my eagerness and helps me pull the offending material over his head, exposing his beautiful chest to me. I want to touch him, to run my hands over that expanse of hard male muscle, but he stops me, going for my t-shirt and pulling it over my head. My bra and shorts follow, leaving me naked except for my panties.
“You’re more beautiful than in my memories,” he murmurs, looking from my breasts to my face. Impatiently, I reach for his chest, feeling the hard muscle clench under my fingers. Everything about him is better than in my memories, and I can’t get enough.
He sighs and lowers his head to take one of my nipples in his mouth, and I lose my senses. My back arches and I moan with pleasure as sensations take over me. I thread my fingers through his hair, and they tighten involuntarily as he licks my nipple, his tongue swirling round the swollen tip. The clenching between my thighs is almost unbearable, and I spread my legs, hungry for him to be deep inside me even as he transfers his attentions to my other nipple, driving me crazy with his lips and tongue.
As if he knows exactly what I need, he moves one hand down through the waist band of my panties and flattens his fingers over the moist center of my arousal, spreading my juices as he caresses me in slow circular motions. I moan helplessly and press against his fingers, enslaved to the pleasure of his ministrations both at my breast and at my core, and in just a few moments, I can’t take it anymore. My brain explodes as my body tightens and almost vaults off the bed.
When I catch my breath again, he’s trailing kisses down my body, over my stomach and lower. I watch, eyelids heavy, as he hooks his fingers into my panties and pulls them down.
“Take off your clothes,” I tell him, my eyes on the hard ridge in his shorts.
His smile is
teasing. “If you insist,” He replies, dropping a kiss between my legs before getting up to pull the shorts off along with his briefs.
I feast my eyes on the hard length of his arousal, feeling the rush of liquid heat at my core. I move to the edge of the bed and reach for him, my fingers closing around the warm, smooth skin stretched tight over his hardness.
At the touch of my fingers, he closes his eyes “Olivia.’ He moans.
I stoke my fingers down from the tip to the base and back again, stroking my thumb over the moisture at the tip and watching as he gets even harder in my hand.
He brushes my fingers away. “I’m sorry Olivia, I’ve waited too long. I can’t wait one more moment.
“Me neither.”
Abruptly he sits on the bed and pulls me up so that I’m straddling him, both knees beside his hips on either side, then he positions himself and cups my butt, pulling me closer and sliding slowly inside me.
The pleasure is so intense, my brain shuts down. I’m gripping his shoulder, holding on for support, and feeling as if I’m going to die from the exquisite feeling of being completely and perfectly filled.
His hands move from my butt to my waist, and he lets me fall backwards until I’m half lying and half kneeling, supported by his hands, my breasts exposed to his gaze, then he starts to move in and out of me with an intense, hungry pace.
His hands around my waist are directing our movements, lifting me and bringing me back down to meet the thrust of his hips. The cabin is filled with the sound of my moans as he drives me crazier and crazier with each excruciatingly pleasurable thrust. I reach for his chest, feeling the flexing muscles under skin that’s slick with sweat. His eyes are closed, a frown on his brow as he thrusts his hips, sliding sweetly in and out of me. I feel as if I’m going to explode.
He opens his eyes and they are so full of stark helpless arousal, my body clenches, and a sound escapes me that could be anything from a moan to a scream. I shatter around him, feeling his body tense and jerk as he explodes inside me.