by Olivia Chase
“Emily,” Jackson says again, and every time he says my name it’s a soft but firm command. His hands slid up the side of my thighs to my hips. There at the top, he tugs up the fabric ever so slightly. “I’m not going to tell you again.”
The truth is, it gives and stretches easily. And I want him. I want to do whatever he asks, without thought, without care of who he is or what kind of person he is. So I place one leg on the side of him then drape the other on the opposite side, all the while his hands are resting on my hips, not pressing, not guiding, just letting me feel him on me.
“Down,” he says, his eyes watching mine.
I lower myself onto his lap, spreading my leg out as I push my hips forward. Jackson’s hands move toward the back, cupping my ass as he pulls me up on him. I gasp, not only at how hard he is but how big, so big, more than I can probably handle but so tantalizing and right under my soaking panties.
“You don’t even know,” he says, his hand touching my face, “how sexy you are.” His lips softly touch mine. “You don’t know what you’re doing to me.”
“I think I have an idea,” I say, and I grind my hips down on his big hard dick as he lets out a groan, burying his face in my neck. His kisses my neck, softly at first and then quickly, with urgency. My head falls back as his tongue teases my skin, the eager sensations coming at me all over my body. I move my hips into him, feeling his dick like titanium beneath me, and each time I move he uses his hand on my waist to jerk me into him, harder and harder each time. I wrap my arms around his neck to hold on, my fingers gathering his thick hair above the base of his neck.
His hand moves up to my back and he pulls my chest into him, our bodies still thrusting into each other, the slickness of my pussy riding him through all that fabric. My breasts are pushed up to the top of his chest, just below his chin, and it doesn’t take him long to see the proximity of that.
He pulls down the shoulder of my dress just so it’s hanging on the side of my arm. He looks down at my breasts, rising and falling with my intense breathing from so much touching, so fast. “You are unbelievable,” he mutters as he runs his hand across the top of my chest, an inch from my breast. I arch my back, eager for the touch that’s so close I can feel his breath on me. I want him to pull down the fabric of my dress, free my breasts so that he can take them up in his hands and, God, his mouth. But he won’t give me more. Instead he lets his fingertips drift back and forth, one finger barely drifting into my cleavage. I arch up into him again, desperate.
“Please,” I say, the word coming out of me in a breath. “Jackson, please touch me.” I grind my hips down into him again to show him how much my body needs him. I press my hands into the back of his neck, showing him, guiding him. But Jackson doesn’t take orders. He moves his hand away from my chest and down onto my bare thigh.
He runs his hand up my burning skin, his thick fingers pressing into me as we continue to grind into each other, desperate to find some relief. Apparently he’s unwilling to give it, at least not yet. I don’t know how far he intends to take this, but my body is acting out of its own need and I have no desire to slow it down, especially when Jackson’s hand slides up under my dress and squeezes my ass. Our breathing is heavy, mixed with one another and I so desperately want to cry out but am fully aware that there’s a restaurant full of people just outside that door. As we push into each other harder, Jackson puts both hands on my ass, under my dress, on my bare skin and yanks me up on him, grunting softly as he does. His hands pull my butt cheeks apart, the lips of my pussy throbbing even more as they too widen over his steel-hard cock. I bite down on my lip to keep from screaming out from the pleasure that’s all over my body, and the intense ache that it needs more. I need more. And apparently Jackson does too.
His hands stay where they are and he stretches his lips up to mine and our mouths crash together, tongues desperately deepening into one another’s mouth to get more out of each other. No man has ever made me feel more passionate and full of need than Jackson Croft, right in this moment.
My arms pull him into me, my breasts still frantic for him to take hold of my breasts. Finally he can’t wait anymore and, with our mouths still melded together, he yanks the dangling sleeve down further until my nipple is just exposed.
He takes me in his hand, holding and pressing into me, so good that I want to cry his name. A little weep escapes my throat and goes into his mouth where are tongues are slipping every which way, feeling everything.
When he pulls away from me I want to yank him back, but that capable mouth of his is finally on my tit, covering my exposed nipple. He sucks and pulls on it as I hug his head to my chest, rocking into him and still trying not scream out. His teeth tug on my hard nipple before his tongue quickly laps over it again. I can’t believe it’s possible to make me any wetter but he manages, taunting and teasing me until I feel like I can’t take it anymore.
And then he goes even further.
With his mouth still on me, his hand moves down my stomach, over my hip and across my thigh. He moves up my inner thigh while working his tongue over my nipple, and runs his hand over my crotch.
“God I can feel through you,” he says, slowly rubbing his fingers back and forth. “I can feel how wet you are. You’re fucking soaking.”
I’m already flush from the heat of him, from the burning he makes me feel, but those words of his make me blush in a way that has nothing to do his touch. It’s crazy that I’m not at all shy about grinding down on his dick, but knowing he knows how wet he’s made me suddenly makes me feel timid.
“I’ve made you this wet,” he says, rubbing his fingers across the thin fabric. He pauses to circle my hard nub with the tip of his middle finger. “Didn’t I?”
My eyes are closed to the sound of his voice and the feel of his hands. “Yes,” I say.
“You came storming into my office all self-righteous. Now look at you,” he says, continuing his gentle rubbing. “You’re desperate for me. Your pussy wants me. I did this to you. Tell me I did.”
“Yes. You did this,” I say, wondering what more he wants of me. He’s got me. “Please.”
“Please what?”
What? I don’t know. My head is swimming. All I know is that I want. I’m greedy and I want more and more and more. The words he’s saying are true but no man has ever spoken to me like this and it has me shy and hot at the same time. I like it, but I can’t do it.
“Tell me what you want.”
“You,” I say. I can’t open my eyes. I can’t look at him. “More.” More of his hands. More of his mouth. More of his tongue. I want his dick inside me—suddenly it’s all I can picture, but I certainly did not agree to go out on this one dinner with him to have sex.
I’ve never gone this far on a first date and frankly I can’t remember the last date I went on. In all my spinning thoughts, a tiny part of my brain that isn’t drowning in endorphins reminds me that this is not a date. I don’t know what this is, but my body aches for more and more.
“Be specific, Emily,” Jackson says, teasing me with my name. “Do you want more of me here?” His fingers drift over the roundness of my breasts, grazing my nipple.
“Yes,” I say, because yes it feels so good.
“Or do you want more of me here?” He moves back to my throbbing pussy, making me want to cry.
“Yes!”
“No,” he says. He moves his hands to my hips, no longer touching my skin. They rest there comfortably but suddenly feeling so far away from me. I slowly open my eyes. Won’t he give me anymore?
“Please.” It’s the only word I can manage, and the only word I need to speak.
The way he looks at me is beyond hungry. It’s an animal need. “I told you I always get my way. And I told you I wanted to taste you.”
Before I can react, in one swift motion he has lifted me up by my waist and set me directly on the dinner table. He shoves back the plates and I’m sure the clanking of the china is going to make the staff come busti
ng down the door.
My legs are still spread open, my skirt hiked up to the top of my thighs. I’m panting as I watch Jackson pull up his chair and sit before me, perched up on the table. He runs his hand up my stomach, over the center of my heaving breasts and to my clavicle, where he gently pushes me back.
“Lean back,” he orders. “On your arms.” I go back on my forearms. His hands push up the remaining bit of privacy and he looks at my panties like he’s found the treasure.
“Please,” I beg once again.
“Please what?”
“Please take them off.”
A smirk comes up on his face. With his eyes locked on mine, he lifts my leg from beneath the knee and begins kissing the inside of my thigh, his tongue dancing over my skin as he goes. The higher he gets, the more I squirm, scooting down lower on the table to get myself to him, to his mouth and his tongue and all the pleasure I know is waiting for me.
“Jackson…”
He takes hold of the sides of my panties and rips them down, forcing me to temporarily close my legs so that he can get them off me. Soon he has me back in place, right where he wants me. He pushes my dress up again and stares down at me as he breathes heavily, hungrily. When he moves forward he doesn’t go slowly. His tongue is on me like a bee to the flower, licking up my throbbing walls. He flicks his tongue over my clit several times, making me sure I’m going to lose my mind. He has me panting, gasping for air. He pulls me closer to his mouth his tongue working over me as it throbs and pulses and I know I’m nearing the release. I have to see him.
I look down at Jackson, buried between my thighs, and I can’t believe this is happening. He’s beyond sexy, beyond amazing. It doesn’t even come close—no man has ever come close to making me feel this way.
I reach down for him, my hand brushing back his thick hair, wanting to touch him. He’s doing everything right but I realize I’m pulling him even closer to me, pushing his head more into my pussy, and for a moment I’m afraid he’ll stop and tell me he doesn’t like to be told what to do. Instead, his eyes open and he looks up at me. He slows only for a moment, and then his tongue picks up again, devouring me, working over my clit like nothing I’ve ever felt before.
“God, Jackson,” I moan.
My breaths become shorter, my vision starts to tunnel, and as I watch Jackson take over my pussy, his eyes locked on mine, I explode. My hips buck and he grasps my thighs, keeping his mouth in place as I ride out the orgasm, squeezing my eyes to all other sensations. I somehow manage to stifle the screams and moans that want to escape.
I can hear Jackson moving, but I still need a moment. I think I may have lost consciousness for a moment. I feel Jackson move my knees back together, then cover my legs with soft kisses.
“That was…” I begin.
“…intense,” he finishes. We both manage to laugh.
He helps me off the table and places the strap of my dress back on my shoulder as I tug down the skirt. I can hardly look at him but when I do, for just a quick moment, it feels warm and sweet.
“I just want to say, for the record, that I have never done anything like that in my life,” I tell him, once I’ve gotten myself dressed and back in my chair. I let my hair fall in my face, unable to look at him. “That was just…crazy.”
Jackson reaches over and tucks my hair behind my ear. He lifts my chin so that I’ll look at him. “You’re beautiful,” he says, and something in his eyes and the tone of his voice makes me feel like it’s more than just a line he’s using on me.
But then again, maybe that’s why he’s so seductive—he makes everything seem real, convincing, believable.
Does he mean any of it?
He walks back over to the door. He puts his fingers to his lips. “Shhh…”
I can’t help but grin as he unlocks the door then hustles back to the table like a naughty schoolboy trying not to get caught. Moments later the door opens and Rocco and another waiter arrive to clear away our dishes and present us with dessert. We all act like nothing out of the ordinary happened.
And it was so incredible, so unbelievable, I could almost convince myself that I made it all up, that I blacked out from the wine and had an intense, erotic dream. But then Jackson reaches under the table and clasps my hand and I realize—it’s real. I didn’t even have to dream it.
Jackson
That was not how I intended the night to go.
That was bad.
Well, it was fucking amazing. The hottest sexual experience I’ve ever had in my life. But it’s bad because now I’m hooked on Emily Brown and I don’t like to be addicted to anything.
I need my wits about me now more than ever, and all Emily does is make me lose my mind.
Is it possible that she’s everything you never knew you wanted?
The question hangs in my mind for a brief moment before I shake it off.
No. I can’t allow myself to become weak, thinking that way. My father taught me all too well that emotions make you irrational and easy to beat.
Still. Maybe she is a good candidate to help me get what I want with the business. At first, I was convinced that she would just be an itch to scratch, but now I’m wondering if I can have my cake and eat it too.
Scratch that itch again and again, while also satisfying the ridiculous stipulation my father inserted in his will. Dad’s final, cruel joke, has forced me and my brothers into yet another competition over what I know is rightfully mine.
But now I have to get my head back in the game because I have some briefs to go over before the video conference call with my brothers tomorrow. They’re doing the exact same thing tonight in New York and Los Angeles, and I can’t let the sexiness of tonight’s dinner slow me down in my preparations for battle.
In fact, I shouldn’t have gone out tonight at all. I should have spent all evening in my study.
I can’t make this mistake again.
The thing is—it’s not just that Emily is sexy, although damn she is. It’s that she hooks into me in a way that no one ever has before. She’s got me second-guessing my watch, for Christ’s sake, which costs more than most people’s cars. It’s a classic.
Still, back at my brownstone I smile as I take it off and toss the watch into the velvet-lined drawer with all my others. I think of her fingers touching my skin, and how she felt when I held her tiny wrist.
How she tasted…like honey, only sweeter.
The way her legs were open, the way she smelled, the shivering of her skin as I touched it. And just like that, I’m rock hard once more.
I look at my phone, her number already secured in it, thanks to Sandra’s quick administrative skills.
Maybe I could call her, find some excuse to see her again. I could send a car to bring her here right now and we could finish what we started in the restaurant.
I shake my head. This is exactly the problem. When I should be working, I’m thinking about how I can get Emily here next to me.
I undress and change into flannel pants and a cotton shirt. In my office on the second floor, I open up my computer and start reviewing the agenda for the meeting and try to suss out what Rex and Miles will each fight me on, because there is always a fight. Our father called it competition but really it’s all-out war.
Dear old Dad loved nothing more than pitting brother against brother, even when it came to dinner. He’d purposely have the cook set out too few pieces of meat or not enough of our favorite sides just so he could watch us fight over it.
When Mother tried to give us some of her food he’d rail against her too.
I know people think I had this job handed to me by good old-fashioned nepotism but my father raised us to believe that if we weren’t competing, we were wasting space. It was nonstop, never ending, but it’s the only way I know.
I’ve never bothered with relationships—I spend time with women, of course, but usually more of a one-night stand variety. I don’t have time for dating bullshit and honestly I don’t want someone who is a
round all the time. Marriage is a burden of worrying about what someone else wants and needs and expects from me. Pretty much my nightmare. I just want to be left alone to work.
I give it a go for about twenty minutes, pretending to read contracts and proposals and make sure all my documents and points are ready for tomorrow but really, I’m just looking at these things. I’m not absorbing anything. It’s a waste of time so I head to bed with the intent to skip my regular six a.m. workout and get to the office even earlier than usual.
But it’s still no use. I can’t stop thinking about Emily.
I feel like I could replay the dinner in my mind for the rest of my life. Emily took me by complete surprise, which I suppose is why I had to take her.
As I lay in bed, I mentally undress Emily, taking her dress all the way off, seeing her completely naked before me.
I liked teasing her but right before I tasted her I wasn’t trying to tease her. I was thinking that if I went through with it, if I had a taste of her, I might not be able to go back. When my name came whimpering out of her mouth, I was done. She already had so much power over me, and I’d gone further with her than I ever planned. I realize now that the moment I saw her in that dress, her perfect body filling it out and those gorgeous eyes of hers, I was a goner. Nothing could have saved me.
As I finally fall asleep, I vow to myself to get my shit together the second I wake up in the morning.
“So the golden boy didn’t get the job,” my brother Rex says over the video screen. He leans back in his chair in Los Angeles and rests his head back on his hands and laughs. The bastard actually laughs.
“Don’t be a dick,” Miles scolds, but he doesn’t mean it. Miles is enjoying this as much if not more than Rex. “Really. The poor son of a bitch thought he had the job locked down and now he’s just like us.”
“Yeah, we send our condolences to the heir apparent,” Rex says. The contempt can’t be kept from his 25-year-old face. He’s the youngest, and the biggest smartass. “And you’ve treated us our whole lives like we were working for you, like you were higher than us. The arrogance on you is legendary, brother. Now we’re all on the same shit-level playing field. Miles and I have just as good of a chance of taking over Croft International as your sorry ass does.”