by Olivia Chase
But Emily…Emily looks stunning. I walk toward her, my body already eager to be up against her in a slim-fitting dress with spaghetti-type straps and heels that could pierce my heart. She wears a black pashmina to keep her warm.
“It’s okay?” she asks, smoothing her dress with her hand.
“More than okay.” I wrap my arm around her and bring her in for a kiss, a light but sweet scent about her. “You look stunning.”
She smiles. “Well, I had to go shopping because I don’t exactly have the clothes for this stuff.” She nods up toward the top of the building we’re entering. “I looked at it online and it’s like, super fancy.”
“It’s not super fancy,” I say. I take her hand and lead her inside to the elevators. “But it is elegant.”
“I hope I know which fork to use,” she says.
I push the button for the fifty-second floor. We’re alone, and Emily looks more beautiful than ever, so of course I can’t help but make use of the ride. I press her up against the wall and our mouths come together. The taste of her is better than anything that could possibly be on the restaurant’s menu, I am sure of it. I slide my hands over her hips as she pulls my body closer to hers. God, how will I make it through dinner?
The elevator slows and we both pull back. Emily quickly straightens her dress and wipes around her mouth.
“Now I have to go to the ladies room to fix myself back up,” she says.
“You don’t need it,” I say, kissing her cheek as we arrive at the host stand.
“Good evening, Mr. Jackson,” the woman says. “If you’re ready we can seat you now.”
“Come on,” I tell Emily, taking her hand. “You look perfect.”
Her eyes are darting around the space, taking it all in. “I guess it’s dark enough that you can’t see if my face is all red now.”
I didn’t think Emily was the type to really worry about this stuff, but as we walk across the restaurant at the top of the Prudential Center and overlooking all of Boston, she looks a bit self-conscious.
“This view is amazing,” Emily says once we’re seated at a round table in a quiet corner near the window. I love watching her see and do things for the first time. It’s not just the wonder in her eyes, but the appreciation of what she’s seeing. It’s something I have lost over the years. I’m so used to certain things, like the view from the top of one of the tallest buildings in Boston. I’ve been in this restaurant more times than I can count, for business luncheons and a date or two over the years.
Emily turns to me, her face bright with childish excitement. “Look! You’re not looking!”
“I’m looking.”
She rolls her eyes. Pointing dramatically at the window she demands, “There.”
“Give me your hand first,” I say. Her face softened as she rests her hand on the table and I take it in mine. We look out at the view, the night darkening into rich blues and yellow, the lights of the city beginning to sparkle.
As the courses begin rolling in and we’re finishing our first bottle of champagne, Emily says, “This is all too much. You didn’t have to do this.”
“Do what?” I ask.
She motions around the room. “It’s so fancy! You could have taken me to a pizza joint and I would have been happy.”
“Would you rather have gone to a pizza place?” Earlier in the evening she’d kept looking around the room, and not at the beauty of the décor but I think at the other women and how they were dressed. She kept fussing with the straps on her dress, or tugging down the hem. When the salad was served she waited for me to pick up the proper fork before picking up her own.
“No,” she says. “I mean, I know this amazing place in the South End but good pizza really can’t compare to these scallops. They melt in my mouth like butter.”
“One thing you can be sure of,” I say, “is that when you’re with me, you’ll always eat well.”
“So what if we want a late-night snack?” she asks. “Are we going to come back up here?”
“They have a late-night menu in the lounge,” I say.
She laughs and shakes her head. “You do not live in the real world.”
“Sure I do. It’s just an alternate version.”
“Exactly,” she says. She takes a sip of her champagne, watching me closely. “Give me some of that lobster.”
“Whatever you want,” I say, feeding it to her, watching her wrap her lips around the fork just she did at Prime & Tender. “Admit it. You like this world.”
She savors the lobster for a moment—it’s truly the best I’ve ever had, so tender and fresh.
“This is nice, don’t get me wrong,” she says. “But this all the time? It’s unnecessary.”
“I’m starting to rethink my plans for the second half of the evening.”
“There’s more?” I nod yes.
“Emily, this is only dinner. The real surprise is afterward.”
“What, your place?” Her foot reaches over to my leg under the table, touching me lightly, letting me know what she’s thinking.
“Well, I wouldn’t be opposed to that afterward,” I say. “But there’s something right after dinner that I have planned.”
“You’re spoiling me,” she says. The grin that plays on her lips says she likes it.
“You deserve it,” I tell her. “Watching you experience this stuff is worth it.”
“I don’t know if I could ever get used to it,” she says, gazing out at the view.
“What do you mean?” I ask, curious. She seems to be saying something bigger, about the future. We haven’t talked about a future or a true commitment—although I’m totally committed to her in a way I’ve never been with a woman—but I’ve already felt that we could work out. We could be together for the long term. Fine, marriage. I barely let myself think that word since it’s something I’ve never thought about for myself. I know it would be easy in the sense that it could fix things for work but I don’t want to exploit Emily, or push her into something for my own benefit. But Emily makes me think about those things. With Emily, I can see that kind of future. Now, though, is she saying she can’t see it?
“I don’t know,” she says. “I was just raised more simply, that a meal at home is more meaningful than at a table floating above the city. That’s why we have Sunday brunches. I don’t go out to my parent’s place in Lexington every weekend but I go as often as I can, and so do my brother and sister. It’s casual, nothing fancy, but some of my best memories are from sitting around that table, eating food we cooked ourselves.”
“I cooked for you.” I have to admit, I’m feeling a bit defensive. Does she not like what I have to offer her?
“I know,” she says, reaching out for my hand. “I’m not saying…I don’t know what I’m saying but I’m pretty sure I sound like a jerk. Jackson, this is incredible. I love it. No one has ever treated me like this. It makes me feel…special.”
“You are special,” I tell her, kissing her hand. “You deserve to be treated to the best views and the best food and the best wine. The best of everything.”
“I’m not sure if I deserve all of that,” she says.
“I can cancel the second half of tonight if you want me to,” I say, praying she won’t actually do that.
“No,” she says. Now her face is light and full of mischief. “I want that surprise. I can’t wait to see what you’ve drummed up.”
“I think you’ll like it,” I tease her. “If you’re not too much of a snob about it.”
“I’m not a snob!” she says, leaning toward me, her scent wafting over me.
“Come here,” I say. She leans closer and I kiss her lips because her protests are too cute.
“How can I be a snob if I’m broke?” she says.
“Emily Brown, may I suggest a theory?”
“What?” she says, tipping back her champagne flute.
“I think you might be prejudice against people of wealth.”
She almost chokes on the ch
ampagne.
“That’s not even a thing,” she says when she recovers.
“Sure it is,” I say with total seriousness. “You look down on people with money.”
“You are people with money. I wouldn’t be here if that were true.”
“Maybe you’re gathering evidence. Maybe you’re using me to find all the terrible things I do with my money so that you can report back to the middle class.” I quite like joking with her, but when I look at her I see that her face has changed.
“Jackson, I really hope you don’t think I’m using you,” she says. “I would never do that. I didn’t mean to act unappreciative…”
“Stop,” I say, reaching out for her again. I shift in my seat and lean in closer to her face. “I don’t think that for a second. I promise.”
“Because I could sit in the Public Gardens with you and watch the ducks and I’d be just as happy.”
“Emily,” I say. “I like taking you out. I like watching you experience things you’ve never seen or done. It makes me happy. Okay?”
She nods and leans toward me to seal it with a kiss. I keep her hands in mine, loving their warmth.
I’m really starting to believe that everything is going to work out—with Emily and the company and Father’s deathbed demands.
Later, once dinner is finished (“No dessert,” I tell Emily. “Not here, anyway.”), we take the private car just a few blocks to one of the city’s most elegant resident hotels. Emily thinks we’re getting a room for the night, but I remind her that I have plenty of my own rooms, and more than enough privacy. “But this place,” I tell her, “has one thing I don’t.”
“I literally can’t even imagine what that is,” she says, but she looks excited, ready for the game.
Once again we take the elevator to the top floor, but this one isn’t quite as high—only twenty-eight stories high.
When the doors open at the top, we step into a warm dim glow of light.
“Good evening, Mr. Jackson, Ms. Brown,” the woman who greets us says. There’s a gentleman with a tray nearby with two glasses of champagne. I say hello and take the champagne, handing one to Emily.
“I hope you like the surprise,” I say. I want her to be impressed, by how I treat her and I suppose what I can give her, even if she says she’s not really into all this stuff. It’s the only way I know how to show how I feel.
“I’m with you, aren’t I?” she says. “Nothing else matters.”
And that’s why she’s got my heart so hooked on her.
The greeter directs Emily into a nearby dressing and me into the other side. I told them to do this, to keep us separated while we changed. I wanted to give her a moment alone to collect herself and, I don’t know, do any of the odd things I imagine women must do to fix themselves up when they’re on a date. Plus, I knew being apart to take our clothes off would heighten her curiosity.
“Are we getting a massage or something?” she asks when she meets me in her plush robe and slippers, looking so adorable I almost can’t handle it.
“No,” I say. “Maybe later though, if you’re good.”
I take her hand and guide her through the space and out onto the terrace, where I have had the building’s heated pool closed off to all the residents and hotel guests. Candles line the pool’s perimeter, the lights glow electric, and the hot tub bubbles. The city’s view is dark and sparkling and we are the only two people in the world.
“Jackson,” she says. Her face washes with wonder. It makes me smile, which I’ve been doing a lot of since I met Emily. “You are out of your mind.”
“I know it’s a little cool outside,” I say, “but the pool is heated and there’s the hot tub too. Summer may be over but you can still get wet.”
She pauses from her awe and gives me a look. “Very funny.” Still, she wraps her arms around me and says, “This is the coolest thing anyone has ever done for me. Thank you, Jackson Croft.”
“You’re very welcome,” I say, and kiss her. I didn’t plan to do anything but swim a little here—it was more the thought of the pool than the actual swimming—but knowing how little she has on underneath that robe, if anything at all, is already making me pretty anxious. “Do you want to get in?”
“Definitely,” she says. I watch her walk to the pool steps. She takes off the slippers and begins to untie her robe. She looks over at me. “You coming?”
“I want to watch you first,” I say.
She slowly lets the ties of the robe fall by the side. She opens the robe, exposing her smooth skin and the curve of her breasts, and I actually sort of love that she’s still wearing her underwear. I’ll get them off soon enough. She pulls something off her wrist and uses it to pull her hair back, twisting it up in a knot on top of her head.
She slowly steps down into the water.
“It’s so warm,” she says. “Feels so good.” She dips down to her shoulders so that I can’t see the rest of her body. “Are you coming? Or are you going to make me do this alone?”
“I’m definitely coming,” I say, moving to the edge, closer to her. “Take off your bra. I don’t want to be the only one topless.”
She swirls in the water like a nymph, turning her back on me. She looks over her shoulder at me before unhooking her bra and tosses it on the ground. She keeps the water to her shoulders, still hiding from me.
“You have to get in if you want to see more,” she says.
I take off my robe and slip in from the edge and swim over to her. I gather her body up in my arms and she wraps her legs around my waist. We kiss, our tongues slipping against each other. With my hand at the back of her neck I push her face closer into mine, always wanting more of her.
Her full bare breasts feel so soft and plush up against my hard chest. I’d rather have them in my mouth, though, so I break away from her sweet mouth and bury my face in those mounds. She pulls closer to me, wanting more from me. I intend to give her everything, even if it takes all night.
I suck on her hard nipple, the perfect little nub, holding her breast in my hand. Moans are already coming from her, which only makes me more eager to give. Her nails are clawing at my back. I know she’s leaving marks but I don’t feel any pain. Only pleasure.
I move our bodies in unison to the side of the pool, Emily’s back to the edge. I’m sucking and licking at her nipples, first one then quickly to the other, holding and massaging them. Emily holds tight around my waist and moves her hands to her tits, gathering them underneath, pushing them together and up toward me, telling me without words to take more of them. I continue to feast on her until I can’t take anymore because I need more. Always more from her body.
I reach down in the water between us and, without teasing or hesitation, I use my fingers to move aside her panties and feel the walls of her pussy, wet with her own juices. As she moves her hips the water rolls over her stomach, rocking the pool gently. I pump slowly, because of the friction of the water, but maybe it’s better that way. It forces me to take my time, really watch her face writhe in pleasure. When I slip in a second finger she cries out.
“Yes,” she says. “More. Deeper.”
“Is this not enough for you?” I keep the slow pump of my fingers in her, in then out, in then out.
“Yes, but…”
“What, Emily? Tell me.”
“I want more.”
“Do you want another finger?” I ask. I don’t stop sliding my fingers in her warm cunt. “Or something else?”
She moans, her eyes closed, head dipping back, and hips grinding down on my hand.
“Another finger,” she tells me. “Please.”
I slip out just enough to add a third finger to her tight opening. I edge up inside her slowly, working her open, carefully stretching her walls. But I know she’s ready. She can take it. I push my fingers up inside her up to my knuckles, then back down to start again as she cries out her pleasure.
I pull her back in closer so my mouth can take over her tits again. I fin
gers work her cunt, slowly but deliberately as my mouth sucks her nipple. My teeth pull on her and I lap all over her breasts like a wild animal. I push my hand up, deep inside her, and stop, moving my fingers inside her. Her eyes pop open and she’s holding on for dear life now. My thumb finds her clit, so swollen and neglected, and I rub it as my fingers work inside her. She can’t take it anymore. Her pussy clenches over my hand as her body tenses up, her nails digging into my skin. She contracts again and again, coming all over my hand.
She goes practically limp in my arms. I slip my fingers out of her and hold her while she catches her breath. She lifts her head, wraps her arms around my neck and kisses me so deeply, exploring my mouth like her tongue has never been there before, that I get even more excited than I was one minute ago. My cock is straining against my boxer briefs, begging to be touched. Thankfully Emily knows exactly what I need, and as she continues to devour my mouth, her hand slips down between us, her palm flat on my stomach, past the elastic of the briefs, easily finding the head of my cock.
Now it’s my turn to moan. She works my cock slowly, her tiny hand taking as much of me as she can.
“Emily, I really need to fuck you,” I say, covering her neck and the top of her chest with kisses. “Right now. I have to have you.”
“So take me,” she says, always so willing.
“I want to fuck you hard,” I tell her. “And then I want to take you back to my place and make love to you all night. Will you let me do that?”
“Yes, Jackson,” she says. “I want that.”
“Do you want me to fuck you?”
“Fuck me, Jackson,” she says. “Fuck me hard.”
God, that’s it. I’m going to blow if I don’t do it. But the water will slow me down too much, so I take Emily, still wrapped around me, her hand still stroking my dick, over to the step. We step out together, a bit awkwardly since we’re still all over each other, her hand on my dick, mine roaming over her curves as my mouth runs over the silkiness of her skin.
Now that the water isn’t a factor, Emily starts pumping me faster.
I lead us over to the side, in the dark where the showers are. I can see the chills on Emily’s skin from the night air so I turn on the water and make sure it’s warm and not too hot. Then I move her under the stream. I strip down my boxer briefs and she does the same with her panties.