by Isabel Jolie
Impatient, I push the elevator button again, and my skin tingles. I whip around. Jackson approaches. Wrinkled shirt, tired eyes, briefcase slung bicycle style across his chest, curving around the slope of his pectoral muscle. He grins. “You can push the button as many times as you like, but it doesn’t speed the elevator up.”
Funny man. I grin back at him.
“You just now getting back from the office?” he asks.
“Yeah. Helping out on a new business pitch.” The elevator dings, the door opens, and we both enter.
Jackson presses our floor. As the doors close, his dark hazel eyes roam my body. Goosebumps rise along my arms. He looks at me like he wants to devour me. I swallow. His power suit fits him well and screams successful. A tie hangs loosely from his neck, and the top button of his shirt is unbuttoned. A five o’clock shadow darkens his face. Damn. So hot. Attraction to a friends with benefits partner is normal. Right? I mean, why else have benefits? This is why we’re doing this. High levels of attraction. No issues.
The elevator rises. He takes two steps forward and grasps my neck, pulling me to him. He kisses me with a passion and longing so intense it knocks the breath out of me. A surge of heat flushes through my core, and my panties dampen. I reach up, pulling him tighter to me, trying to rub my needy channel against him, seeking release. His hand moves up my shirt, onto my breast, and his thumb flicks across my nipple.
The elevator dings, and we stumble apart.
Wordlessly, he follows me into my apartment. It’s a work night, and it’s late, the disciplined part of me scolds, telling me I shouldn’t let this happen. Before I blink, my alarm will be going off, telling me it’s time for my run. But the carefree part of me that wants to live life tells me to go with it and enjoy it. My traitorous body begs for release.
Jackson drops his briefcase, grabs my hand, and pulls me toward the bedroom. He closes the door on Chewie as she tries to follow.
We rip clothes off each other as if it’s been weeks since we’ve been together and not mere days. In minutes, we’re both naked, clothes scattered across the floor, our hands roaming each other’s body. My hand wraps around his hard erection, stroking. His finger dips into me, finding me wet and ready.
He carries me to the wall and lifts me, wrapping my legs around his waist. He positions himself at my entrance, and with one powerful push, slides full hilt into me. Against the wall, he’s deeper. He fills me. I moan, the pressure and fullness a welcome sensation. Slowly, he slides in and out then increases his pace, hammering me against the wall. Holy shit. So hot. His body presses against my clit with each thrust. I convulse, my muscles tightening from the strain and the ecstasy. I scream, “Jacks! Right there. Right...” My muscles contract, throb and quake. He pinches my nipple, and I scream louder from the initial pain and the intensity he brought to my orgasm by doing so. His mouth comes down over mine, his tongue plunging, demanding, as his thrusts became quicker and more urgent. His back arches, and he thrusts one last time as he finds his release. His head falls to my shoulder as his cock pulses deep within me.
My legs slowly fall to the floor, trembling. He picks me up, sends throw pillows flying, pulls back the covers, lays me in bed, and kisses me. The tender touch is a stark contrast to the animal pounding from moments before.
He goes to the other side of the bed and pulls back the covers, sliding in.
What’s he doing? Is he planning on staying here? Not part of the plan.
He rests his back against my headboard and pulls me up against his chest. His fingers play with my hair, sending tingling sensations down my back. “You are incredible.” He angles my head up, forcing my eyes to meet his. “You doing okay?”
I’m fine, but sleeping over is not in the cards. He’s not worried about emotions developing. He’s a guy. But if I have any hope of keeping this at a friends game level, then I can’t hold him after having sex. I need the space. The reminder it’s a physical release, nothing more. At the same time, kicking him out of my bed doesn’t seem right. I’m not the kind of woman who fucks someone and kicks them out of the bed.
He sighs and rubs a hand over his face. “I didn’t use a condom. I’m sorry. I didn’t think about anything other than getting inside of you.” He places a soft kiss on my forehead. “I never do that. Do you still have your IUD?”
Oh, shit. I forgot the condom. I know better. “Yeah.” I had an IUD inserted freshman year in college, and I’ve never had it removed. “Um, I’m clean.” I had gone and gotten tested after my blackout night with Nick. With no memory of the night, I had no idea if he’d used a condom and had no desire to discuss the night to that level of detail with him.
“I’m clean too. It’s been a while since I’ve been with anyone else. Shit, I’m so sorry. I lost control, got carried away.”
“It’s okay.” I caress the strong lines of his toned chest then circle my thumb around his nipple. I’ve watched him toy with mine a few times now. The sensation always turns me on, intensifies my arousal. I press a kiss to his chest. “We both kind of lost our minds.” Feeling a little timid, I bury my face against his throat, breathing him in. A hint of his cedar soap comes through, as well as the much stronger scent of our sex. “Maybe we just needed to blow off some steam. Tough work week and all.”
His hand runs through my hair. He kisses me on my mouth, then my forehead, the tip of my nose, then brushes his lips across mine. “Yeah, maybe. So, IUD still?”
I settle against him, resting my head on his chest. “Yeah. I have a ten-year non-hormonal one. So, it’s still in. The failure rates on the pill aren’t good. I don’t trust myself to remember the pill at the same time every day.” I pinch his nipple, teasing. “I remember you asking me why I didn’t use the pill like the other college girls.”
“It might make me an ignorant fool, but I’ve never researched birth control stats. But then again, I’ve always used condoms and felt covered.” He pauses. “Pun intended.”
I lean down and nip his nipple, teasing him. He tickles me a bit until I settle back into his chest. “Well, you can be happy your friends with benefits partner has done her research. But, um, as nice as this feels right now, I don’t think you staying over is a good idea.” I don’t want to hurt his feelings, but I’ve got to be firm on this. This crazy scheme we have going can only work if we aren’t spending the night together, and lying here naked in his arms feels too good, too comfortable.
“Really? You want me to head home? You don’t like having someone sleeping in your bed?” He sounds curious, even surprised. Something tells me he’s used to his hookups wanting to stay the night. It’s definitely more of a normal girl reaction. When the girl is seeking a relationship.
“It’s not that. It just feels like a slippery slope. Right now, we’re friends with benefits. Great benefits. Don’t get me wrong. But if we start staying over at each other’s places, running in the morning, hanging out on weekends, where will we draw the line?” Past experience creates a nagging teacher. I know all too well how easily one can find herself with a boyfriend, without a single conversation. He doesn’t want a relationship, but still. If we expect friends with benefits to work, we’ve got to limit cuddling and keep emotions in check.
Jackson squints and frowns. “I guess we’ve taken the next step, and we’re sitting here talking after sex. You haven’t jumped out of the bed. But I think sometimes we will stay over, and we can agree it doesn’t mean anything. If one weekend I get to do everything with you I want, I’m not going to have the energy to walk back to my place. And I do like to snuggle sometimes afterward.”
As he says this, I realize he hasn’t stopped touching me. He’s drawn me close to him, our naked bodies lying against each other. Yes, he has a roaming hand and a snuggle side. But I have to figure out how to convince him, because I’m right. It’s too easy to slip. For me to slip.
“Look, I care about you, Anna, but I don’t have time to dedicate to a relationship. You don’t have to worry about falling into a
relationship with me. It’s not gonna happen.”
I flinch at his statement. Yes, he’s addressing my unspoken fear, but his direct statement hits hard. I don’t want a relationship either. Why does his honesty hurt?
I lower my head onto his chest and listen to his heartbeat. The sound calms my pain and soothes my vulnerability.
“What was so bad about the relationship you were in?”
“Well, it lasted four years. I was miserable. I don’t like who I am when I’m in a relationship. I become submissive. A lot like my mom. I never went out, lost my high school friends, and never found any real college friends. I did exactly what he wanted me to do. My mom was the same way with my dad. I hated it. I don’t even know how I ended up dating Evan. It was like we went out on two dates, and he started introducing me as his girlfriend without us ever talking about it. I wasn’t happy about it, but I went along with it, not wanting to hurt him and taking the easiest path. Our parents were super close. My parents loved him. Our parents loved us together. Our families did stuff together all the time. I had a hard time finding the courage to stand up to my parents and end things with him.”
I pause, hating I sound weak. Anyone else would have just ended the relationship. Anyone else wouldn’t have stayed in a relationship as the best years of her life passed by. But I hadn’t been able to do the right thing. To end things. A public marriage proposal forced me to stand up for myself. To decide, in that case, I needed to be selfish.
I take deep breaths, remembering the past. My mistakes. My head still on his chest, his fingers entwined with mine.
“I’m twenty-six. I want to listen to bands on the weekends. I want to enjoy New York when I have extra time. I want a career. I’m not ready to get married and move to the ’burbs. I don’t want the ’burbs. I don’t even know if I want kids.” At this point, the tone of my voice hits a high pitch, not unlike a whiny kid.
“Okay. Okay. I hear you. You’re committed to not dating. Although, for the record, there is such a thing as a healthy relationship. A relationship where two independent individuals make it work. And dating doesn’t mean an immediate move to the ’burbs.”
“I know. In theory. But I don’t trust myself. If I’m dating someone and he tells me he wants a relationship, I’m the kind of person who will say yes, whether I want it or not.” Honest. It sucks. Such a pleaser, always trying not to ruffle feathers or hurt feelings. Anna, the girl everyone likes. Somehow, it’s ingrained in me. Growing up, teachers thought it was wonderful how kind I was to other kids. Always the peacemaker. Kids could steal my cookies, and I’d never get upset. I’d say that was fine and smile and forget about it. But really, it wasn’t okay for kids to be pilfering through my lunch.
I stretch, leaning my body into him as I reach to fondle his hair. I love the feel of his hair in my fingers. “What about you? Bad relationship in the past?”
His hand glides down my arm, giving me goosebumps. He traces my stomach, my bellybutton, and then caresses my breast. I clench my center, and moisture gushes. My body reacts to his touch, every single time. His hand works magic as he talks. “No. I don’t have the time. Making partner requires crazy hours. To some degree, it’s all about how many hours you clock. I want to make name partner by the time I’m forty. Once I’m partner, I’ll have more time. But I don’t have the time for a relationship with the hours I work. I’ve tried. It gets ugly. Not worth it.”
He sounds sincere. My fingers graze the hard stubble along his jaw. “Do you think we can pull this off? Sex and friends? Not wanting too much from each other?”
His phone vibrates, and he reaches over to read the incoming text before responding. “I think we can. It sounds like our friends with benefits arrangement is perfect for both of us. And I won’t stay tonight. But one day, I might. It doesn’t have to mean more than we want it to.”
Right.
He leans down and kisses me then rolls on top of me, rubbing his body against mine. His erection presses against my belly, and I wrap my legs around him.
“If we aren’t going to be using protection, then you can’t fuck anyone else.” I’m not familiar with the rules concerning friends with benefits and exclusivity, but we can’t be going bare unless we have a commitment to be exclusive.
He shifts, lining his cock up with my wet entrance, sighing. “I don’t want to fuck anyone else, Anna. Only you.”
I tilt my hips, encouraging him to enter, as he teases my wet folds with his tip. I watch, mesmerized.
He groans. “I don’t want you with anyone else, either.”
“Okay.”
His hand slides between us and rubs circles over my clit. Heaven.
“Oh, Jackson.” Using my sultriest come-hither voice, I murmur, “So, round two?”
“Hell, yeah.”
Chapter 17
Anna
“The girls are out tonight!” Delilah belts out, pulling Stacy and me laughing toward the dance floor. We survived the manic, nonstop week. It’s Friday. After what had felt like one of the longest weeks at work ever, Delilah declared it a night to go out dancing. A cab delivered us to the House of Yes. It’s gonna be a good night.
The music pulses. Blue lights flash. Bodies hum. The packed dance floor throbs with a frenetic energy. This release, right here, is what I live for. The music pulses through my body, no cares or concerns to hold me back. Alive and young and free.
A college friend once told me I’d been born to dance in front of a band. I’d spent countless nights standing right in front of him and his band, jumping around, singing lyrics along with them, and dancing with the crowd. I’ll never forget those words because it’s my favorite thing anyone has ever said about me.
In New York, I’m as likely to be dancing in a club with a DJ as in front of a band. For bands, I prefer the small venues. The bands that haven’t hit the bigtime yet. Shows about the music, not spectacle. I love watching the band’s faces during the sets. The thrill of catching a bandmate’s eye. Sharing a mutual appreciation for the liberating moment delivered by their music.
A skinhead in black leather pants, black leather bracelets with silver spikes, a tight white t-shirt, and a nose ring dances up to me. He pulls my back to his front, his hands on my hips. We move to the beat together. After the song ends, we slip away from each other and find another dance partner. It doesn’t matter who I dance with. To me, dancing isn’t about meeting people, it’s about losing myself. Forgetting all my worries and letting go. Mr. Black Leather isn’t my type, and I’m pretty sure I’m not his either. Like me, he was there to dance. Likeminded hipsters pack the dance floor. Drag queens, men, women, grinding, groping, spinning. Lost in the music. Lost in the scene.
A song with a heavy techno beat and too much bass comes on, and I head to the bar. Songs I don’t like don’t come on too often at this club, but when they do, I take a hydration break. After getting a glass of water filled with ice, I stand back, searching the crowd to see if I can spot Delilah or Stacy.
I don’t see them, so I pull my phone out and check. No text from either of them, which means they haven’t been hunting for me. Three o’clock in the morning. I do have a couple of texts from Jackson.
Jackson: Hey, what are you up to tonight?
(sent at 10:30 p.m.)
Jackson: Are you still out?
(sent at 12:30 a.m.)
I smile. He’s worried about me. Did I tell him I was going out tonight? Wait. It doesn’t matter if I told him or not. We’re not dating, and I don’t owe him a thing. He needs to understand our little arrangement doesn’t give him dictatorial rights to my activities. I have no interest in having someone in my life telling me what to do.
Women in tight dresses and sky-high heels writhe on the dance floor. The lights blur, the edges of this massive cavern dark. My first dance comes to mind. The dancers’ apparel differs, but the lights, the loud music, the cavernous room with dark edges bear a similarity.
Prom night. My senior year. Evan tugs on my hand. �
�Let’s get out of here. You’ve got a promise to fulfill.” His eyes are dark, hungry. I watch the scene in front of me, longing to dance with my friends.
“We just got here. This will be our only prom. You didn’t want to go last year. Please? Just a few dances.”
He tugs me to him, grinds his erection against me. “You promised. Tonight’s the night. I’ve been waiting for two years, Anna baby. Why do you want to hang with these losers? Let’s go.”
I push the memory away. Tonight, I’m dancing. I shove the phone into my clutch and shimmy back onto the dance floor.
Hours later, Delilah circles her arm around my waist. Stacy shakes her booty on my other side, and another friend, Elle, dances in front of us. I hadn’t even realized Elle was here. The music shifts, signaling the end of the night. This DJ likes to throw in singalong type songs right before closing. Hey, Bartender comes on, and we dance in our circle, belting out the lyrics. Once the oldies hit, we know the lights will be coming on soon. The floor has cleared out, leaving us with much more room. Only extremely inebriated or strung-out dancers remain.
The four of us giggle our way out of the club and jerk back immediately when the door opens to the street. Our hands shield our eyes, like vampires fearing the rising sun’s rays. What time is it? I glance at my watch. “Holy shit, girls! It’s after six a.m.! When was the last time we closed out a club?”
Delilah giggles and falls straight down to her knees. Oh, shit. She didn’t stick with water. Stacy and I each pick a side and loop her arms around our shoulders. Elle giggles, sways a bit, and stumbles.
Stacy and I look at each other, Delilah between us. Which of us is going to take Elle? And can one of us manage D?