by Roxie Noir
I fumble my way through the conversation. By the end, I’ve exchanged information with most of the people there. As Bruce and I are heading back to our hotel, I realize: I just networked.
“Got any plans for tonight?” he asks while we’re on the elevator.
“I’m bushed, so I’m just gonna turn in,” I say.
Did you just say bushed? I think. Come on, Lula-Mae.
He nods.
“These early flights are killer,” he says. “See you tomorrow.”
I’m not actually bushed. I don’t turn in. Instead, I wait around for another twenty minutes and then sneak down the back stairs. I walk two blocks and get a taxi at a different hotel and take it to the Mandalay Bay. I check that I’ve got Jackson’s key about twenty times, and by the time I’m walking through the lobby I’m practically a warm puddle.
When I walk up to twenty-oh-eight, I’m strangely nervous. He could have another reporter in there, or some of his friends, or worst of all, another girl. Deep down I know he wouldn’t — he gave me his room key, for crying out loud — but we’ve never actually talked about whether we’re exclusive or not, and sometimes my stupid brain won’t quit.
I knock. No answer. I knock louder, but there’s still nothing. It’s almost nine, so he’s probably just not back yet.
I unlock the door and enter. The suite is totally dark as I step inside. After a moment, my eyes adjust and I can see pretty well. It’s not huge, just a living room and a bedroom with a massive bed, but it’s nice. The windows look out over the strip, and from here I can see the light at the top of the Luxor and the Eiffel Tower at Paris.
I turn on a few lights and walk through. The bed is made, but Jackson’s got his stuff lightly strewn around: jeans draped over a chair, shirt balled up on the seat, his protective vest on the desk, a hat on the table. I feel a little nosy being there with his stuff and not him, but I’m also curious. For all the time we’ve sort of spent together, I’ve never been in a place where he lived, or even where he was staying.
It’s strangely nice to be near his stuff, kind of warm and oddly comforting. Like a giant weirdo, I pick up his shirt and smell it.
It smells like the last time I kissed him, outside the bucking chute at Pioneer Days. I toss it back onto the chair and walk into the other room. My panties are probably soaked through already with pure anticipation, and I try to calm myself down as I flop into an overstuffed leather chair.
Then I look down at myself and get an idea.
Why not? I think.
I strip down to my cowboy boots and thong. Almost naked, I go back into the bedroom, grab the hat off the table, and put it on. I turn out most of the lights, get back in the chair, and hope Jackson hurries up.
I’m there for another twenty minutes. Just when I’m wondering if I should put my shirt back on or something, I hear the sound of the door being unlocked.
I hold my breath. The stupid, anxious part of my brain says what if you’re coming on too strong, but I swat it down.
The door closes.
“Hello?” Jackson says.
My toes curl inside my boots, and nerves tighten my chest.
“In here,” I call.
“The dinner went late,” he says. “I kept trying to leave, but — holy fucking shit, Lula-Mae.”
He stops in the doorway and stares. I kick my feet up.
“Howdy,” I say, suddenly not nervous anymore.
Jackson grins slowly and tosses his jacket onto the couch. He’s just looking at me like he’s memorizing my body, his eyes slowly raking over me. There’s already a bulge in his pants, and I am throbbing with excitement.
“I found your room,” I say.
“You made yourself right at home,” he says, stopping five feet away from where I’m practically writhing in this chair.
“I had a key,” I tease. “I thought I’d get comfortable.”
He’s still just staring, a deeply hungry look in his eyes.
“Are you gonna come over here or what?” I ask, leaning my head against the arm rest.
“I’m just appreciating,” he says.
“Appreciate closer,” I say. “You’ve done enough looking lately.”
“But now I get to look while you’re here,” he says. “Did you know you’re even sexier when you’re naked in my hotel room?”
I move a little, arching my back and stretching my legs. I feel like I’m in a pinup shoot or something, but my brain is not in control right now. I just want him to come over here, for the love of god.
“I need you to come touch me,” I say.
Jackson’s eyes flash dangerously and his grin falters.
“Say it again,” he says, his voice dropping.
“Get over here and touch me, Jackson,” I whisper. That’s all it takes.
He closes the distance, and then he’s leaning over me, his body against mine. He crushes his mouth against mine, insistent with need, and I wrap my legs around him and arch my back.
Jackson groans and I bite his lip as he pulls back. His hand tightens around my hip, his fingers digging into me, and he laughs.
“I missed that,” he says.
“Getting bitten?” I ask.
“I missed getting bitten,” he says, and kisses me again, hard, the bulge in his pants pressing deliciously against me. “I missed the noises you make. I missed your body under mine.”
I don’t know what to say, so I kiss him again. I’ve got one hand in his hair, pressing his face to mine and I slide the other down his chest and find the hard length in his jeans, my body running on pure desire. I get a growl from deep in his chest so I squeeze.
“I missed that,” he growls.
Then his lips are on my neck, on my collarbone and then he’s biting one nipple just hard enough to make me shout. Jackson slides off the chair as my hands find the buttons on his shirt and fumble with them.
Now he’s on his knees and I’m half off the chair, his mouth on one nipple as he pulls his own shirt off. I watch, panting for breath, and run one hand over his hard, muscled chest, his abs, his scar and his lucky tattoo.
He pulls my panties off with one yank and reaches down, sliding two fingers around my clit so tightly it makes my toes curl, and I fall off the chair a little more.
“Oh my god,” I gasp. He teases my nipple with his tongue and moves his fingers down, nudging at my entrance as I arch my back.
“I love how wet you are,” he says. “You were just in here, thinking about fucking me, weren’t you?”
“What else was I going to think about?” I say.
His fingers move over my clit again and my whole body jerks with the sheer, impossible pleasure of it.
“This is all I’ve thought about for a week,” I say.
“Just a week?” he says.
Now I’m on the floor too, Jackson kneeling between my legs. I grab his belt and pull, and he takes the hint and gets his pants off, kicking them halfway across the room, his cock springing out at full mast. I grab it and he groans as I stroke him.
“Better than your hand?” I ask.
He slides his hands under my ass and squeezes. Then he lifts me, the muscles in his arms bulging. I wrap my legs around his waist, my back against the seat of the chair.
“Do you know how hard it was today to see you and do nothing?” I murmur. “You can’t look at me like that in public, Jackson.”
“Like what?” he teases.
“You can’t eye-fuck me while everyone’s staring at you in the arena,” I say. “I was dangerously close to jumping in and tearing your clothes off.”
“Sounds okay to me,” he says.
“Your other fans might stone me to death.”
“They’d have to get through me first,” he says.
I move my hips and the tip of his cock nudges against my clit, pleasure quaking through me. Jackson puts his lips against my ear.
“I got tested,” he says. “I’m clean, but I brought the paperwork if you want to see it.”
<
br /> “You think I’m gonna stop this to look at paperwork?” I ask.
“Well, I was hoping not,” he says. He takes a deep breath and runs his lips along my jaw.
I think I might explode with desire and anticipation.
“I meant to make this romantic,” he says. “I was gonna put on some Barry White and undress you real slow and seduce you right for once.”
I lean our foreheads together, then move my hips against him, pushing the head of his cock into my entrance.
“Seduce me later,” I whisper. “Right now I need you inside me.”
Jackson thrusts and sinks himself inside me, pushing my back against the chair as we both moan.
“Oh fuck, Lula-Mae,” Jackson says, his head against my shoulder. “This feels better than I remembered.”
I wrap my arms tight around his shoulders as he moves inside me.
“It’s because I finally talked you into barebacking,” I murmur into his ear.
He goes slow at first, and I can feel him holding back, trying to be gentle. His cock hits every single sensitive spot inside me again and again, and I feel like my entire body is lit like a string of Christmas lights, burning hot and bright.
I turn my head and nip at Jackson’s ear, and he growls, thrusting harder.
“I missed this,” I whisper.
Harder.
I make a noise that’s half-moan, half-whimper, and Jackson puts his forehead against mine again, our faces together.
“You missed my cock?” he says.
He slams into me and white-hot pleasure bolts through me, from the crown of my head to my toes. I nearly shout.
“I definitely missed your cock,” I gasp, and Jackson chuckles. He’s going impossibly deep with every thrust, and I know I’m close to the brink, ready to go over any second.
“I’ll never get tired of hearing you say that,” he murmurs.
“Of me saying I like fucking you?” I ask.
Now I’ve got both my hands on his face, a fireball gathering inside me that’s going to explode any moment.
“Can I come inside you?” he asks.
“Please,” I whisper. “Let me feel you come.”
He thrusts one more time and there I am at the edge. I grip Jackson’s shoulders as tight as I can, our faces pressed together.
“Oh god, Jackson,” I whisper, and then I come.
I come so hard that everything goes white and silent for a moment, and then someone is shouting “Jackson!” and I’m nearly knocked breathless as my whole body contracts with wave after wave of pleasure. I think I’m saying, “Oh god, Jackson,” over and over, and then he’s squeezing my hips so hard it hurts.
“I fucking love watching you come, Lula-Mae,” he growls, and then he’s deep inside me and I can feel his cock throb and then explode. I squeeze him as hard as I can between my legs and we rock together until he’s totally spent, sweat trickling down the back of his neck.
We’re both breathing hard, our faces still touching, and he kisses me again. This time it’s slow and sensual and we explore each other lazily until we finally pull away.
We untangle ourselves from each other and just sit on the floor, leaning against the chair. Jackson puts his arm around me, and I relax into him. He kisses the top of my head.
“You kiss your mother with that filthy mouth?” he asks.
I laugh.
“You’re one to talk, Jackson,” I say.
“Have I been a bad influence?” he says. “You haven’t asked me to do it with you since that first time.”
“Are you ever gonna let me live that down?” I tease.
“I don’t intend to, no,” he says.
I sigh dramatically, curled against him, warm and happy and tingly all over.
And for once, not worried about getting caught.
22
Jackson
After a couple minutes on the floor we get up, because the floor isn’t actually very comfortable. Mae yawns and stretches as she stands, then pads barefoot to the bathroom. I don’t even remember getting her boots off, but I guess we did.
“It’s like a Turkish bath in there,” she says when she comes out.
“What do you know about Turkish baths?” I ask.
“I’m very sophisticated,” she says, and walks past me.
The bathroom is nice, full of marble and mirrors though I’ve never been to a Turkish bath so I couldn’t say how much it’s like one. When I come out, Mae’s standing by the big window, looking out. I turn the lights in the room off so we can see better, walk over to her, and put my arms around her.
“This is a good view,” she says.
“You ever been to Vegas before?” I ask.
“Nope,” she says.
“I thought it was mandatory for every family in the west to drive through at least once,” I say. “We never stayed, but I went to a few of the cheap buffets on the outskirts when I was a kid.”
“Where were you going?” she asks.
“I don’t even remember,” I say. “Grand Canyon? California?”
Her skin is soft and warm against me, and her hair tickles my chin just a little. She’s leaning back into me and I feel almost like we’re melting together, perfectly relaxed and comfortable.
Right here, right now, nothing else matters.
“I’ve never been to California,” she says. “Which is weird, right? It’s not that far.”
“We could get in a car right now and go,” I say. “The state line is an hour away. Probably less. We’d make the ocean before sunrise.”
Mae laughs softly and leans her head back against my chest.
“Then what?” she asks.
“That depends on who’s in charge,” I say. “If it were me, I’d get a cooler of beer and we’d stay there all day, just the two of us. If it was you, I think we’d stick a foot in the water and then drive like hell to get back here so you could finish your job.”
“So you’d forfeit the last two days of the World Championships to hang out on the beach,” she says.
She turns her head and looks up at me, her deep blue eyes sparkling with mischief.
“Sure,” I say.
“Liar,” Mae teases. “You didn’t come all this way not to ride Crash Junction again.”
I laugh.
“You got me,” I say. “We’re gonna have to put off our fantasy beach vacation until after I win.”
I let myself think for a moment that we’ll go. I know we can’t, because Mae’s job isn’t over until the photos are with her editors, and if I’m lucky, I’ll have days of press conferences and meetings and awards ceremonies.
Still. The two of us, waves lapping at our feet, clinking beers together on the sand. It’s a good thought. We stare out the window together, my arms around her.
“We could go to Paris and Venice without leaving the Strip,” I say.
“I always thought the clanging of slot machines was so romantic,” she murmurs.
“Well, if you aren’t gonna let me whisk you off to the ocean, it’s the next best thing,” I tease.
“There’s nothing between casinos and running away together at midnight?” she asks, laughing.
“The Venetian has canals,” I say. “Though you can’t go in them. Trust me on that.”
She raises her eyebrows and looks up at me expectantly.
“I was drunk,” I say.
“Sounds unusual,” she teases.
“I was drunk and Clay dared me to jump in and swim to the other side,” I say. “But those things are about two feet deep, so instead I just pulled him in and he pulled in Raylan and before I knew it, the canal had twenty people in it and we were all getting escorted out.”
“Most of the twenty people being girls,” Mae says.
“Right,” I say. “I’m barred from the Venetian for life, but it’s not like they’ve got my face posted at the doors.”
“Maybe instead of going to California tonight I should just get the full Jackson Cody Debauchery
Tour of Vegas,” she teases. “You know how to party, after all.”
She sounds perfectly lighthearted, but something small and heavy starts gathering in the pit of my stomach. I haven’t exactly been an angel, after all. I haven’t even been one halfway.
“That’s a long tour,” I say.
“What, you don’t want me to see it?”
“I think you probably need to tie one on if you’re gonna dance on a table,” I say. “Otherwise, it ain’t really the debauchery tour.”
“So I can’t just watch some other girl dance on a table while I sip club soda?” she asks.
“I’d much rather watch you dance on a table,” I say.
“The tour’s for me, not you,” she teases. “I’m the one getting drunk, dancing with girls, and jumping into fountains. You’re just my guide.”
I swallow. My stomach squirms, thinking about all the other women, because there have been a lot. I think Mae knows, but I’m beginning to realize I’m not sure she really does.
If she did, would she have ever slept with me in the first place?
She deserves somebody better, I think. Somebody who at least knows the names of all the girls he’s slept with.
“You okay?” she asks.
I blink.
“You’re the only one,” I blurt out.
She half-laughs.
“I kind of assumed that when you gave me your room key,” she says, but her voice has gone a little stiff. “It would be pretty awkward if I walked in on you and someone else.”
“I mean since we met,” I say, and I swallow hard. “The second time, not the first.”
She wraps her arms around herself, and I can see goosebumps rising on her arms.
“Can we get in the bed? I’m freezing,” Mae says.
I grin at her.
“You don’t have to ask to get into my bed,” I say.
She walks past me and I swat her lightly on the ass. A moment later we’re under the covers, my arms around her.
“It’s not like I swore off men after that,” she says. “Just alcohol and breaking the rules. And, to be honest, I’m glad my first time wasn’t in the back of a pickup truck, in the middle of a party, while I was hammered.”
“I really did jerk off to that for years, though,” I say.