by Penny Reid
But she should’ve trusted me. I would never let her fall. And when she lost her grip on the chair, I caught her. Sadly, it was before I felt my job had quite finished—she had two or three more orgasms in her yet—but she straddled my lap and wrapped her arms around my neck tightly, her breath still gasping.
“I can’t—I can’t take anymore. I can’t.”
“Shhh . . .” I stroked a hand over and down the back of her head, holding her just as tight until her breathing evened, and her grip loosened, and her heart slowed.
Exhaling a loud sigh, she pushed just far enough away from me so we could see each other, but she kept her seat, her eyes searching mine. “Jackson,” she whispered. “I—I don’t know how to ask this.”
I swallowed around a building thickness, saying nothing. Please don’t ask me to make love to you without a condom.
“Can I . . .” She shifted back a bit, and I had to grit my teeth at the feel of her body. She then reached down, her gaze on mine, and cupped me over my shorts.
I hissed, closing my eyes, my hips instinctively jutting forward. “Please, don’t.”
She removed her hand immediately. “I know you want to use a condom. And—yes. We should. For sex. Absolutely. But do you also use a condom for blow jobs?”
Oh. Damn.
I shook my head, forcing the words out. “No. Rae. I’ve never done that.”
Her sharp intake of breath had me opening my eyes. Hers were wide with shock. “What? Never? Never ever?”
“No.” I threaded my fingers into her long hair, pushing it away from her face. “No one ever offered.”
Her mouth wide open, a number of emotions flickered behind her eyes too fast for me to catalogue given how close we were and how great she felt in my arms.
Eventually, she said, “Oh, Jackson,” and pulled me into an even tighter hug than before. “I offered, if you remember. I put my queen right in your path during Vegas Chess. I wanted to. I wanted you.”
My jaw hurt from gritting my teeth so much. “I remember,” I said, not adding that I hadn’t trusted her then. I hadn’t trusted that she actually wanted to do it.
“Then why didn’t you take me up on it?” she asked.
If no one had offered before, not in all the years of my exploits, how could I trust that Raquel Ezra had actually wanted me in that way?
I shook my head, not wanting to explain something that seemed so obvious. My friends—my female friends—had always talked about blow jobs like they were a chore. Even my married female friends, like the act was a favor they did for their husbands on special occasions or to pacify them. They’d compared it to having a hairy, sour Twinkie in their mouth if the guy was soft, or a hairy, sour tree branch if the guy was hard.
Women had always wanted me to go down on them, and they’d often wanted sex. I’d never met a woman who wanted to give me, or presumably anyone else, a blow job.
“This isn’t a conversation I want to have right now.” I glanced at the horizon through the windshield. The sun had risen above the tree line, and that was good. The convenience store closest to the lake opened at 6:30 AM. I need to go.
“Fine.” She placed a kiss on my neck, sucking my skin into her mouth, her hands—both of them this time—lowering to the front of my shorts. “I don’t need to talk about it, if you don’t.”
I caught her wrists, losing my breath for a moment. “Whoa. Wait. I need to go get—”
“Later. I need you in my mouth, right now.”
I’m sure I made some sound, probably nonsense, and my hands released her wrists because my body demanded that I do so. Actually, it was my dick. Just my dick. My dick vetoed every other voice and crushed any doubt or dissention.
Shut the hell up and don’t ruin this for me, Jackson. You’ll thank me later.
She placed persistent kisses along my neck and jaw, biting at my chin as her hands reversed course and shoved my shirt up, her hands sliding over my chest and stomach. “You have an incredible body,” she said on a sigh. “I can’t wait to see and taste all of it. Stand up.”
In the next moment, she’d pulled my shirt completely off, and in the next, I stood before her. Kneeling, Rae leaned back as her gaze traced from my shoulders to my abdomen. She placed a biting kiss on the spot just above the waistband of my shorts while her fingers unbuttoned and then unzipped my fly.
My hands opened and closed at my sides, my breath catching in my lungs, and I didn’t—I didn’t know what to do. I felt like I should be doing something, somehow making this good for her.
What can I do to make this good for her?
“Relax,” she whispered, maybe reading my mind, slowly pulling my shorts down my legs and tugging my boxer briefs along with them. A bolt of panic closed my throat at the sight of her full lips so close to me.
What if she hates this but doesn’t feel like—
“Jackson.”
I blinked, telling my wild mind to concentrate, and I brought her back into focus. She gave me a soft smile, but her eyes were dark as midnight, hot and greedy. “Trust me. I want this. I cannot wait to have you inside my mouth.” Her gaze lowered, and she licked her lips. “You are so perfect.”
And then I was in her mouth and—
Sorry. That’s all I got.
I think I grabbed the steering wheel of the boat. . . maybe? And her hands came around, palming my backside to hold me still at some point. . . perhaps? But I do recall for certain that she moaned, and it was one of those good ones, not like she was in pain and not a fake-pleasure one. She may’ve been a world-class actress, but in this regard, I had some expertise.
What she was doing, it felt like heaven, like ecstasy, like incandescent perfection. It felt so amazing, it almost hurt. And I knew I was about to lose myself in her mouth if she didn’t stop. My eyes were shut tight. If I looked at her now, it would all be over. Another personal record for me, but this one was embarrassing.
“Rae—Rae, I’m—it’s—” My brain was full of nothing but profanities, and so I didn’t trust myself to speak. Instead, I reached for her to communicate the urgency of my crisis, wanting to take over rather than come in her mouth.
“I want you to,” she said, her hand replacing her tongue and giving me a rough pull. She bit one of my fingers playfully, and then brought me back inside the hot, wet paradise of her mouth.
I came.
I just—all over her—in her—and she—and I—and it happened. I opened my eyes, needing to see her face, to make sure she was still there with me. I watched as she wiped her mouth as she stood and retied the one side of the bikini string I’d pulled at her hip. She grinned like the sight of me tousled and spent satisfied some cavernous need within her.
Her hands came to my chest, and her attention followed, her palms moving along my breastbone, lower to my ribs. “I’ve wanted to see you like this for a very long time.” Her words sounded distracted, faraway. “I’ve had countless fantasies about it. You, naked. Me, dressed.”
That had me quirking an eyebrow. “I may be naked, but you’re not wearing much.”
She shrugged like this was no matter, her attention still transfixed to where her fingers touched. “I know we need to leave to get condoms, but could we—”
“No. Not we. I need to leave to get condoms.” I stepped back and around the captain’s chair, hunting for my clothes. “You’re staying here.” As much as was possible while wildly aroused, I’d already thought through the plan. “We can’t be seen together somewhere buying condoms. I’ll go and come right back.”
I felt her gaze on my bare back a moment before her hands settled on my bottom. “Jackson James, you have a very bite-able ass.”
I chuckled, but fire filled my lungs. I need to hurry. “You can bite it all you want when I get back.”
Her movements felt reluctant as she released me, and I heard her sigh. “I will miss you.”
“I’ll miss you t—”
“I was talking to your butt.”
Laughing
, I turned around and pulled up my shorts, inspecting her. “Is this how it’s going to be now? You’re going to be like everyone else and start missing my body more than me?” I’d meant it to be a joke, but she—and I—heard the edge of truth in them before I realized what I’d said and how it sounded.
She stared at me, her features growing sober. But not shocked.
“God, Rae. I’m sorry. I was—sorry.” I glanced heavenward, trying to think of a way to put us back on the playful path, because that had been a monumentally stupid thing to stay after she’d just given me—
“Never.” Rae stepped right in front of me, grabbed my face, and forced my eyes back to hers. “Do you hear me? Never. You are magnificent, Jackson. In every single way.”
Blinking against an odd rush of something stinging my eyes, I needed her to let me go so I could leave, and we could forget my misstep.
But she wasn’t finished. “Yes, your body is beautiful. But it is nothing—and I mean nothing—compared to this.” Rae threaded her fingers into my hair at my temples. “Your brain is beautiful. Your honor is beautiful. Your dedication and hard work is beautiful. And this—” Her hands lowered to the left side of my chest.
I found I couldn’t swallow as I waited for her words, nor could I breathe.
Her touch gentle, her gaze imploring, she whispered, “This heart is stunning. It’s my absolutely, without a doubt, favorite part of you. And when you’re gone, when we’re not together, this is the part of you I will always miss most.”
Chapter 22
*Raquel*
“I’m a modern woman in the sense of I take care of myself, I’m fiercely independent, and I’m really ambitious. Yet I have these old-school thoughts in my mind.”
Eva Mendes
When Jackson said he would leave me on the boat and head over to the store, I thought he meant we would return to his friend’s house and he would head out from there. That is not what happened.
One minute, I was telling him how special he was to me, and we were kissing, and touching, and hugging. And in the next, he’d climbed down into the water.
“I thought you said we couldn’t swim in this lake?” I whisper-shouted after him, squatting low at the side of the boat.
He flipped his hair back, wiping his eyes. “No, I said it’s not a good idea when it’s this hot. There could be an algae bloom. Or snakes.”
SNAKES? “SNAKES?!”
He laughed. “Nah. There might be snakes, but they keep clear of swimmers.”
“Jackson! Get out of there!” I whisper-shrieked, reaching my hand over the side, knowing my voice would carry across the mostly calm surface if I raised it any louder.
Treading water, Jackson began to drift further from the boat. “I haven’t seen any algae this summer, and I’m in a hurry. Without Dave or Miguel keeping an eye out at Bitty’s, this is the safest place for you while I’m gone. I’ll be back in a jiff.” He turned toward the house where we’d launched.
“Wait! You’re swimming over there? Why don’t you just drive over in the boat, and then I’ll drive back here, and—”
Jackson twisted around. “I don’t want anyone seeing you driving this boat out here without me, knowing you’re alone. I’ll take Bitty’s Rambler, leave my truck, and be back soon. If you have time, fold the boxes up in the cabin. Or I’ll help you when I get back.”
“Fold the . . .? You mean all those boxes covering the bed are empty?”
Grinning, he winked. It was as adorable as it was sexy as it was infuriating. Then he left, swimming in the lake I’d been told we weren’t supposed to go swimming in.
I stared after Jackson, unable to believe what had just happened. And I was left astounded by how fast and strong a swimmer he was. He’d probably make it back to the launch faster by swimming than if we’d used the boat at no-wake speed. I watched his figure disappear into a thicket of trees, camouflaged to anyone looking in that direction.
Clutching my forehead, I glanced down at myself. The girls appeared to be just as confused as me. One minute we’re all over each other and they’re having the time of their lives, the next he’s gone, swimming away at top speed, and leaving all of us wishing he were still here. I need to find my bikini top.
Locating the top didn’t take long. I opted to peel off the halter in the privacy afforded by the awnings before securing the triangles in place and retying everything. Taking the short stairway down, I ducked as I entered the cabin and glanced around, frowning at the pile of cardboard boxes. Poking one, it tumbled over and fell at my feet.
That sneak.
He’d covered the bed, and I could guess why, especially now that I knew and understood him better. Charlotte’s guess had been correct, the empty boxes on the bed were a chastity belt. For him. Or me. Or both of us. Whatever. He’d been trying to be honorable, follow the rules he thought we’d both agreed to back at the picnic.
Picking up the first box, I untucked the flaps holding it together and flattened it. I then made quick work of the entire pile. There weren’t many, just enough to cover the surface of the tarp and make it appear as though we couldn’t access the bed. The boxes broken down, I turned and opened a drawer in the kitchen to look for string, or tape, or something to bundle the cardboard.
I had much to do. The tarp needed to go, and sheets and pillows needed to be located for our love nest.
At least a half hour later, and feeling like a hot and sweaty mess, I surveyed my progress and eyed the AC unit. Jackson had told me on one of our previous excursions how he’d found the boat, that he’d been lucky to get it for a good price at an auction.
But it was Charlotte who’d provided the real story.
“It was a mess. I mean, it looked like a heap of garbage when he first got it. Holes everywhere, the cabin destroyed, the decking ripped up, no motors, no upholstery, no chairs, no nothing. The only thing that the weirdo previous owner had left alone was the controls—you know, the computer and navigation panel.” Her face a grimace, Charlotte had taken a deep, gulping pull from her beer before continuing. “I told Jackson he should’ve just built a boat from scratch instead. But no, he was determined. That’s Jackson.”
That’s Jackson.
I caught myself smiling at the beautiful interior cabin, admiring the careful craftsmanship, blood, sweat, and tears that had likely gone into Jackson’s boat.
This kind of weekender fishing boat, decked out like he had it—with an AC and a built-in head/shower combo compartment, kitchen with a fridge, sink, microwave, flat-screen TV over a convertible couch to queen bed—cost somewhere in the neighborhood of $800K new. Even used, these boats held their value.
I could afford several if I wanted, no problem. I’d call Domino and he’d call someone else—my finance lady, I think her name was Mackenzie—and bam, I’d have a boat.
But it wouldn’t be this boat.
Jackson’s hands had repaired everything I could see. All the blood, sweat, and tears had been born out of determination, hard work, dedication, struggle, and probably some fairly unfun times. And now, she was absolutely gorgeous. Stunning. One of a kind.
This boat would last, because he’d built it to last. He’d done the work. No wonder that was the kind of woman—and the kind of relationship—Jackson thought he wanted.
Emotion clogged my throat as I folded the tarp around the tied cardboard boxes and then smoothed my hand over the fresh sheets. Bed made, I shut the upper door. I flipped on the AC. I prepared a snack just in case he might be hungry. I took a shower. I slipped into the bed, naked, and I waited for him.
When he returned, I wanted everything to be just right. I wanted Jackson to be comfortable. I wanted him to be happy. He worked so hard, and he deserved someone to look after him. Someone to take care of him. To work hard beside him, with dedication. To share his burdens—even when they were a struggle, or unfun.
More than anything, I wanted that person to be me.
I woke up surrounded by a sleeping warm man. Jackson.<
br />
I smiled. I hadn’t meant to fall asleep, but that’s what getting up at 4:30 AM will do. Inhaling his scent, I turned carefully and slowly in the bed to face him. His arm tightened around me, but he remained in dreamland as I came to rest on my other side, admiring the lines of his face.
He must’ve returned a while ago and taken a shower. His skin smelled like soap, not lake water, and I kicked myself for missing a Jackson James shower show. Next time.
Damp hair curling on his forehead, I wanted to pet it, and the short beard on his face. My gaze lowered to his lips, and I just barely restrained myself from kissing the bottom one, promising myself I would, just later.
Wait, is this creepy? I frowned, debating the question. Was it creepy to watch someone sleep if you’re in love with that pers—OH MY GOD!
I sucked in a breath, my mind a sudden riot of fear and hope and despair and ohshit ohshit ohshit! I was in love with him?
Yes. You’re in love with him.
But-but-but—how did this happen?
Well, you see, Rae. When a man and a woman really like each other, and are insanely attracted to each other, and respect each other, and treat each other with compassion and kindness, they—
SHUT IT.
I sat up unthinkingly, gripping the sheet to my chest as his arm slid to my hip. My heart pounded, a cold sweat breaking out between my shoulder blades and around my neck. What was I going to do? I’d never been in love.
Jackson has been in love before.
The thought, completely unbidden, sent a spasm of something cold and unpleasant from the base of my spine outward through my entire body, curdling in my stomach. I immediately recognized the sensation as jealousy. Based on the pieces of the Jackson puzzle I’d been able to assemble, he’d been in love twice: once with Ashley (Winston) Runous when they were teenagers, and once with a woman named Zora Leffersbee, to whom he’d been engaged. Neither of these facts had bothered me at any point before right this minute.