by Mackenzy Fox
Tears well in her eyes. “But it’s not, Jack, it’s really not, and I want you to know I’m sorry. I’m sorry that I didn’t do more, I started dating Brandon thinking he’d get off your back, I thought it would help but it was more of a disaster.”
I stare at her wordlessly, her hand slips into mine and our fingers interlace, I shouldn’t be doing this with her. I step back.
“Morgan, don’t.”
She steps into me again. “Don’t what?”
“You know what,” I reply. “You and me, we can’t do this, you’re drunk and you need to go to bed and sleep it off.”
“You don’t know what I want,” she says in a whisper.
Before I can do anything to stop it, she moves her hands up around my neck, stands on her tiptoes, and plants her lips on mine.
Two things happen simultaneously; I realize I’m so aroused it’s not even funny and I definitely want to kiss her back. I also realize I’ve been wanting to do that since the day we met. Her lips taste like cherry lip gloss and tequila, she’s so perfectly soft and delicious and her mouth moves over mine as I try my hardest not to reciprocate. She pushes her half-naked body into mine and continues her sensual slaughter of what’s left of my resolve. Her tits press into my chest and I want to hold her closer, as close as I can get.
Instead, I pull back but that doesn’t deter her.
“Morgan,” I whisper as we both pant.
She ignores me, pulls me by the lapels of my shirt, and I let her steer me to the bed. She doesn’t have enough strength to pull me; my fucking feet actually betray me and move all by themselves, though, right now, I’m not thinking with the head that’s attached to my shoulders obviously. I’m so hard, I have no doubt she can feel that against her. She pulls me down on the bed and I hold my weight off her as we tumble, planting both hands either side of her head.
“Stop,” I tell her but she reaches up and kisses me again, her tongue goes into my mouth as I close my eyes and let it happen, I don’t kiss her back, if I do, I know I’ll lose it. I want her so bad right now. But I don’t do inebriated girls, and especially not this one. It’s the drink talking, but it’s so delicious. Our tongues collide and I want to moan her name in response. I want to rock her world.
“You don’t mean that,” she mutters in between kisses.
Damn it if she doesn’t try to press her body up into mine, holy shit. Leaning down onto my elbows I try to unhook one arm from around my neck.
“I want you, Jaxon,” she breathes. “Just go with it, it feels good, doesn’t it?”
“A minute ago, I was Jack,” I mutter.
She stares up at me. “You don’t want me?”
“Morgan, it’s not that, you’re a fucking beautiful woman…”
She bites her lip. “You think I’m beautiful?”
“No, I think you’re fucking beautiful,” I reiterate. “But this isn’t right, we can’t do this.”
She looks bewildered. “So, what’s the problem? You feel like you want it, stop trying to be Mr. Nice Guy, you have that wild look about you, Jax, I bet you know exactly what to do to a girl in the bedroom.” She bucks her hips up and grinds into my erection. I just about lose it in my pants.
“Morgan!”
“You almost sound mad,” she laughs.
“I work for you,” I remind her as she wiggles beneath me. “We shouldn’t be doing this, I need to get up.”
“I’m not good enough for you, that’s it, isn’t it?”
I stare down at her, confused. “What do you mean?”
For once I am genuinely interested in the reply.
Her voice is barely a whisper. “Because I’m a bitch, I’m cold, I’m mean, the list goes on.”
I reach up and brush a lock of hair from her face. “No, cupcake, it’s because I’ve got a job to do.”
“Nobody has to know what we do between the sheets; it could be our little secret,” she says, biting her lip. “A one-night thing.”
I stare at her wordlessly.
I take it back; I definitely like her like this; soft, compliant, sexy as hell, but she’s way off base. I know she probably thinks she wants a walk on the wild side but in the light of day, that won’t be with me.
I chuckle. “Seriously, MJ, all you’re gonna do is regret this in the morning and where would that leave us then? Plus, you’d be able to well and truly get me fired and I’m beginning to like my job.”
She still clutches my collar like she can’t let go. “It would leave me satisfied,” she replies quite seriously. “And why would I want you fired when you rock a suit like nobody’s business. All my friends want to bone you, you know.”
I shake my head, amused. “That’s charming, any other tidbits of information I need to know? May as well get it out in the open.”
“You have a nice mouth.”
I swallow hard. “Thank you.”
Get up and leave.
“I can feel your hard dick,” she whispers.
I literally gape down at her as she laughs again.
I never imagined her being able to talk dirty. She’s so prim and proper, but it’s always those girls you have to watch out for, they’re the worst.
I cock my head. “I have to get up,” I say, trying to shift. “Like now.”
“I bet you’re good in bed,” she murmurs as we stare at one another. “Like really good, in charge and bossy like you are at work.”
I can’t help my smirking, realizing she likes that. “Not happening,” I reply.
She pouts. “Jaxon.”
She needs to stop saying my name like that.
I look down at her beautiful face. Maybe I misjudged her; maybe she isn’t all that bad.
What the fuck is this girl doing to me?
It would be so easy to kiss her, pleasure her, let her moan my name into oblivion as I pump her slow and hard, making her feel every inch of me, oh yeah, I’m good in bed and I’d show her a time in the sack like she’s never had before. I’d make it real good. She’s so small beneath me and my wood is so painful in my pants, I’m going to go have to do something about that later in the shower. Again.
She gazes up at me, totally unaware of my inner turmoil.
“Babe, you really need to sleep it off.”
Her eyes are starting to get heavy as tiredness sets in. I lean over and kiss her forehead and unhook her hands from my shirt. “Jaxon…” she whispers, half yawning.
I look down at her.
“Don’t go,” she pleads. “Please…”
She pats the space next to her as she yawns again and I move to her side as I reach down and pull the comforter up and over her. She instantly closes her eyes, and within a few moments, her breathing evens to a lull and she’s sound asleep.
I look down at her with her golden hair spread out beneath her; she looks like a goddamn angel. I’ve never seen anything so beautiful and I know I have to stop this charade before it gets out of hand. I can’t go falling for her.
Her body’s damn fine though; I imagine sinking into her hot, sweet pussy and kissing her wildly. It’s torture. She can’t just want me when she’s drunk and emotional; I know for a fact she won’t feel so unbecoming tomorrow.
I’ve seen a side to her I never thought possible, a vulnerability and softness that I didn’t know existed, but even I know that everyone has deep dark secrets, even me.
A small part of me hopes this will last but I know tomorrow when the alcohol has worn off she’ll be back to her usual self and she’ll have her armor back in place. She’s so much more likeable when she doesn’t put all the walls up, but I of all people know that walls are just barriers to protect yourself from more hurt and to keep people out.
I’m a master at it.
I realize for the first time in a long time that I’m very strangely at peace watching her and being with her when it’s just us. I don’t get that very often in any walk of my life; someone is always out to get something.
Watching her sleep is so pure
and innocent. Something nudges at me inside and I know I have to stop that train of thought and that’s the thing that scares me most of all.
12
Morgan
I wake up with a monster headache.
Thank God for block-out shutters as I don’t think I could handle sunlight right now. I glance at my clock on the bedside table with one eye and then groan. It’s the freaking afternoon. I can’t believe I practically slept the whole day away. Thank God my apartment is silent as I’ve got enough noise going on in my head to start a rock band.
I groan as I roll and flop onto my back. It takes a second before I realize that I’m in last night’s clothes. I glance down at myself; my comforter is pulled over me, I lift it up and see my dress is wide open and I know that my makeup will be splattered all over my pillow, not a charming thought.
Another horrible thought suddenly occurs to me.
Tequila. Dance floor. Jaxon punching someone. His car. Elevator. Jaxon. Kissing.
My eyes go wide.
A memory comes flooding back to me; him carrying me, me cursing at him, me kissing him?
My hands come up to my mouth in shock as flashes of me coming onto him and blurting out all my problems suddenly appear at the forefront of my mind. Holy shit, he must think I’m insane.
My throat feels dry and hoarse. I squint as I focus on something on the side of my nightstand.
A glass of water and two Tylenol.
I stare at it.
I know for a fact Jaxon is the only one who brought me up here last night, surely it’s not within his capabilities to leave me water and pain medication?
I roll unceremoniously toward the edge of the bed, reach out for the glass, and gulp it down like a thirsty camel, popping the two pills as I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand. I’m so lady-like.
Disgusted at myself, I prepare to stand and then an image of me flaunting myself at Jaxon as he looked at me incredulous haunts my efforts to get up. I groan.
Why in the hell did I drink so much? I’m usually a two-pot screamer and I lost count of the amount of drinks I consumed last night. I’m quite shocked at myself, I’ve no idea how Jaxon must be feeling. He must think I’m desperate as I’m pretty sure I tried to grope him. I cringe at the thought but it makes my head pound even more.
Did he kiss me back? I don’t quite recall but I’m sure he’ll have a whole lot to say about it when I see him next. He’ll be dining out on this one for weeks.
I have to think about it for a second and then I sigh with relief; today is Sunday, so it’s his day off, meaning I won’t have to see him. Good. I can hide out here and hope a meteor falls out of the sky so I don’t have to face him tomorrow.
I begrudgingly pull myself up to stand and then sit back down on the side of my bed as my head spins out of control. I’m so glad I wasn’t at the throwing-up stage; that could have been really torturous as well as humiliating. I also wonder how much I babbled last night as I tend to do that when I’m even the slightest bit tipsy, I’m sure that was really attractive.
It can’t be helped, I have to go and run the shower and wash last night away. Although I feel like crawling, I manage to stay on my feet and pad toward the bathroom as I finish un-hooking my dress from the rest of the buttons and it drops to the floor. Once I get to the mirror, my eyes go even wider.
I look like something a vampire may have left behind in an alleyway, all that is missing is the bite marks on my neck. My makeup is all squished across my face, my mascara has run and my hair looks like a scarecrow’s. Halloween came early.
I reach for a hairbrush, drag it through my matted ends, and then give up. There’s no point. I pump two good handfuls of foaming cleanser from the bottle on the counter and scrub my face until it’s clean, rinsing it twice and then wiping all the mascara off with a sponge. That in itself has done wonders as I rub some moisturizer onto my reddened skin.
I run the shower, step out of my underwear, and curse silently as I step under the hot shower, letting the water cascade over me as I sigh in absolute bliss.
There is nothing as good as a nice hot shower when you feel like shit.
I wash my hair as best as I can given the circumstances of coordination and spend way too long in there letting the steam cloud up the entire bathroom. When I step out, I brush my teeth and tie my hair up in a towel and feel about ten thousand times better.
I go into my walk-in wardrobe and pull out some comfy sweats and continue to towel dry my hair as I go in search for coffee. I stop mid-walk as I realize I should not be smelling coffee, but there it is, wafting through the air, there is no sweeter smell than my percolator, but I sure as hell didn’t put it on.
I listen carefully.
Someone is moving around in the kitchen.
Sure enough, it’s the silent humming of my machine and then I hear the cupboard open and the faint sound of cups clanging together. I keep my feet moving forwards through pure curiosity alone. I then see that it’s not just someone, of course; Jaxon has his back to me and if I didn’t know any better, I’d say he is the one making the coffee which can’t be right. Surely, he couldn’t be that domesticated up in his ivory tower.
He turns to look at me as I stand there with a towel on my head trying to fathom what is going on.
“Good morning, MJ,” he says with a smile tracing his lips. He’s wearing a New York Yankees t-shirt and grey sweatpants that hang off his hips like the devil may care. I try not to stare. He’s freshly showered, his hair is still damp, and I can smell his clean skin from here.
I feel a knot in my stomach and something else thrums down below as I take in his perfect body, he’s even had a shave.
“Ummm, hi,” I reply, then realizing it’s my apartment, I keep moving toward the breakfast bar, I stop staring down at Jezzy who is eating out of her bowl.
“I took it upon myself to feed your cat,” he tells me calmly, handing me a cup of coffee. “Just in case she starved to death waiting for you to rise and shine.”
I take the cup, eyeing him suspiciously, and lean on the counter before I fall down. My head is still very much in the throes of bellowing at me for having too much to drink.
“W-what are you doing here?” I stammer, taking a big gulp and burning my tongue at the same time.
“Making coffee, feeding Jez, and making sure you’re not dead,” he says, then nudges something toward me in a wrapped-up paper bag.
“What’s that?”
“Greasy egg and potato roll from Harry’s, trust me; you’ll feel better after it.”
I’m so embarrassed about what I may have done last night, I take it and begin to unwrap the paper in a bid to avoid him, I realize now that I’m smelling food I am actually famished.
“You making me coffee and giving me breakfast burritos?” I say, sounding positively mystified. “Are you feeling okay?”
He leans on the counter with both hands and gives me a pointed look. “More like are you feeling okay? You could drink a Russian under the table with his own vodka, I’m impressed by the way.”
Least he’s not turned off, it could be worse.
I slip into the chair and take a bite of the burrito. I groan out loud that I want to marry Harry, whoever he is, as Jaxon watches me tentatively. I truly wish the ground would swallow me and my burrito whole.
“I’m sorry,” I mutter at last, not meeting his gaze. “Things got a little out of hand last night and I… I realize I may have said or done some things that may have been a little… inappropriate.”
I take another giant sip of coffee as the silence hums between us.
He doesn’t say anything, he just stands there watching me with those big blue mesmerizing eyes. The same eyes that looked down at me last night and told me I was beautiful—I’m sure he did. And he wasn’t drunk so why would he say that? Or did I just indeed make that up because I was drunk and don’t remember correctly? I don’t know.
His eyes dance with mischief. “What is it you remember exact
ly?”
I take another bite of the world’s best burrito before I answer. “Just… you know...” I let the words and the meaning behind them hang. “Stuff…” God, I must sound like a five-year-old.
“I don’t actually, do explain.”
So, this is my torture, I can’t deny that I probably deserve it. Nobody forced me to drink so much.
“Jaxon, please don’t torture me any more than I already have myself, it’s embarrassing enough.”
“You just got up,” he points out. “So, that’s like only five minutes of torture.”
I sigh and put my roll down. “Was I terrible?”
“Best I’ve ever had,” he says with a smirk, crossing his arms over his chest.
“Ha-ha very funny.”
“In terms of a compliant drunk person; I’d say about a five out of ten.”
“I’m so sorry, Jaxon, for whatever I said and did. I lost my mind last night, not that that’s an excuse, but there was so much going on, my emotions got the better of me.”
He stares at me, all humor gone from his face. “I think I can forgive you.”
I swallow hard. “I think I did some inappropriate things to you.” It has to be said, I stare at the breakfast bar, tracing the silver and grey stones through the marble with my finger, hoping I don’t look or sound like a loser. “Things I wouldn’t have done if I were sober, obviously.”
I can feel him watching me intensely. “It’s alright.”
I let that settle before asking, “Ummm, how did I get into bed?”
“I put you there,” he states quietly after a brief pause.
I sigh, afraid to look up. “Did I put you there though?” I’m afraid I may have dragged him by his collar to my bed, I remember that now, I practically crawled up his body. What an idiot.
I look up to meet his gaze and I wish I knew what he was thinking.
“Yes, but as I say, the tequila did all the talking, so we’re good. You should eat your burrito before it goes cold.”
I want to ask him so many things, did I kiss him? Did I try to basically molest him against his will? He doesn’t look too put out by it so it can’t be that bad, right?