Ruthless In A Suit(28)
I stand up from the table and stride across the room to the door. I lock it. When I look back at Emily she’s still holding that damn fork but her mouth has fallen slightly open. I walk back to the table. I run my fingers over her jaw.
“Emily,” I say. “I definitely want to taste.”
Emily
Jackson moves his hand to the back of my neck and pulls me toward him. His face moves toward mine, his lips parted and eyes focused on my mouth. I’m watching it happen, frozen in my chair, not breathing, heart stopped. He’s been open one moment and cold the next, leaving me wondering what’s going on in that gorgeous head of his. Now I know. He’s going to kiss me, and that means I am floating in a dream.
His lips touch mine softly, as if testing to see my reaction. I press my lips back, showing him that I want it too. His lips move over mine, feeling me, as one hand kneads over the back of my neck, gently pulling me closer to him. His other hand softly touches my face. I press into his lips until his tongue pushes through, seeking my own tongue and tasting me, exploring me. I give him back as much as I can but no one has ever kissed me with so much urgency it’s almost messy, and delightfully so. It makes me lightheaded and I’m glad I’m sitting down, my hands resting in my lap as if I’m paralyzed which, in a way I am. Jackson Croft has me powerless to move my own body.
When he pulls away I almost fall forward. I’m looking up at him, still standing above me, and my eyes catch what’s right in front of my face—the evidence of how excited Jackson is.
By me.
It hardly seems real. This guy is my exact opposite but the way he’s looking at me now is the sexist way anyone has ever looked at me in my life. Not just like he wants me, but like he needs me in order to keep breathing.
Jackson sits back down in his chair and I realize the moment is over. I want more but at least I’ll leave tonight having had the most passionate kiss of my life.
Jackson’s eyes never leave mine, and his gaze is so penetrating that it still has me grounded to my seat. My breaths come in deep in slow as I try to gather my thoughts, bring myself back to reality.
“Emily,” Jackson says, “come here.” Without thought I somehow stand up and move closer to him. “Sit down.” I look to his lap—buzzing in my stomach flutters up knowing what’s happening in those tailored pants—and begin to sit, legs together and one arm around his back. But he stops me with his hand on my hip. “No. Face me.”
He wants me to straddle him? In here? I look toward the door, knowing he locked it but still. What if Rocco or Chef Barton try to come back in to clear our plates or offer us dessert?
“Don’t worry about that,” he says, watching me. “No one will bother us. Now sit.”
My face is heating up like I’m standing in front of the sun and frankly my knees may not be able to hold me much longer. But still…
“My skirt,” I say, tugging it down like an awkward schoolgirl. “It’s…it won’t…” I don’t know what I’m trying to say. If I were wearing a flowing skirt or pants it would be different, but to straddle him, in a restaurant, in this skirt, it’s like the skirt is the one thing holding me back. Like it’s one thing too many, one extra thing I’ve never done.
“Emily,” Jackson says again, and every time he says my name it’s a soft but firm command. His hands slid up the side of my thighs to my hips. There at the top, he tugs up the fabric ever so slightly. “I’m not going to tell you again.”
The truth is, it gives and stretches easily. And I want him. I want to do whatever he asks, without thought, without care of who he is or what kind of person he is. So I place one leg on the side of him then drape the other on the opposite side, all the while his hands are resting on my hips, not pressing, not guiding, just letting me feel him on me.
“Down,” he says, his eyes watching mine.
I lower myself onto his lap, spreading my leg out as I push my hips forward. Jackson’s hands move toward the back, cupping my ass as he pulls me up on him. I gasp, not only at how hard he is but how big, so big, more than I can probably handle but so tantalizing and right under my soaking panties.
“You don’t even know,” he says, his hand touching my face, “how sexy you are.” His lips softly touch mine. “You don’t know what you’re doing to me.”
“I think I have an idea,” I say, and I grind my hips down on his big hard dick as he lets out a groan, burying his face in my neck. His kisses my neck, softly at first and then quickly, with urgency. My head falls back as his tongue teases my skin, the eager sensations coming at me all over my body. I move my hips into him, feeling his dick like titanium beneath me, and each time I move he uses his hand on my waist to jerk me into him, harder and harder each time. I wrap my arms around his neck to hold on, my fingers gathering his thick hair above the base of his neck.