Ruthless In A Suit(37)

“Everything okay?” I ask, worried that I accidentally emailed the wrong document and Professor Stanwick got some random…I don’t know what. But Brent’s anxiety has me nervous.

“Yeah, it’s great,” he says. Finally the door to the classroom shuts and he looks back to me. “I know you’ve been working on the CEF luncheon later this week.”

“Yeah,” I say. “I’ve done some mailings and phone calls. Basic stuff.”

“You know how the university has partnered with CEF for the mentoring program? Well, since I’m a T.A. I got two tickets. I guess they feel bad for paying me so little.” He laughs nervously. “How about if you go with me? You could give me the insider’s view of what CEF’s future programs look, especially in coordination with the graduate program.”

I pause, surprised. I’m not sure if he’s asking me as his date or as a colleague. I suppose it doesn’t matter. This is what I need. I need to be social, and being social in a charitable way is right up my alley. It might be fun to have a good lunch with Brent, talk about our goals and the future of education. It might also help me finally dust off the last remnants of Jackson Croft.

“Yeah, that’d be great,” I say. “I’d love to.”

“Great,” he says, beaming. “Do you want me to pick you up, or…? I don’t have a car but I can get a cab—”

“Let’s just meet in the lobby and we can walk in together. Sound good?”

“Perfect,” he says. “Awesome, I’ll see you then. Can’t wait.”

As I head home, I feel lighter. Finally, I’m getting my head on straight again.





Jackson





“So you grew up here in Boston?”

“Yes, Louisburg Square,” she says. I think her name is…Gwyneth? Genevieve? Yes, Genevieve, that’s it. She is slim, blond, well spoken and well educated. She can taste the difference between the Malbec wine and the Carménère.

She dresses with sophisticated ease and, since we’re on a date, only the most tasteful amount of cleavage is showing. In short, she’s exactly the kind of woman I need for my future. She looks the part and won’t distract me from my job.

Unfortunately, I’m bored out of my mind. It’s no fault of Genevieve’s, sweet as she is. Perhaps I shouldn’t have brought her to Prime & Tender.

“The home has been in our family for generations,” she continues. “It’ll be passed to me once my children are of school age.”

“But first you have to have those children,” I say.

“Of course,” Genevieve says, blushing. “And the husband. It all has to line up.”

“That’s something I can understand.” I’m trying so hard to make myself feel something. This woman is everything I need, and she’s practically telling me that I’m what she needs as well. An arrangement like this—both of us getting exactly what we require—is pretty common.

Love isn’t what matters, it’s the union   that counts. Our two families coming together would be the biggest thing to happen in New England society since my father married Sylvia Cornwell of the Connecticut Cornwells.

But my eyes keep drifting over to the closed door that leads to the private room. I keep seeing Emily, her eyes looking into mine as she came on my mouth. I can feel her flesh beneath my hands, holding her tighter, my fingers digging into her skin as she muffled the cry she’d been desperate to release as her hips jerked. I tried to hold her down, riding out her orgasm and keeping my tongue working over her pumping clit until the very last drop. The way she said my name like a moan of desperation…

“Jackson?”

My eyes refocus, and I see Genevieve looking at me curiously. Without realizing it, I’m biting my knuckles.

“Are you okay?” she asks.

“Yes,” I say, placing my hand on the table.

“I was just saying I have ballet tickets for the upcoming performance. I’d love for you to be my guest.”

“Of course,” I say without thought. “Yes, I’d love to.” I shift in my chair, my dick hardening from the memory of Emily. I focus on the duck confit in front of me and listen to Genevieve talk about her winter ski trip to Klosters in Switzerland.

The evening ends with a respectful kiss on Genevieve’s cheek, and I head back to the privacy of my brownstone.

My hand is down my pants the second I’m in the bathroom, leaning on the marble countertop. With my eyes closed I pull on my dick, feeling Emily on me. I only had one evening with her and I wonder how long I’ll be able to sustain myself on that alone. The way her mouth opened to mine so readily, her tongue on mine in the same eager way I felt.