He lifts me onto the wall, pushing my dress up around me. He disappears beneath my petticoat. The first tentative touch of his mouth on my mound is followed by a growl.
“I love it when you skip the panties.” His muffled voice comes up through my skirt.
I brace my hands on the edge of the wall behind me, spreading my thighs to allow Jackson to have his snack. My one breast still hangs over the top of my corset, the nipple as tight as it can be.
His tongue slips over my clit and I let out a low hiss of pleasure. Jack sucks my lower lips and kisses my thighs. He bats my bud with this tongue, and his fingers slip inside. Pressure builds in me, just like every other time.
The coiling heat rises as he slides his tongue to lick the hole below. I pull one leg up to rest my foot on the brick, rolling backward to open myself to him even more. He rewards me by wetting that puckered spot and sliding a finger in while he sucks my clit so sweetly I could cry. His tongue delves into my pussy, and he pushes deep inside the other place, sending tingles out through my body.
He really does get off on getting me off.
I revel in his attention as he goes back to circling my nub with the tip of his tongue, massaging me as he plunges both of his thumbs into my entrance. The combination culminates, and an orgasm crashes over me in wave after wave of pleasure. He holds tight until the tremors subside.
When he comes out from under my skirt, his smile is wide. He licks his lips and pulls a handkerchief from his pocket. He first cleans the wetness from between my legs and then wipes his hands.
He checks his phone. “Almost midnight. Should we go up and bring in the New Year with the crowd?”
I throw my arms around him. “Nope. I just want you to hold me, right here—preferably while you slam into me with your hot dick.”
He unbuckles his pants. “I can do that.”
TWELVE
The first day of the New Year, and I’m taking the walk of shame. I unlock the front door.
Nah. I’m not ashamed. It was a fantastic night that ended with a beautiful morning love-making session.
Dickey squawks and caws, flapping his wings. “Hello. Hellooooo. Pretty bird want a cracker.”
“Silly bird, you don’t even eat real crackers.” I toss my gown on the sofa and plop into the cushion.
Jack’s sweatpants swallow my legs, and though it’s long, his shirt fits snugly across my breasts. I hug his clothes around me.
Two weeks ago, I had no idea a night could be so exciting.
So perfect.
So dangerous.
Jackson Tremaine could swallow me whole, and I’d gladly be gobbled up. What was supposed to be a bit of fun has transcended. It’s time to pull back. Remember that he’s the one who put me in the position I’m in right now.
I have to get my mind right and focus on the New Year, on my career, on winning this ridiculous bet. But when he’s around, the bet, my future, none of it seems to matter too much. All that matters is what he does to me, and how he makes me feel.
Lord, I am in trouble.
I set my laptop aside. The blank screen is more than I can bear for another minute. The second book refuses to come into being.
Shay walks into the living room and tosses a magazine into my lap.
I flip it right-side up. The entire cover is made up of a slightly grainy, greenish photo of Jack in his tux and me in my ball gown, holding hands and running. My tit hangs out over the top. Most of my boob is hidden behind the strategically placed thumbnail picture of Jackson from some photo shoot he must’ve done for the show.
The headline reads, Raunchy Romp: Jackson Tremaine Enjoys New Year Ball with Mystery Woman.
I drop the magazine and cross my arms, as if that’s going to hide the fact that my loosed boob made the cover of at least one major gossip rag with national publication.
Heat washes over my face. My words strangle me, and in their fight to get out, nothing is intelligible.
Shay grabs the offending journal from its perch on the arm of the sofa. “I only know it’s you because of the dress—and Jack, of course.”
I hide behind my hands. “This is terrible. What if other people put two and two together?”
She cocks her hip and her head. “Then you tell them the answer is five. No way can anyone tell who you are from that horrible photo.”
“You think?” I peek out between my fingers.
She walks away, calling over her shoulder, “I know.”
Man, that was quick. Two days. That’s all it took someone to sell some pictures they shot of Jack and me frolicking in the dark.
I pick up my phone.
He answers.
I skip the pleasantries. “Did you see?”
He doesn’t miss a beat. “Yes. Don’t worry, it’s not a problem.”
“It could be for me. No more outings for us. I’ll be lucky if no one recognizes me.”