Jackson couldn’t stop staring at the most stunning woman at the party, and the fact that she was his date made him one hell of a lucky son of a bitch.
An hour into the reception part of the gala, and Tara was charming the pants off one of his clients, George Weber, a gentleman in his late seventies who owned a media firm and enjoyed mixed drinks. Jackson also knew that man enjoyed beautiful women—he’d been married four times and joked about finding a fifth wife. It didn’t escape Jackson’s notice that Weber had been completely captivated by Tara from the moment Jackson had introduced them.
Hell, there wasn’t a man in the place who hadn’t given her a second look, even if it was a subtle glance in her direction while their girlfriends or wives weren’t paying attention. Jackson couldn’t blame them. She was wearing a gorgeous, dark purple, calf-length dress that was sexy yet classy. Sexy because it molded to her curves, highlighting her full breasts and perfect ass. Classy because there was nothing blatant about what it revealed. The sheer stockings encasing her slender legs intrigued him, made him wonder where they ended and what else she was wearing beneath the dress. And the strappy stiletto heels on her feet . . . Jesus, they inspired all sorts of dirty fantasies, and he couldn’t wait to fuck her in them later.
And her silky, shiny black hair . . . he preferred it down because he liked having those soft strands tangling around his hands, but there was something so provocative about seeing it in an intricate, upswept style that left her shoulders bare and exposed her slender neck. The pearls around her throat that she’d borrowed from Samantha, along with a matching cuff bracelet, completed the elegant, sophisticated look.
When he’d arrived to pick her up at her place, she’d been about to remove the diamond stud above her lip because she’d been worried that it wasn’t appropriate in such an upscale setting, that some people might make not-so-nice assumptions about her based on an unconventional type of piercing.
His response to that concern of hers? “I don’t give a damn what other people think. I don’t want you to hide anything about yourself, and I fucking love that piercing, so it stays.”
She hadn’t looked one hundred percent convinced, but she’d left the diamond in place, even though he knew just how difficult that had been for her to do.
When he’d first mentioned taking her to the gala, she’d admitted that being in such a luxurious environment made her nervous. That she was worried about fitting in, of people taking one look at her and judging her. That she’d mess up and say or do something that would embarrass him. So far, all she’d done was impress the hell out of Jackson with her willingness to try, while trusting that he’d be right there to support her.
After George had gallantly kissed the back of Tara’s hand, he’d asked what she did for work. Because Jackson had his hand touching her lower back, he’d felt the slight stiffening of her body that told him she was uncomfortable admitting she was a bartender when it was obvious that most of the ladies at the gala were either high-powered career women or wealthy trophy wives. But the moment she’d answered George—very confidently, Jackson was proud to say—the other man had been fascinated, and a conversation about all his favorite liquors and cocktails had ensued.
Currently, they were bantering back and forth as George tried to stump Tara with an alcoholic beverage she’d never heard of before. Most were old-timers’ drinks, and so far Tara was holding her own. While Jackson had never heard of a Whiskey Smash, a Rusty Nail, or a Sidecar, Tara rattled off the ingredients like a pro, and George was impressed with her knowledge.
Jackson introduced Tara to the owners of Schmidt and Kramer, along with the other partners and their wives, who were all gracious and welcoming. With over four hundred people in attendance, the venue was full, and mingling was difficult, but with Tara’s hand tucked securely in his arm, Jackson tried to make the rounds to say hello to as many of his clients and colleagues as he could.
They sat through a five-course dinner, chatted with the other guests at their table, and listened to a speech the owners of the company made expressing their appreciation to their employees and clients, acknowledging their commitment to the industry, and sharing their goals to expand into a more global marketplace. Afterward, Jackson pulled Tara out to the dance floor just so he had time alone with her and could hold her close during a slow song. He wrapped an arm around her waist and tucked one of her hands against his chest, right over the heart that was quickly becoming hers.
He knew it was a huge statement, but five weeks with Tara had given him a renewed outlook on his life. He’d gone from being a man who’d felt like an outcast to feeling as though he’d finally found the one person who filled the emptiness inside him that he’d carried his entire life. She understood his past struggles and his pain, because she’d been there herself and knew what it was like being an outsider in her own family. She complemented him in every way that mattered, and because of Tara, he finally felt as though he was exactly where he belonged, with the person he was truly meant to be with.
Life was good and he couldn’t have been more content or satisfied personally or professionally. But it was in perfect moments like this that a small, contrary part of Jackson’s subconscious reminded him that nothing good in his life lasted forever. And it was that deeply instilled fear that kept him from telling Tara how he truly felt about her. That he loved her, more than he’d ever believed he could love another person. That she alone made him feel whole and complete.
He was so fucking afraid that everything would disappear if he spoke the words out loud, that this happiness he’d finally found with her, and with his brothers, would vanish and he’d be left picking up the pieces all over again. His entire life had been that way, a sequence of unexpected disappointments and realizing that nothing had ever been as it had seemed. Just when he was confident and hopeful about his future, as he was right now, that other proverbial shoe dropped and kicked him in the ass.
But fuck . . . he desperately wanted this time around with Tara to be different. But the thought of potentially losing her kept him from saying the words that had the ability to change everything between them. Not knowing if that declaration would alter their relationship for the better or worse was what held him back.
“Hey, if you squeeze me any tighter, I’m not going to be able to breathe,” Tara said, her voice soft and laced with humor.
Jesus, he hadn’t realized he was crushing her body to his, that deep-seated fear manifesting its way into his reality. “Sorry,” he muttered on a harsh exhale, and loosened his hold around her waist so that his hand rested on the curve of her hip.
She tipped her head to the side, her gaze suddenly concerned as she searched his face. “Is everything okay? You seem tense all of a sudden.”
He forced himself to relax and smiled at her. “Everything is fine,” he promised, and deliberately shoved all those dismal thoughts from his head to focus on the here and now and the woman in his arms. “How are you doing?”
“I’m doing great.”
She returned his smile, but Jackson knew her changing expressions well enough by now to know that beneath her upbeat reply, she was overwhelmed by the evening’s festivities. After nearly four hours of mingling, being introduced to dozens of people, and making polite chitchat, he suspected she was pretty close to her limit. Hell, he was exhausted and decided after the song ended, it was time for them to go. He was done sharing her tonight.
She idly skimmed her hand down the lapel of his black suit jacket, then touched her fingers to the purple tie she’d given him when he’d arrived to pick her up, so that they’d match. “I don’t think I’ve had the chance to tell you how dashing you look in your suit tonight,” she said flirtatiously.
“And you look absolutely stunning,” he replied honestly. “Easily the most beautiful woman in the room.”
Her cheeks flushed pink as she arched a brow. “You do realize that flattery isn’t required to get laid tonight, right?”
He chuckled. “It’s the truth, sweetheart. Your sexy dress, your elegant hairstyle that I can’t wait to dishevel with my fingers . . .” Leaning closer, he pressed his lips to her ear and whispered seductively, “And those indecently hot fuck-me shoes that are driving my cock insane with thoughts of you wearing them while I—”
Tara jerked back and pressed her hand over his mouth, her eyes wide in shock, though there was no denying the flicker of desire glimmering in the depths. “You can’t say those kinds of dirty things at a work function,” she scolded in a low voice. “What if one of your bosses or a client hears you?”
He shrugged and dragged her hand away from his lips. “Hey, I’m just expressing my appreciation for how exquisite you look tonight.”
She laughed, then her features turned more wistful. “What you see right now isn’t really me,” she said of the fancy dress, the elaborate hair, the extraneous embellishments. “To be honest, I kind of feel like Cinderella at the ball.”
Like a fraud and someone who didn’t belong. He could easily read between the lines, and he hated that she’d think of herself that way. He understood that his work situation was different from hers, that as an architect, he was more entrenched in an affluent social circle, while she was a bartender who served a middle-class crowd, but this gala didn’t represent the man he was, nor did it reflect the things he wanted in his life.
He loved his career, and having nice things was definitely a bonus, but he knew, without a doubt, that none of it mattered if he ended up spending the rest of his life alone. Or without her by his side.
He released her, and, uncaring of who might see, he framed her face in his hands and made sure she was looking directly into his eyes so she could see everything he felt for her reflecting in his gaze. “Sweetheart, this isn’t some kind of fairy tale that goes away when the clock strikes midnight,” he told her gently, aware of the irony. He’d been dealing with the same fears himself. “It’s you and me together, and it’s as real as it gets. Don’t ever doubt that.”
There was no missing the undeniable relief he saw in her expression, as if his words had alleviated her doubts—and that consoled him, as well.
He released his hold on her face and gave her a wicked grin. “So, are you ready to blow this joint and move on to more pleasurable activities?”
Her beautiful blue eyes lit up with excitement as she batted her lashes playfully at him. “Are you propositioning me, Mr. Stone?”
“Fuck yes,” he growled in a low, suddenly impatient tone of voice so the people dancing nearby couldn’t hear. “Is it working?”
“Oh, yeah,” she agreed as she gave his tie a playful tug that made his dick twitch in anticipation. “Take me back to your place so I can show you exactly what I’m wearing, or not wearing, beneath this dress.”
* * *
Tara walked into Jackson’s modern, stylish condo on Lake Shore Drive, a far cry from her tiny home that looked old and outdated in comparison. No matter how many times she’d been to his place, she was always in awe of the sleek furnishings, the hardwood flooring, and the gorgeous open floor plan that led straight into a spacious living room. While Jackson switched on a lamp to give the room some light, then shrugged off his suit jacket and slipped off his tie, she strolled behind the leather couch, gravitating to the floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the city from thirty-five stories up.
She stood there, taking in the peaceful sight. The view at night was always so spectacular and a bit magical to her. It was as if she and Jackson were in their own little world, and the only thing that existed outside of his place were starry, shimmering lights and the promise of forever.
He came up behind her, settled his hands on her waist, and placed a warm kiss on the nape of her neck still exposed by her upswept hair. The touch of his lips elicited a shiver of delight and tightened her breasts, her body easily submitting to whatever this man wanted to do to her. They’d talked about the gala on the drive back to his place, about the clients she’d met and some interesting conversations they’d had, but now that they were completely alone, Tara wanted the rest of the night to be just about the two of them.
He nuzzled the side of her throat and traced his hands up her sides, then settled them flat against her rib cage. “So, about what you’re wearing or not wearing beneath this dress, I’m definitely curious to find out.”
She bit her bottom lip as his thumbs brushed beneath the undersides of her aching breasts, teasing her, arousing her. “Then unzip me so you can see for yourself,” she murmured, shifting anxiously on the stiletto heels strapped to her feet.
“Right here?” he asked scandalously.
She smiled, remembering one night a few weeks ago when he’d stripped her bare in front of these windows, and she’d been so shocked and uncertain, and yeah, a bit of modesty had kicked in. But he’d promised that no one could see into the living room since they were too high up and there were no other buildings directly in front of his.
She’d been skeptical, and it had taken some coaxing and major seduction on his part to get her to relax and not feel like an exhibitionist. But once he knew that he had her full consent, he’d placed her hands on the window and ordered her to keep them there, then smacked her ass with his palm—and not playfully, either. He’d spanked each cheek until her flesh was hot and tingling and her pussy was pulsing for release. And it wasn’t until she begged that he finally pressed her upper body against the glass as he fucked her from behind and straight into a screaming orgasm.
It had been one of the hottest, most thrilling sexual experiences of her life. So far. With Jackson, there was no telling what kind of depraved kink he’d introduce her to, but he’d yet to let her down.
He was still waiting for her answer, and she didn’t disappoint him. “Yes, right here.”
“Look at you,” he said, his tone impressed as he gradually lowered the zipper down her back as she gazed out at the city. “I think my dirty girl likes the thought of other people watching.”
Only when she knew there was no one watching, she thought in amusement. But her mind couldn’t deny it was a potent fantasy that got her off.
His warm hands slid over her now bare shoulders, skimming the sleeves of her dress down her arms to her waist. He pushed the rest of the material over her hips and let it drop to the floor at her feet. He was still standing behind her and slightly to the side so he could look at the window and see the front of her body reflecting in the glass.
“No bra,” he said on a groan while the fingers of one hand brushed along her spine, causing her breasts to swell and tighten even more. “How the fuck did I not know this all night long?”
Surprise, she thought with a wicked smile of her own. It wasn’t often she could get one up on this man, and it was fun to see his shock. “The dress has a built-in bra, so there’s no need to wear one.”
He grabbed one of her hands and helped her step out of the pool of fabric on the ground so she didn’t trip over it in her heels, then led her back around the couch until she was standing a few feet away from the sofa. As she watched, he removed the cufflinks on his white dress shirt, set them on a nearby side table, then finished unfastening the rest of the buttons down the front. He shrugged out of the shirt and draped it over a chair, toed off his shoes and took off his socks, then strolled over to the leather couch.
She’d expected him to sit on the sofa like he normally did, but instead he lowered himself to the hardwood floor so he was sitting with his back braced against the front of the couch.
“What are you doing?” she asked curiously.
He unfastened his pants, lowered the zipper, and pushed his briefs down just enough to free his already thick, hard erection. “I’m making myself comfortable,” he said with a smirk.
“I would think that sitting on the sofa would be much more comfortable than the hard floor,” she said, still confused.
“I’m leaving room on the couch for you to be comfortable.” The sinful gleam in his eyes told her that whatever he had in mind tonight, it probably wasn’t going to be anything less than mind-blowingly erotic.
He hadn’t told her she could move, and knowing the kind of games he liked to play—the kind where he dominated and she submitted—she patiently waited for his next order.
His heated gaze took a leisurely journey down her body, taking in her naked breasts, the lacy black panties she was wearing, the thigh-high stockings encasing her legs, and the black strappy heels on her feet. Her body felt flushed from his scorching perusal. The cock he’d released from his pants twitched, but he didn’t touch his erection as he just as slowly lifted his eyes back up to her face.
“Take all the pins out of your hair,” he ordered in a raspy voice.
Lifting her hands, she started plucking the pins that held the intricate design of her hair in place. It seemed like such an intimate thing to do, and it made her feel luxuriously sensual. With him watching as every wavy strand of hair she released fell around her shoulders and down her back, she thought about the present she had for him.
“So, I have a surprise for you,” she said as another wavy length of hair cascaded down her chest, and the ends curled around her nipple like a kiss.
He stared enviously at that piece of hair and licked his lips, as if he wanted to be the one to touch his tongue to the budding tip. For as effortlessly as this man could seduce her, it was moments like these that made her realize just how much power she had over him, how easily she could influence and bewitch him by just doing whatever he asked.
“I can’t imagine anything better than what I’m looking at right now.” His hand moved to his shaft, and his fingers wrapped tight around the girth and stroked the length. “You are a fucking goddess.”
She tried to keep her mind focused, which wasn’t easy to do when the sight of him slowly, leisurely pumping his cock through his hand turned her on just as much as it did him. “A month ago, right after the first time we were together, I had my doctor put me on birth control.” Done pulling all the pins from her hair, she set them on the table with his cufflinks, then sifted her fingers through the strands to dishevel them a bit. “How do you feel about fucking me without a condom?”
His body visibly shuddered and he groaned. He squeezed his erection, and a drop of fluid beaded on the tip of his shaft, which he brushed away with his thumb.
He glanced up at her with a stupid-happy grin on his face. “That is the best fucking surprise ever.”
She laughed, then sighed. “Men are so easy.”
“Guilty,” he admitted unabashedly, then his gaze turned serious. “Just so you know, I had my yearly right before we met, and I’m clean. I’d never risk you that way.”
“I know.” And she meant it. She trusted Jackson irrevocably with her body . . . it was her heart that she was having a more difficult time handing over to him. But that was her own doubts and insecurities to deal with. Her feelings for Jackson were stronger than anything she’d ever experienced before. She just needed to find the courage to take that one last leap of faith with him. Soon.
He widened his legs and bent his knees slightly, then crooked his finger at her. “Come here, Tara.”
She strolled forward, putting a deliberate sway in her hips that he didn’t miss, and stopped when she was standing right between his spread legs. He let go of his cock and skimmed his hands up both her stockinged legs. When he reached the lacy bands around her thighs, he brushed his fingertips over that exposed strip of flesh and up to the sides of her panties that rode low on her hips.
He hooked his thumbs into the elastic band. “You won’t be needing these,” he said with a lascivious grin as he gradually dragged the lacy scrap of fabric down her legs and bared the most intimate part of her. “The stockings and heels stay on.”
He lifted one foot, then the other, removing her underwear and tossing it aside. Then he positioned one stiletto by his right hip and the other on his left, so she stood above him, her legs braced apart . . . the lips of her sex parted so that he could see, well, everything.
A few weeks ago, she would have been dying of embarrassment, but watching the desperate way he fisted his hard cock, along with the fog of lust etching his expression, had her pulse beating harder, faster, and need and arousal simmering through her veins.
“Fucking perfect,” he said on a low, hungry growl that made her shiver in response. He put his head back on the couch cushion, resting it there, his eyes still open and trained on hers. “Come up onto the couch, sweetheart, and put your knees on either side of my head. I want my mouth and tongue on your pussy.”
The breath seemed to collapse from her lungs. Just when she thought she had this man figured out, or he’d tapped out with every sexual trick in the book, he managed to add another level of eroticism to the mix.
His hands slid up the backs of her legs, urging her forward, his eyes hot and filled with the promise of ecstasy. The kind that would have her moaning and trembling in no time flat because he was that good. There was no resisting him and what he wanted, so she didn’t even try—and who was she kidding, anyway? She was already halfway to an orgasm at the mere thought of what he was about to do to her—so she went ahead and knelt right above that decadent mouth of his, grabbed on to the back of the sofa for support, and prepared herself for his brand of possession.
Normally, he liked to tease and draw out her climax, but tonight she felt a definite urgency in the way he gripped her hips to hold her in place, an undeniable hunger as he fastened his mouth between her thighs and sank his tongue deep into her slick folds. She gasped as he licked along her cleft, then settled right over her clit. Her entire body jolted as he sucked the sensitive nub in his mouth and plied it with soft swirls of his tongue. Again and again and again . . .
The desire spiraling in her belly, and lower, coiled tighter and tighter. The intensity of his mouth overwhelmed her. He went at her harder, faster, deeper, ruthless in his attempt to claim her acquiescence, and she was helpless to deny what he was demanding from her: her complete and total surrender.
Giving herself over to Jackson was incredibly easy to do. Trusting him was like jumping over a cliff knowing there was a safety net to catch her, and she didn’t think twice about letting go. Another deep, open-mouth, tongue-thrusting kiss against her pussy and she was panting, moaning, writhing, pleading . . . then crying out as her orgasm sent her free-falling over the edge while Jackson groaned in lust and satisfaction against her tender flesh.
He didn’t give her time to recover before he was pulling her off the couch and guiding her down to straddle his lap. His fingers clutched her hips almost painfully, and she inhaled a sharp breath as he plunged inside of her in one deep, endless stroke, burying himself to the hilt. She expected him to unleash his own passion, was more than prepared to take the brunt of the volatile storm she felt brewing inside of him—even though she wasn’t sure why. But instead he stilled, his chest heaving, his entire body taut with restraint. He was clearly holding himself back, as if he was afraid he’d hurt her if he let go, and it was the last thing she wanted.
His eyes were dark pools of need; his lips shone with moisture from her. It was so damn hot that she framed his face in her hands and bent her head to lick the taste of her from his mouth. “Do it, Jackson,” she whispered against his lips, softly, imploringly. “Fuck me as hard as you need to and make me yours.”
The sound that erupted from his chest was raw and primal as he wrapped his arms tight around her, then shifted and rolled her to her back so that she was lying on the bare hardwood floor and he was on top of her, already sinking back inside of her, impaling her as if he owned her while shoving her legs far apart to make room for him in between.
And still, it didn’t seem to be enough. He slid his hands up her back and clamped his fingers around her shoulders, anchoring her in place as his hips slammed hard against hers, and there was nowhere she could go, nothing she could do but let him take her, however he wanted. However he needed. His chest crushed against her breasts, and he melded his mouth to hers, his body completely dominating hers with long, frantic, aggressive, grinding thrusts.
It would be easy to write this off as just rough, animal sex, but Tara knew better. The emotion pouring off of him was nearly tangible. He couldn’t seem to get deep enough, couldn’t seem to get close enough, as if he were trying to fuse their bodies, their souls. As if he was afraid of losing her . . . and it was a feeling she recognized and understood all too well.
She finally, finally, felt that control of his break. His thrusts grew more erratic—shorter, harder, deeper jerks of his hips that made her second release peak just as his did, her body convulsing and clenching around his cock. He tossed his head back, his jaw clenched, teeth bared as he came on a long, endless moan that vibrated through her.
Completely spent, he collapsed on top of her and buried his face against her neck, and she caressed her hands down the slope of his back as they both spent a few extra minutes recovering from the intensity of their orgasms.
All that Tara cared about in that moment was they were joined, connected, and inseparable. They had plenty of time to figure out the rest.
