need to stop him—but I have an even greater need to find out
where this is headed.
His hand slips inside the
elastic band. One finger entices me: stroking, circling, pressing until it works
its way in.
“My God, you’re already wet
for me.” He turns his finger inside me and positions his thumb where he can
draw slow, lazy circles around my clit. His mouth hovers above me, and I raise
my head to meet his lips. He pulls his head back, out of my reach. I look in
his eyes questioningly, and he lowers his head. I raise my lips and he retreats
again.
I see the smug look I’ve
become accustomed to. He’s teasing me, and the flash of anger I feel gives me the
willpower to break his spell. Before I can move, he slides a second finger into
me, finding that sweet spot inside. My head rolls back, and now his mouth
covers mine. My body responds as intensely as before, but I can’t get the image
of his cocky satisfaction out of my mind. He’s a cold-blooded sexpert.
He lifts his head again, and his
hand continues to stimulate every nerve ending I have between my legs. My knees
feel weak, and I rest my head on his shoulder.
“Look up, Jillian. I need to
see your face.”
When I raise my head, he puts
his free hand under my chin, and slowly wraps his fingers around my neck. His
gentle grip steadies me, but also works like a brace, keeping my head upright
and locked on his face.
“I need to see how you
respond to me. I need to know just how far I can go.”
His voice is as smooth as a
chocolate fountain, and I instinctively reach my arms out. I don’t know if it’s
to stop him or to feel him, but he gently squeezes my throat.
“Put your arms down. I know
you think I want to be touched, but that’s not what this is about. This is a
sexual position I call 68.” He moves his mouth to my ear. “I do you, and you
owe me one.”
He relaxes his grip on my
throat, as his other hand increases its rhythmic taunting. My knees buckle at
the intensity, but the hand on my throat is immobile. I have to stand straight
or it cuts off my air supply.
“Poor Jillian. You want to
let go, but if you do, you choke yourself. All those sensations, and you can’t give
in. You can’t surrender. You have to keep your precious control around me. How
long can you hold out until you don’t care about breathing? Until you stop
playing your games with me? How long before you—”
“Jillian, are you in here?”
Oh my God, it’s Robert. “Back
here,” I croak.
“Where have you been? I’ve
been looking all over—”
As quickly as Jackson and I
pull apart, Robert is quicker. He looks the two of us over. If he suspects
something, he’s kind enough to keep it to himself.
“I can’t find my cell phone—and
we need to start the birthday toast.”
“Yes, coming.” Robert’s too
smart to be fooled but I decide to put on an empty show anyway. “Robert, I don’t
think you’ve met Mr. Hunter.”
“A pleasure to meet you,”
Robert says, offering his hand.
Jackson holds up his right
arm. “My hand’s wet.”
My face turns cranberry, and
I spin toward Jackson so Robert can’t see. “Thank you for your feedback, Mr. Hunter.
I’ll be sure to keep all of your suggestions in mind.”
Jackson refuses to play
along. “They weren’t suggestions. They were promises.”
It takes all my concentration
to turn around and push Robert toward the door. When I hand him his phone, he gives
me a quizzical look.
“Don’t ask. Would you check
with the caterers about the cake? I’ll find Bryan and then text you.”
Robert heads out the door. I
take a breath, adjust my dress (and everything under it) and follow. I’m only a
few steps over the threshold when a hand on my arm holds me back. I slam into
Jackson.
“I wasn’t done with your
lesson.” His tone has lost the sensual edge, and he sounds annoyed.
Lesson? I don’t want any more
tutoring on that subject. I try to sound calm. “We need to cut the cake now or
the caterers will
where this is headed.
His hand slips inside the
elastic band. One finger entices me: stroking, circling, pressing until it works
its way in.
“My God, you’re already wet
for me.” He turns his finger inside me and positions his thumb where he can
draw slow, lazy circles around my clit. His mouth hovers above me, and I raise
my head to meet his lips. He pulls his head back, out of my reach. I look in
his eyes questioningly, and he lowers his head. I raise my lips and he retreats
again.
I see the smug look I’ve
become accustomed to. He’s teasing me, and the flash of anger I feel gives me the
willpower to break his spell. Before I can move, he slides a second finger into
me, finding that sweet spot inside. My head rolls back, and now his mouth
covers mine. My body responds as intensely as before, but I can’t get the image
of his cocky satisfaction out of my mind. He’s a cold-blooded sexpert.
He lifts his head again, and his
hand continues to stimulate every nerve ending I have between my legs. My knees
feel weak, and I rest my head on his shoulder.
“Look up, Jillian. I need to
see your face.”
When I raise my head, he puts
his free hand under my chin, and slowly wraps his fingers around my neck. His
gentle grip steadies me, but also works like a brace, keeping my head upright
and locked on his face.
“I need to see how you
respond to me. I need to know just how far I can go.”
His voice is as smooth as a
chocolate fountain, and I instinctively reach my arms out. I don’t know if it’s
to stop him or to feel him, but he gently squeezes my throat.
“Put your arms down. I know
you think I want to be touched, but that’s not what this is about. This is a
sexual position I call 68.” He moves his mouth to my ear. “I do you, and you
owe me one.”
He relaxes his grip on my
throat, as his other hand increases its rhythmic taunting. My knees buckle at
the intensity, but the hand on my throat is immobile. I have to stand straight
or it cuts off my air supply.
“Poor Jillian. You want to
let go, but if you do, you choke yourself. All those sensations, and you can’t give
in. You can’t surrender. You have to keep your precious control around me. How
long can you hold out until you don’t care about breathing? Until you stop
playing your games with me? How long before you—”
“Jillian, are you in here?”
Oh my God, it’s Robert. “Back
here,” I croak.
“Where have you been? I’ve
been looking all over—”
As quickly as Jackson and I
pull apart, Robert is quicker. He looks the two of us over. If he suspects
something, he’s kind enough to keep it to himself.
“I can’t find my cell phone—and
we need to start the birthday toast.”
“Yes, coming.” Robert’s too
smart to be fooled but I decide to put on an empty show anyway. “Robert, I don’t
think you’ve met Mr. Hunter.”
“A pleasure to meet you,”
Robert says, offering his hand.
Jackson holds up his right
arm. “My hand’s wet.”
My face turns cranberry, and
I spin toward Jackson so Robert can’t see. “Thank you for your feedback, Mr. Hunter.
I’ll be sure to keep all of your suggestions in mind.”
Jackson refuses to play
along. “They weren’t suggestions. They were promises.”
It takes all my concentration
to turn around and push Robert toward the door. When I hand him his phone, he gives
me a quizzical look.
“Don’t ask. Would you check
with the caterers about the cake? I’ll find Bryan and then text you.”
Robert heads out the door. I
take a breath, adjust my dress (and everything under it) and follow. I’m only a
few steps over the threshold when a hand on my arm holds me back. I slam into
Jackson.
“I wasn’t done with your
lesson.” His tone has lost the sensual edge, and he sounds annoyed.
Lesson? I don’t want any more
tutoring on that subject. I try to sound calm. “We need to cut the cake now or
the caterers will
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