Chapter Seven
I’ll take care of you in the morning,” Nicky said, mimicking Jackson’s ridiculously bossy voice as she scrubbed her skin with the loofah until it stung.
Gah! She’d never felt so dissatisfied, not even after what he’d made her do in the truck. Every nerve ending in her body screamed for relief from the unfulfilled desire still coursing through her veins, making her breath come in angry little pants. Dom or not, Jackson had no right to do this to her, especially not twice in one night. She hadn’t been that defiant, and had sucked him off like the best little slave in the world.
Sucked him off. . . god help her, but even the memory of it was enough to make her pussy even wetter. Jackson had the most gorgeous cock she’d ever seen in her life— long and thick, with a bulbous head that filled her mouth like a perfectly shaped plum. And it wasn’t just pretty, but made for pleasure, a woman’s pleasure. The thick ridge between head and shaft rubbed all the right places as he shoved in and out of her body, stretching her, filling every empty, aching place inside of her until there was nothing but Jackson. Nothing but pure pleasure.
“Grr,” Nicky growled, throwing the loofah to the shower floor in frustration.
Take care of her in the morning, her ass. She’d take care of herself. Right now.
Nicky pulled the shower nozzle from its place on the wall, a thrill of excitement shooting through her as she used it to wash the last of the soap from her body. It wasn’t just the fact that she was getting ready to come that thrilled her, it was the knowledge that she was defying Jackson, disobeying a direct order. Maybe he was right, and she was a naughty little submissive who needed to be punished, but that wasn’t going to stop her. She needed to take the edge off if she was going to have any hope of getting some sleep before morning.
She stuck her head out of the shower curtain for a moment, listening carefully. Thankfully, she could still hear the water running downstairs. Jackson wasn’t finished with his shower, which meant he wouldn’t be coming to check up on her for at least the next few minutes.
“A few minutes is all it will take,” Nicky said, smiling as she lay down in the tub, propping one foot on the side, baring the needy place between her legs.
Moving one hand to her breast, she began plucking at her already erect nipples, building the simmering passion within her to near the breaking point. Then, with a sigh of anticipation, she moved the nozzle of the shower between her legs. Nicky gasped as the water streamed over her clit. God, she was so close. . . so fucking close. Just a few more seconds, just a little more pressure and then. . . then. . .
“Shit!” Her hands shook as she pinched her nipples and squirmed beneath the nozzle between her legs.
What was wrong? She’d never had a problem bringing herself pleasure. Usually in less than sixty seconds. When you lived under the thumb of a domineering man who refused to have sex with you, but had forbidden you to pleasure yourself, you learned to get the job done as quickly as possible. If she hadn’t been adept at getting herself off, she probably would have lost her mind during the past two years.
So why was her body failing her now?
And don’t think about using that detachable nozzle in the shower, or your hand, or anything else. I’ll know if you don’t wait for me and I won’t be happy.
“No. God, no.” Nicky’s eyes slid closed as she let the shower-head slide down to pelt water against her thigh.
No matter what the rational part of her had to say, it seemed her body had decided Jackson’s happiness was essential. It wasn’t going to let her come, because it didn’t want to displease the man downstairs, didn’t want to anger its master. God. Dammit. Her good little submissive act hadn’t been an act, after all. She was going to have to do exactly as he’d told her, no matter what she wanted. Her stupid, freaking, twisted mind wouldn’t allow her to do anything else.
It wasn’t the first time she’d wished she’d never started exploring this side of herself, never admitted she craved the act of submission. The highs were admittedly very high, but the lows of the past two years should have taught her the danger in walking this path. She needed to be in control of herself right now. She had to concentrate on getting her life back on track, not on servicing another man. Even if it was only for a weekend, this wasn’t smart. Hell, if her head had already decided obeying Jackson was necessary in order to claim her own pleasure, this could be downright dangerous.
Tears of fear and frustration filled Nicky’s eyes as she hurriedly finished her shower and dried off. She pulled on the panties and nightshirt Jackson had brought for her, but even the soft fabric felt abrasive against her sensitized skin. She brushed her hair with swift, angry strokes, and after a little searching found the toothbrush and toothpaste Jackson had purchased for her. Seconds later, footsteps sounded on the stair, making her hurry to finish brushing her teeth and escape to the relative safety of her bedroom.
If she had to see Jackson again, smell that addictive scent that was the man she loved again, she’d—
“No. No, no, no, no.” Nicky chanted the mantra under her breath as she dashed to the bed, snapped off the bedside lamp, and curled into a ball beneath the covers.
She wasn’t falling in love with Jackson again. It was impossible. They’d been together less than twenty-four hours and no amount of hot sex could make up for time spent together, getting to know each other, learning to care for each other again.
Unless, of course, she hadn’t ever stopped loving him in the first place.
“Dammit,” Nicky whispered into the ridiculously luxurious sheets Jackson’s decorator had ordered for this room. Then she started to cry, though the exact reason for her tears wasn’t completely clear.
Was she crying for herself, for Jackson? For what they’d lost, or for what they’d never have again? She certainly didn’t know. There were many things in her life that confused her, but love had always been the biggest and most confusing thing of all.
When she woke up, the entire room was aglow with light and an only slightly rumpled Jackson was lying beside her, propped on one elbow, watching her sleep with a tender expression on his face. Even before she’d had the chance to shake off the sleep cobwebs, that look brought all her fears from the night before rushing back with a vengeance. The anxiety was strong enough to make her scoot a few inches away, despite the fact that the heat rolling from his body made her long to snuggle against his chest and go right back to sleep.
Great, now she craved snuggling instead of sex. What a perfect example of the deep shit she was getting herself into with every second she spent with this man.
“Good morning. Did you sleep well?”
“Pretty well, considering the epic sexual frustration.”
“But you still behaved yourself. I’m glad. I’d hate to have to neglect your pussy any longer,” he said, ignoring her continued migration to the other side of the queen-sized bed. Maybe he thought she was worried about morning breath.
Hmm. . . should she be worried about morning breath? A quick run of her tongue along her teeth revealed not a shred of fuzziness. Of course, she probably hadn’t been asleep more than a few hours. It was doubtful her breath had been given the time to get funky.
“What are you thinking?” A smile pulled at the corners of his full lips, making her want to smile along with him. Jackson could be a scary-looking motherfucker when he wanted to be, but when he smiled he looked like a big teddy bear.
“I was thinking about morning breath,” she said with a little laugh.
“Don’t worry. You’re good. I kissed you before you woke up. You looked so damned sweet I couldn’t help myself.”
“Sweet?”
“Yeah, I was surprised, too. Amazing what being unconscious will do for a brat’s looks.” He grinned again as he reached out, twisting a strand of her hair around his finger. “I’d forgotten it was curly when you didn’t do that thing to it.”
“It’s called a flattening iron. You must come into the twenty-first century.” Nicky told herself she should move away from that gentle touch and the scary look in Jackson’s eyes, but she couldn’t. It had been too long since anyone had looked at her with such affection. Terrifying and stupid or not, she craved the warmth in his expression as much as she’d craved his body last night.
“Give me a break. I haven’t lived with a girl since high school. And then you know we never spent much time getting ready at home.”
“Yeah, six or more people and one bathroom was always fun.” Nicky shuddered as she remembered the nasty little Pepto-Bismol-colored toilet and the tub with the cracks up the side.
She’d shared the festering little lav with Jackson; Phil and his wife, Naomi; and an endlessly shifting group of younger foster kids. Nicky had tried not to remember their names or their faces. It was easier that way. If she didn’t get attached, she didn’t have to freak out when they went to school with bruises on their arms or without breakfast in their bellies because Phil had gone on a bender and they didn’t have money left over to buy cereal or milk.
“It was easier to get ready at school,” she said, digging her fingers into her eyes, as if she could rub away the visions of the sad little faces conjured by her thoughts.
“Or in Kevin’s camper.”
Nicky’s eyes flew open, wondering if he remembered that’s where they’d spent their last night together, but he didn’t seem to make the connection. Of course, Jackson hadn’t known it would be their last night. She hadn’t wanted to ruin it for him by telling him she couldn’t wait until he raised enough money for them to move to Reno.
There was no way she could have kept living in Casa de la Hell without Jackson there, and no way Phil would have let a minor in his “care” move out to live with her boyfriend. As long as her foster father knew where she was, there was no way she’d have any peace. She’d had to get out of town, way out of town.
“So, you hungry?” he asked, releasing the curl he’d wrapped around his finger. “I’ve got the stuff to make waffles downstairs. And some bacon and eggs, or diet yogurt if you’re watching your figure.”
“You know me. I can take down two times my body weight a day and not gain a pound. Even when I was—” Nicky broke off, biting her lip. “Even when I stopped growing taller, I kept eating like a horse.”
Shit! She’d nearly said “when I was pregnant.” The last thing she wanted to talk about with Jackson was her fight for her daughter. He’d either hate her for being dumb and weak enough to let Derrick take Abby— they’d always sworn they would protect their kids if they ever had any of their own— or he’d decide to wring Derrick’s neck with his own hands. As appealing as that image was, Nicky didn’t want to be responsible for getting Jackson put in jail for beating another man to a pulp or be indebted to him for rushing to “rescue her.”
She was going to rescue herself, thank you very much. She had an appointment with the marketing head of Good and Trashy Lingerie next Friday. Kelsey Greer had always been a big Angel fan. He’d hire her on for the spring line photo shoot for sure. Maybe not in her former position as the “it girl,” but the job would earn her a few grand, easy. Then she’d be in a much better place to fight Derrick in court.
Or you could take that fifteen grand Jackson’s offering and be in an even better place, even sooner.
No way. She didn’t want Jackson’s money, especially not for something as creepy as letting him alter her tattoo. Even if she could be convinced that a slightly different fallen angel would serve her modeling career as well as the one she had now, she didn’t want to look over her shoulder in the mirror and see anything but what she saw now. It would be like losing a piece of herself to lose that tat.
“So I guess that’s a yes for breakfast?” Jackson asked, the look in his eyes making Nicky wonder if he’d been reading her mind. He looked so smug and satisfied with himself, like he knew she’d just realized the damned tattoo was so much more to her than a marketing device for her modeling career. The ink had kept her connected to Jackson no matter how much time and distance separated them. But where that had given her comfort, it had obviously driven Jack crazy, made him willing to do anything to sever that connection.
“Yeah, breakfast sounds good,” Nicky said, ignoring the tightness in her chest.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” She smiled, determined not to get her precious little feelings hurt by the fact that Jackson wanted to erase the evidence of their past. She’d known that’s what he wanted to do since last night. Why should it bother her so much more this morning?
Because now you know you still love him, never stopped loving him.
“I’m starving. Let’s eat.” She tried to bolt from the bed, but a rock-hard arm closed around her waist and pulled her back onto the covers.
“I haven’t forgotten my promise,” Jackson said, his hand wandering down to her bare thigh, caressing her with a gentle insistence that had her body waking up faster than downing a double shot of espresso. “I just wanted to make sure I wasn’t starving you to death. You can’t live on love alone and all that.”
“Lust alone, you mean.” Nicky strove to make the words casual, but the joke fell flat, and if she wasn’t mistaken Jackson looked a little hurt by the correction.
Could he be feeling the same way she did? Did he more than “care” for her? Could he still feel the way he had when they were so young and stupid, but so very, very in love?
The thought should have been exhilarating. Isn’t that what she’d hoped for? Less than eight hours ago she’d sworn to do whatever it took to make Jackson start falling for her again, and then use his feelings to make this weekend end the way she wanted it to end. But now. . . the thought of Jackson loving her just hurt. Badly.
“Babe, don’t cry. What’s wrong?” Jackson pulled his hand away from her thigh, moving both arms to surround her and pull her close to his chest. He was so much bigger and stronger than he’d been when they were younger, but the feeling of safety she’d always felt when he held her was the same.
God, why had she ever left him? No matter how bad things had been at her foster home, she should have stayed and found a way to wait for him. How had she ever thought she’d be okay without Jack?
Of course, at sixteen, she hadn’t realized how precious he was. She’d known there weren’t a lot of good guys out there, but she’d assumed she would find another, move on from her first love. But she hadn’t, not even when things were still good with Derrick. She’d never loved her husband the way she loved this man. And on those nights she’d cried herself to sleep when her marriage had soured, it wasn’t Derrick’s arms she imagined holding her close, making her feel safe and loved.
It was Jackson. It had always been Jackson. And probably always would be.
Still, that didn’t change anything. Jackson didn’t want her, not really. If he did, he wouldn’t have written asking her to change her tattoo. He would have written asking to see her again, to see if they could reconnect in some way. He hadn’t known she was married. She’d kept her maiden name instead of taking Derrick’s. Nicky Remington certainly sounded a lot more glamorous and lingerie-model-esque than Nicky Sakapatatis, and not even Derrick’s wrath could convince her to take that trip down to the Social Security office.
No, what Jackson really wanted was his freedom. Whatever it was he was feeling, he wanted those feelings gone, and he thought modifying her tattoo was the way to get that accomplished. Who knew? Maybe it was. Maybe the connection between them would finally be severed when they no longer sported matching ink.
“I’m okay.” She sniffed, wishing she had a Kleenex. Seconds later, Jack reached out and plucked one from the bedside table and pressed it into her hand. That small act of compassion was nearly enough to get her tears going again.
“Listen, I meant what I said, Nick. I don’t want to hurt you, and I really don’t want to make you cry.”
“You look scared.” Nicky sniffed and wiped her nose.
“Well, a crying woman is a pretty scary thing.” He smiled as he tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “Especially you. I can count the times I’ve seen you cry on one finger.”
“Really? I never. . . No, I guess I never did.” She laughed, remembering the tough little nut she used to be. Of course, most of it had been an act, a front to hide how scared and sad she was sometimes— well, just about all the time when she wasn’t with Jackson. “It’s all right. Now, I cry all the time. It’s no big thing.”
“Sounds like a big thing to me.” His smile faded and he started to look like scary Jackson again. “What’s been making you cry? Your ex? If so, I’m sure I could arrange for him to have a visit from some people who would make him think twice about—”
“Let’s not talk about my ex,” Nicky said, tossing her Kleenex to the floor behind her. “In fact, let’s not talk at all.”
Before Jack could say a word, she’d wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him down for a kiss. And then another kiss, and another, until he moaned into her mouth and rolled on top of her, crushing her into the mattress with his weight, all concerns about who or what might have been making her cry clearly vanishing in the wake of the heat that never failed to flare between them.
Nicky wrapped her legs around his hips, a moan bursting from her own lips when she felt how hard he was beneath those blue-and-white-striped pajama bottoms. “What time is it?” she asked in between nibbles at his bottom lip.
“Nearly noon.” He took his turn capturing her bottom lip, tugging it between his teeth before he let it go.
Damn, she’d never realized she enjoyed being bitten so much. But then, she enjoyed everything Jackson did to her, even the stuff she was sure she hated. Like it or not, he’d been right to make her wait. She was even more eager to have him now than she’d been last night, and knew when she finally came it was going to blow her mind. And probably her heart, too, but she wasn’t going to think about that now. She wasn’t going to think about anything except how amazing he made her feel.
“That’s horrible. I can’t believe we’re still in our pajamas at noon,” she said, reaching down to run her fingers under the waistband of his pants. “I think it’s time we both got out of them. Don’t you think?”
“I couldn’t agree more.” His laugh rumbled against her lips, making them tingle.
Then they were pulling at each other’s clothes, laughing as shirts and pants flew, sighing as bodies came back together with nothing to separate skin from skin. And for a moment, as her breasts pressed against Jackson’s hard, lightly furred chest and her lips met his— teeth bumping together as they kissed through their matching grins— Nicky was happy. As happy as she’d been in longer than she could remember.