Best Laid Plans Page 9

  I could break the silence, but what would I say? I don’t even know whether I want to invite him up or not. Now that he’s my boss, the fantasy of a one-night stand is shot to hell. I’m so lost in thought, trying to anticipate every scenario, I don’t notice we’ve arrived at my building until he opens the door and I hear the low rumble of his laugh.

  “I can hear the gears turning, Jillian. I left something in your apartment, so you’re going to have to invite me up.”

  He unlocks the front door with his key (I’m sure he did it on purpose to remind me he owns the building). In the elevator, I sneak a peek at his face, and he turns his head toward me. His expression seems to promise sensual delights, and I can’t look away. He’s so damn handsome, and he holds my gaze. I tremble.

  “Cold?”

  “Nervous.” Oh, not the right thing to say. “I mean, uh…”

  He puts a hand against my face. “You are the most honest person I’ve met.”

  “Well, I hate to disappoint you, but remember that quail?”

  He puts his finger over my lips. “I don’t mean your words. It’s your face. You don’t have a poker face. Everything you’re feeling is written all over it.”

  The elevator shudders to a stop at my floor, and I reach for my keys. He takes them from my hand and opens the door. That’s the second time he’s taken keys out of my hand. He might think it’s gallant, but I find it annoying.

  I walk past him through the door and turn on the light. “What did you leave here?”

  Jackson is still standing in the hallway. “I left a frightened, panicking female.”

  It’s still embarrassing to think of, and my irritation evaporates. I push the shame out of my mind. “I hope my landlord doesn’t find out about you leaving women in my apartment.” I look around. “I think she’s gone.”

  “Then you should invite me in.”

  When did he become so formal? “Are you a vampire?” Isn’t that what Minerva called him—an emotional vampire? “You can’t cross a threshold without an invitation?”

  “What was it you said earlier? ‘If I open this door, we are really going to do this.’ I need you to decide. Either invite me in or say good-night. It’s your choice, Jillian.”

  Part of me wishes he would just come in and kiss me senseless and then ravish me. That’s not his style. Still, I need to know a little more. “If I invite you in, what will happen?”

  He raises his eyebrows and laughs, almost like a villain in an old James Bond film. “You want me to sell you on the idea of inviting me in?”

  His lips curl into a sensual smile as he crosses his arms and leans against the doorframe. The pose suits him—he looks like an ad for sex. “The first thing I’ll do is close the door. And lock it. There is a frightened, panicked female lose in the building, and I don’t want her coming back into this apartment.”

  “Unpredictable people can be scary, but so are experienced people to the beginner.”

  He tilts his head back. “I understand now. What I want to do is explore. I want to explore your body, I want to explore what turns you on, and I want to explore what makes your eyes roll back in your head. I want to know what makes you whimper, what makes you moan, and what makes you shout my name. I’m not a rapist. You can say no to me. But that doesn’t mean I won’t try to turn it into an ‘oh no,’ which means something else entirely.”

  “You’re very persuasive.”

  “I must be. I’ve turned myself on. Invite me in.”

  Despite every nagging doubt and fear, I hold out my hand. “Won’t you come in, Jackson?”

  He slowly enters the apartment, shuts the door, and locks it. He is a man of his word, but I wish he would hurry. He grabs my arms and pulls me into his embrace.

  “I want you. All of you. But I know that is going to involve trust. So let me be very clear. There is no one else. And for as long as we are together, there will be no one else. For either of us. Do you understand?”

  I nod my head. There is an intensity in his eyes that almost distracts me from the hands working the zipper on the back of my dress.

  He brushes his lips against my cheek. “I’m not interested in casual sex. There is nothing casual about what is going to happen tonight. We are going to get to know each other very well.”

  His mouth is on mine and I respond with all the pent-up passion he has been awakening in me. I need to feel him. I can’t stop myself from leaning into his kiss, into his arms, into his seduction. His hands pull on my dress, and then suddenly stop.

  He steps back and holds his hand out. “Take me to your bedroom.”

  He wants me to be sure. He wants me to lead him. My choice. I’m so conflicted about this moment. Saying yes may be a regret. But I know not saying it will be a regret. I take his hand and the look in his eyes…is it relief? Is he as unsure of how I will react as I am?

  I lead him to the bedroom. This is the awkward part, but it’s best to get it over with. I reach into my nightstand and pull out a box.

  “I don’t know if you came prepared…but I do have some—”

  “A box of condoms? No wonder you wanted to get to bed early.”

  “There’s only six in there.”

  “Only six? I’m feeling pressured.” He then laughs out loud. “But they did expire three years ago.”

  “Condoms expire?”

  That only makes him laugh harder.

  “I thought you were a passionate woman, and now I know why. You are starving and I find that an incredible turn-on.”

  He pounces like an animal, kissing me, touching me, his hands pulling at the back of my dress. “I was going to have you strip for me. I was going to make you take off each piece of clothing and fold it carefully.” He pulls the dress over my head. “But I need you naked now.”

  He unhooks my bra and stares. “So beautiful.” Instead of touching me, he turns to the bed, pulls the comforter off and tosses it on the floor. “On the bed, face up.”

  I feel his urgency. I lie on the bed. He spreads my legs open and kneels between them. He unbuttons his shirt. “There are things I want to do to that beautiful body of yours. Things that your mind says good girls don’t do.”

  He takes his shirt off. His chest is the perfect blend of muscle and hair. I know I should be listening to what he is saying. I know it’s important, but he’s so damn handsome. His broad shoulders and chest taper down to a muscular waist. There is a thin line of hair below his navel that slips down behind the zipper of his pants.

  “Do you have a safe word?”

  His words bring my attention back to his face. “Do I need one?”

  “I like them for role play. Maybe you’d like me to be a dangerous man who’s doing terrible, wonderful things to you. Then you’ll have the freedom to beg me to stop…and not have to worry I will. The poor little victim who’s trapped in the clutches of a man determined to have her.”

  I hate the word victim. I have fought all my life against being one. So why does it sound so intriguing when he says it?

  “So, what shall we use for our safe word?” he whispers.

  “The only ones I know are yellow and red.”

  “Little Jillian Whitkins. Everything she knows about kinky sex she read in a book. No one ever stops to think how you use a safe word when there’s a gag in your mouth.”

  My eyes must have flashed a panicked look, because the sexual smirk crosses his face. “No, Jillian. No gags tonight. I’m not going to gag you, or bind you, or blindfold you. Tonight, we’re just going to play with our bodies, and our dirty little minds. But if we’re going with the traffic light example, let’s add green. Anytime I’m doing something you like and you want more of—say green.” In a flash, I hear a rip and my panties are yanked off me. I’m exposed, possessed, and turned on.

  “I like ripping clothing. And the color in your cheeks tells me you don’t mind when I do it.”

  “That’s why you have all those little black dresses.”

  “Some women ar
e very particular about their wardrobe. I’ll replace anything I ruin, but I suggest you wear things around me you won’t mind losing.”

  I think about my closet and imagine him ripping through it, until he slaps me on my thigh.

  “I can always tell when you start thinking. It’s like you’re somewhere else. Are you trying to figure me out in that busy little mind of yours? I’m giving you all my attention right now, and I need all of yours. That will be your first lesson.”

  “Lesson?”

  He slips off the bed, and I sit up. “I didn’t tell you to move. Lie down!” I lie back down, and he moves his body out of my eyeline. I hear his zipper open and then the sound of his pants hitting the floor.

  “When we are having a scene, thinking is bad and feeling is good.” The overhead light blazes to life and blinds me. I hear him move furniture around.

  “Look to your left.”

  I turn my head and see his handiwork. He has taken the full-length mirror off the back of the door and placed it horizontally on a chair near the bed. I see my naked reflection for a second before his hands land above my shoulders. He hovers over me on all fours, his knees between my legs, keeping them spread. I turn my head to look at his face.

  “I usually like my mirrors on the ceiling, but something about this is turning me on. Look in the mirror. Look at my eyes—in the mirror.”

  I turn back to the mirror. His gaze is locked on me. I look down the mirror to take in his body.

  “My eyes. Keep your focus on my eyes in the mirror.”

  His gaze is so intense. It’s almost like another person. A person who only exists in the mirror.

  “This is how we’re going to play. I want you to take your arms and raise them over your head. Grab hold of the rods in the headboard.” I do as he says. “Good girl. Now keep them there. You will not let go. You will not close your legs. You will not close your eyes or look away from the mirror. Do you understand?”

  “Yes.” Is that the right answer?

  “You’re thinking. Thinking is bad. What are you thinking?”

  “I don’t know if I’m supposed to say ‘yes, sir.’”

  “I’ll tell you what I want. You don’t have to think—you just have to be honest. There is no punishment here. There is only the first lesson. And now, one more thing—I don’t want you making any noise. You may answer if I ask you a question, but no other sounds. If you make a sound, I stop—and you won’t want me to stop.”

  He nibbles on my ear. He’s so close, hovering over me. I can feel the heat radiate off his body, but I can’t touch him. He trails his tongue down my neck and I shiver. I never knew that was an erogenous zone, and I enjoy the sensation.

  “Open your eyes, Jillian.”

  My eyes fly open. When did I close them?

  “What did I tell you?”

  “Keep my eyes open.”

  “And?”

  “Don’t look away from the mirror.”

  “And?”

  “Don’t let go of the headboard. And keep my legs open. And don’t make a sound.” My mind races. What else? “Don’t think.”

  “And?”

  What else did he tell me? Isn’t that everything?

  “I want you to always be honest,” he gently reminds me.

  Well, if I was honest, I’d tell him this is a lot harder than it looks.

  His mouth descends on my left nipple. He suckles it, and I want to close my eyes and moan, but I clamp those reactions down tight. I look at my face in the mirror and almost burst out laughing—I look like one of those roller coaster photographs where they catch you in mid-scream. At that moment, his teeth capture my nipple and I make a sound I couldn’t repeat if my life depended on it. Jackson stops and turns his head toward the mirror.

  “Why did I stop?”

  “Because I made a sound,” I manage in a strangled voice.

  “And haven’t we discussed this, Jillian? What were you thinking?”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be sorry. Answer the question. What were you thinking? Be honest.”

  “I wasn’t making any sounds and I wasn’t moving anything and I was looking in the mirror and it felt wonderful but my face was so tense I thought it looked funny and I was about to laugh when you bit down on my nipple and I lost control.”

  “You didn’t lose control. You let go of it. You have it back now, don’t you?”

  Do I? “I don’t know.”

  “Well, your legs are open, your hands are on the headboard, your eyes are on the mirror, and you’re answering my questions. Aren’t you in control?”

  I stare in the mirror at a naked man hovering over me. That doesn’t give me a strong sense of control. “I feel nervous.”

  “I’m not asking you how you feel. I’m asking you what you think about losing control.”

  “I think I’m going to disappoint you.”

  “Look at me—in the mirror. Look at all of me. Do I look disappointed?”

  I move my eyes down the length of him and I see…the length of him. He is hard, and straight, and certainly not disappointed. In fact, maybe overenthusiastic is a better description.

  “Your mind doesn’t like giving up control. It’s going to try to distract you—to make you feel ridiculous, or frightened, or shamed. None of those things are true. All that is true is that you are laying here on your bed, unrestrained, receiving a lesson from a teacher who only wants you to be an excellent pupil.”

  He kisses me between my breasts. “The lesson is almost over. I just need you to focus. Look into the mirror and look into my eyes.” He moves to my right side and lays on his side, pressing against me and facing the mirror, his head now positioned over my right breast. His right hand strokes my thigh. I can feel his erection pressed against my hip. He slides a finger into me and my arms move reflexively.

  “Arms!”

  I put my hands back on the headboard and he slips a second finger in. My knees start to bend.

  “Put your legs down!”

  His mouth clamps on my nipple and I moan. He lifts his head up. “It’s hard having to control yourself around me, isn’t it?” I nod my head, never taking my eyes off the mirror. “If your hands were restrained, you wouldn’t have to remember to grip the headboard.” His fingers slip in and out, slowly circling. “If your legs were restrained, you could let go of having to control your body. If I blindfolded you, you wouldn’t have that harsh light or be watching your own expression. You could just feel every sensation.”

  His tongue flicks across my nipple as he slips a third finger deep into me. I moan. I don’t have the energy to control it anymore, but he doesn’t stop his assault.

  “I don’t think I would gag you. You suffer so erotically.”

  Something bursts within me. I don’t want to be still. I don’t want to stare into the mirror. I want to hold him and feel him and have him inside me. I want to tell him to kiss me, and touch me, and fuck me. I don’t want to worry about how he’ll react. I hate having to be so vigilant when all I want to do is lose myself in him.

  A sob bubbles up from my throat. I don’t want to let it out, but I can’t control one more thing tonight. If I can’t lose myself in him, I’ll lose myself in this feeling and I start to cry.

  He kisses me on the forehead and whispers, “You can relax now,” as he rises from the bed. I curl into a ball. He switches off the overhead light and the room darkens. There is a faint glow from the hall light and his silhouette picks up his pants from the floor. I realize Minerva was right; he breaks women and then loses interest. I bury my face in my pillow, thinking how I didn’t rate more than a one-night stand foreplay session.

  Jackson places the comforter over me, and then he joins me in the bed. He pulls me to him, uncurling me with his body, and moves on top of me. My mind is confused but my body responds instinctively; my arms wrap around him and I mold myself against his muscular frame. I’ve wanted to feel his naked body pressed against me so much that I’m clinging.<
br />
  He brushes a curl off my forehead. “Look at me,” he commands, holding my head in his hands.

  I don’t want to. I knew I was going to disappoint him and here I am, crying, when we only just started. He moves his finger under my chin and lifts my head up. I look into his face and see his smile.

  “Don’t be ashamed of these tears. You’re a passionate woman, Jillian, but you hold everything in so tightly. I wanted to show you how controlling what you say, what you do, and second-guessing yourself just gets in the way of your passion. I want to set you free. I want to make you soar.”

  He moves his hand from under my chin and wipes a stray tear from my cheek. “But right now I need to fuck you. Luckily, I have a condom from this century. You can move your arms, you can move your legs, and you can make as much noise as you want. Just don’t think. Follow my lead and trust me. And use the safe words if you can’t.”

  He pulls himself off me and lifts up on his knees, hovering over my chest. He hands me the condom. “Put it on me.”

  I open the condom package and pull out the latex ring. I take hold of him in my left hand. He’s big and straight and beautifully shaped. He’s so hard in my hand, yet the skin feels wonderfully smooth and very warm. There isn’t anything that isn’t hot about this man. I roll the condom down his shaft, and hear his sharp intake of breath. When I look in his face, it’s obvious he isn’t trying to control his expression anymore.

  “You seem to have some experience with this.”

  “I’ve decorated a lot of parties with condom balloons.”

  He chuckles under his breath. “So much experience, and all of it the wrong kind. Why does that turn me on?”

  His lips lock on mine, and I feel the need again. It’s stronger now that I’m free to touch him. His lesson has made me bolder, or am I just too excited to be self-conscious about what I’m doing? My hands need to feel his hair, the muscles in his back, his arms—every part of him.

  He lifts himself up on one elbow. His eyes darken as he presses against me. I stare back at him and we communicate through this silent eye contact.