Chapter 30: Bide: Chapter 27

My boyfriend is taking me on a date.

Because, you know, I have a boyfriend.

Weird.

I guess I should say my boyfriend is to take me on a date. I’m wholly opposed to the idea; I would be perfectly happy spending the rest of tonight in this hotel room.

Preferably naked.

Jackson has different, lofty ideas. He glares at me playfully from where he stands in the bathroom, a towel slung loosely around his waist as he rakes argan oil through his wet hair. “Tough shit. We’re going out.”

I whine as I flop back onto the cloud-like bed I’d rather not leave. The soft sheets tickle my cheek as my head falls to the side, eyes following Jackson as he crosses the room and crouches to rifle through the bag thrown on the floor. “Why can’t we just stay in?”

He cuts me an exasperated glance as he swaps his towel for underwear. I’m only human, so of course I stare with a dry mouth at the other tempting reason for us not to leave the room. “Because I wanna show off my hot girlfriend.”

That makes me snort.

isn’t the word I’d use to describe me right now.

, maybe. Sighing, I prop myself up on my elbows. “I have nothing to wear.” Unless you count my outfit from last night that honestly needs to be incinerated.

“Don’t you?”

I like a lot of things about Jackson but the smile he’s currently wearing isn’t one of them. It’s smug, like he knows something I don’t, and it only gets worse when he digs around in his duffel a little more and pulls out…

A shopping bag.

A branded shopping bag.

An branded shopping bag.

I sit up slowly, eyeing the loot suspiciously. “What did you do?”

“You said you have nothing to wear, right?” Jackson replies all matter-of-factly, like him holding what has to be a couple of grand’s worth of stuff is no big deal.

I can’t help but blurt, “How the hell do you have so much money?”

Jackson stiffens, and not for the first time with him, I immediately know I’ve fucked up. “What?” I groan. “What did I say?”

With a too-nonchalant shrug, Jackson says, “Money’s a touchy subject.”

Of course it is.

I have a knack for running headfirst into those.

“It’s my grandparents’ money,” he continues. “We don’t really get along.”

Such limited information yet so quickly, I’m getting the picture that there’s not much family he does get along with.

“I don’t using it.” Jackson joins me on the bed, dropping the bag on my lap and a kiss on my cheek. “But I have more than I need.”

I could play the abnegator and pretend to be too gracious and altruistic to accept but come on. Who am I kidding? I am a simple, simple woman who fucking loves presents.

“Jackson.” I adopt a warning tone when I reach into the bag and pull out a black box, one of those fancy ones tied up with a neat red ribbon. Opening it carefully because the packaging alone is probably worth more than me, a soft gasp escapes me at what I find.

A simple but beautiful satin dress sits folded neatly inside. Pale pink and silky smooth, all thin straps and draped, flowing material. I’ve heard horror stories about receiving terrible presents from boyfriend but this is perfect, so fucking me, and it only gets better when I find a matching mens shirt tucked beneath.

Somewhere between me lifting the dress to see it glimmer in the light, though, and accidentally catching a glimpse of the price tag, the allure dies.

“I can’t wear this.”

“Not really giving you a choice, sweetheart.”

“It’s too expensive.”

too expensive. He said it himself, money is a touchy subject. It obviously makes him uncomfortable and I don’t want to be a source of that when I don’t need to be.

Jackson doesn’t share that same mindset. “It’s the dress or the robe, Lu.”

“If you’re spending all this money to get me to put out, it’s really unnecessary.”

“I know.”

“I don’t need a fancy dinner, either.”

“I know that too.” A hand coasts along my thigh, settling high and squeezing. “Maybe I just like knowing the whole time you’ll be thinking about me fucking you.”

“Stop teasing if you’re not gonna deliver.” It’s half a reprimand, half a plea. I don’t think I can handle another false start. Tongues and fingers and lips just aren’t cutting it anymore. I feel like an addict, constantly chasing a bigger high than the last, and him dangling it right in front of me is downright cruel.

“I told you, sweetheart. I’ll stop teasing when you start behaving.” Rough fingers rest on the curve of my neck, stroking the flesh there tenderly, contradicting the roughness of his voice and gaze. “You gonna behave?”

I nod without hesitation, and I get a brush of his lips against mine as a reward.

“Good girl.”

Dinner lasts a fucking eternity.

I can’t stop squirming, wriggling around in my seat like an unruly toddler while the immaculately dressed waitress shoots me the occasional irritated glare.

Honestly, I’m not sure if she’s glaring at me because the short dress, high heels, and nervous energy I’m sporting are entirely out of place in a restaurant full of people who look like they know exactly where they belong in the world, or if she’s annoyed that my presence means the handsome man opposite me is taken.

Judging by the stars in her eyes and the drool on the corner of her mouth, I’m betting on the latter.

Honestly, I don’t blame her. I really don’t because Jackson looks . Better than good. A silky, pale shirt clinging to every muscle and complimenting his skin tone, long hair slick and styled, and Jesus Christ, his . The ring he stole from me isn’t alone tonight, and the gold bands accompanying it are doing everything in their power to hold my full attention, battling with the rest of Jackson.

I barely taste whatever the hell I eat, way more focused on the deft fingers tracing circles just below the hem of my skirt. Every so often, he sweeps higher, fingertips grazing my inner thighs lightly but oh-so-fucking-purposefully. Each extra centimeter has me jerking in my seat, once so hard, the fork in my hand clatters to the floor.

Little shit.

I try to get my own back. You know, the classic ‘oops, I dropped my cutlery, let me just accidentally brush your crotch on my way to get it.’

I’m barely upright again before a strong hand closes around mine. Even as his eyes flare and his voice drops to that dangerous timbre, Jackson exudes composure. “Keep that up, Lu, and I’ll fuck you right here on this table.”

I have to clamp my lips together to prevent the embarrassing noise brewing in my throat from sneaking out.

Smirking, Jackson pats my thigh, fingers squeezing tightly and remaining there for the rest of dinner.

He’s long since let go but still, as we leisurely stroll the short distance back to our hotel, I still feel his burning, branding touch. It’s almost annoying how affected I am by him while he remains unrattled. How he’s all calm and collected on our way back to the room while I’m a jittery mess. I keep waiting for his demeanor to shift, for him to pounce like he’s been promising, but he doesn’t.

A pout forms when we go the entire elevator ride without him making a move, and the longer he goes without touching me, the more pronounced said-pout gets. By the time we get back to the room, I’m a bundle of horny irritation bordering on an almighty tantrum.

The rational part of my brain knows this is his goal, getting me frustrated and using my brattiness against me, but still, I play right into his hand. And he loves it; his self-satisfied smirk proves it.

Once we’re back in the room, I’m contemplating whether locking myself in the bathroom would be a step too far when hands on my waist pull me to a stop. Hair swept to the side, lips fall to my neck, kissing softly. “You have a nice night?”

I suffocate my soft sigh. “Mmhmm.”

“You didn’t want dessert?”

“Nothing that was on the menu.”

Jackson releases a slow, low chuckle. “Always so impatient.”

“Horny,” I correct. “I’m horny, Jackson”

That evokes a real laugh, one that rumbles from his chest and vibrates through me when he drops his head to my shoulder. “Jesus Christ, Lu.”

“Just being honest.” I shrug his hands off, spinning to face him as I perform a serious act of contortion to unzip my dress. “And, honestly, I’m starting to think you’re a fraud.”

Jackson’s laughter stills, his smirk dimming slightly. “A fraud?”

“All talk, no action.”

The smirk disappears. The playfulness ebbs away as dark brows arch slowly. “Is that so?”

I hum nonchalantly as I let my dress fall, feeling his gaze drop to my chest as the material pools around my feet. Jackson’s jaw clenches, his tongue running over his teeth, his hands forming fists at his side. “Lu?”

“Hm?”

“Get on the bed.”

Anticipation crackles in the room like lightning.

My chest feels tight as I cautiously follow Jackson’s command. He stalks toward me the minute my ass hits the mattress, coming to a stop a few feet too far away for my liking. Butterflies erupt in my stomach, and if I didn’t know myself better, I’d swear they were nerves.

Luna fucking Evans. Nervous about sex.

.

Jackson’s hands drifting to the neck of his shirt grab my attention. He works slowly, the act of him unbuttoning somehow so unreasonably hot. Almost as hot as the way he cocks his head at me, watching me like he knows something I don’t. “Lean back.”

The sheets fist between my fingers as I rest back on my hands so the man staring at me with so much fucking want in his gaze can get a better view. An invisible coil in my stomach tightens at his slow perusal, trailing from my face, down my chest, settling on my closed legs. His face twists in a disapproving expression. “Spread your legs.”

I don’t know why, but I hesitate. My thighs clench together, unwilling to part, as if they’ve forgotten this man has done much more than look before.

.

“Let’s not pretend you’re shy, Lu,” Jackson croons, brows pitched high as he stares at me in amusement. There’s something else hidden in his gaze though, something softer, and it seeps into his voice, automatically relaxing my limbs and quieting the unfamiliar flutters doing a weird dance in my stomach. “Let me see you.”

Slowly, I do as he asks. Immediately, his eyes flicker down, gaze darkening as he practically licks his lips. I damn near do the same thing when he shrugs his shirt off, revealing that tan, lean body. “Remember the morning after Halloween?”

As if I could forget.

“Touch yourself, sweetheart.”

The commanding cadence of his voice leaves me powerless to do anything but oblige. My hand slips between my legs, his eyes tracking my every move. God, all he’s done is stare at me and fucking chat a little yet I’m wet. Easily, I slip a finger inside myself and brush my clit with the heel of my hand, a small sigh escaping me as pleasure tickles my spine.

A displeased tut interrupts my brief moment of pleasure. “Just one? If you can’t handle more than that, we’re gonna have a problem.”

“You have complaints, you do it yourself,” I retort but nevertheless, another finger joins the first. I don’t restrain my moan, nor my hips as they buck, the sparks erupting from my core only heightened by Jackson’s approving nod.

I don’t take my eyes off him as he continues undressing. I don’t think I could if I wanted to. I think it would physically hurt to tear my gaze away from the beautiful man looming before me.

And the .

I never thought the unbuckling of a belt could be sexy. But as those thick fingers, the rings adorning them earlier missing but mine, slip it from his waist, the sound of leather and metal and jeans scraping against each other is the most erotic noise in the world. That combined with the little grunts of approval, the soft, encouraging words… God, who the fuck needs porn?

When he’s finally, blessedly, naked, Jackson fists his cock with a tight grip. One harsh stroke draws a whimper out of me, speeds up my own movements. My supporting arm buckles, and I fall back as the pressure in my lower stomach builds, so close to bursting.

A hand wrapping around mine stops that from happening.

Jackson hovers above me, his hips pressing into mine, nothing stopping his erection from digging into my stomach. “The only person making you come tonight is me. Preferably all over my cock.”

My pussy clenches at the thought. “Promises, promises.”

I barely get the retort out before a pair of lips crash down on mine, rough and demanding and utterly fucking claiming. A groan rips from my throat, or maybe from his, or maybe it’s both of us, as Jackson’s lips brutalize mine, stealing every last bit of oxygen from my lungs.

Rough kisses move downwards, teeth nipping the sensitive skin of my neck, no doubt leaving marks because God knows this man loves leaving evidence of his presence.

Not that I’m complaining. Definitely not complaining.

Much to my annoyance, Jackson doesn’t linger in any one place too long, showering one area of my body with attention just long enough to have me squirming before moving on and lavishing another. He kisses, no, , his way down, appreciating every inch of skin until I can’t tell if the buzzing is a result of an impending orgasm, or from the weight of this unfamiliar pure and utter adoration.

When he reaches my lower belly, tongue swirling my navel as he kisses the jewelry adorning it, his affection turns softer, lighter, barely touching. “Remember what I said that first night? When you were begging me to fuck you?”

My hands grip his shoulders, nails digging into his skin as I try to urge him down where it’s wet and aching and in desperate need of some fucking attention. “You said a lot of things.”

I feel his smirk against my skin, feel the laugh he huffs. “I told you I wasn’t fucking this pussy until it’s all mine. So, who’s pussy is this, Luna?”

Defiance, or maybe insanity, controls my mouth. “Mine.”

The puff of warm air Jackson expels makes me fucking . “Wrong answer, sweetheart.”

If he thinks yanking me to the edge of the bed, dropping to his knees, and burying his head between my thighs is supposed to be a punishment, he’s dead wrong.

There’s no easing me into it. There’s nothing slow or steady or hesitant about the way his tongue fucking impales me. Nothing gentle about the hand that clamps on my stomach to keep in my place. He devours me like a starved man until my legs are shaking, my hands are just about ripping his hair from the root, and my back is completely bowed off the bed. In mere minutes, or honestly, maybe seconds, I’m so close, I’m fucking there.

Until he fucking stops.

A needy noise escapes me as Jackson crawls back up my body, pressing glossy lips to mine. “Wanna try that again?” he murmurs with a smirk that I kiss desperately, conveying my begging with my tongue, lips, teeth, silently praying he takes pity on me.

He doesn’t.

I slip my hands between us, reveling in his groan when I scrape my nails over the sculpted muscles of his chest before making a beeline for the throbbing spot between my legs, ready to take matters into my own hands before I start crying out of desperation.

Jackson stops me before I even make it to my belly button.

“Nice try.” He wrestles my hands away from me, one of his pinning both of mine above my head and rendering them useless. Without warning, he slips three fingers into me, my wetness easily accommodating him as he sets a mind-numbing pace that, if he weren’t purposely keeping me on the edge, would break me within seconds.

“So fucking tight, Luna,” Jackson groans, scissoring his fingers until I’m shaking like a leaf, the tightness in my stomach borderline unbearable. “You think you can take me?”

Honestly, I’m having my doubts. Just his fingers are creating a hell of a burn. The hard, long, thick thing swinging between his legs is going to feel like a fucking freight train slamming into my vagina.

“I know you can. So come on, baby,” he coos in my ear, his breath just as ragged as mine. Removing his fingers, Jackson rises to his knees, the tip of his cock brushing my clit and causing another cry to tear from my throat. As he looms over me, his hands coast up my legs until they rest on my knees, forcing my legs further apart to provide a perfect view of every inch of my body. My thighs scream but the ache is drowned out by a jolt of pleasure as he slides his cock through the warm, wet heat begging for him. “Be a good girl and admit it.”

I’m weak. A weak, weak woman whose pride is being controlled by her vagina.

Fuck it. “Please, Jackson. Fuck what’s yours.”

Before I can even take another breath, he’s thrusting inside of me.

Oh, .

I don’t think either of us breathes as he just about splits me in half, every inch of him . Despite how wet I am, there’s a painful stretch but it’s overwhelmed by pleasure, so much fucking pleasure that it scrambles my brain.

Jackson’s face screws up in pure ecstasy, breath heavy and uneven, eyes frantically flitting between my face and where we join like he can’t decide which view is better.

He settles on locking his eyes with mine, bracing one hand by my head and the other on my hip as he surges forward. God, I thought he was all in, but apparently not because suddenly, another couple of inches slip inside of me until I swear he’s in my fucking womb.

I can’t breathe. I can’t think. I don’t think I can move, but God, I want to because I need more of this.

“Fuck.” Jackson’s sudden panicked rasp knocks me out of my haze. “Condom.”

Oh, God.

.

I . I never fucking forget; I’m like a walking birth control ad.

is my sworn motto yet the idea of pausing this for even a second to be responsible…

“I have an IUD,” the desperate, lust-addled side of my brain blurts, “and I’m clean.”

“Fuck, Lu.” Jackson drops his head to my shoulder, his heavy breathing tickling my neck. I whimper as the subtle shift sends tremors up my spine. If he doesn’t start moving, I might actually cry.

After what feels like an eternity, Jackson starts to pull out. Assuming he’s going to get a condom, my breath comes out in a big, slightly deflated , cheeks a little flush with embarrassment for being such a horny little bitch.

That is, until he surges forward again, drawing a gasp out of me that he swallows by clamping his mouth over mine, the thrusting of his tongue in tune with the thrusting of his hips, deep and so hard, the headboard rattles. “I’ve never not used a condom before,“ he pants. “You make me lose my fucking mind, Lu.“

Yeah, well, the feeling is definitely mutual.

I grasp for purchase as he pounds into me, palms coasting along the bedsheets, his broad shoulders, his supple ass. Every rough pump sends a jolt of pain through me, but the good kind of pain. The best kind. The satisfying, rewarding kind that’s accompanied by so much pleasure, it’s all I can think about. My head falls to the side so I can watch him slide in and out of me, too many inches disappearing and reappearing glossy.

“See how wet you are?” Jackson grunts, watching me watch us. “See how wet I make you?”

If he expects anything more than a moan in response, he must be sorely disappointed.

“Come on, pretty girl,” he coos, a hand coasting up my stomach to tweak my nipple. “Let go.”

I come with a scream, contorting and flailing beneath him. He coaxes me through it with pretty words, calling me beautiful, perfect, all fucking his, and I’m fucking glowing.

I grapple at his chest, unsure if I’m pushing him away or pulling him closer. “Too much,” I choke out when a thumb circles my clit, the words barely more than a moan. “Can’t.”

Lips graze my wrist, my forearm, anywhere he can reach. “You can take it.”

God, I don’t know if I can. I’m sweating, shaking, dizzy, and breathless but, fuck, it feels so fucking good.

Jackson doubles down, fucking folding me in half like a pretzel as he hoists my leg up and tosses it over his shoulder. “One more, sweetheart,” he coos in my ear. “Give me one more.”

And because I am the best girlfriend, I do.

Jackson’s thrusts become more frantic, his cock swelling inside of me. I dig my fingers into his ass cheeks, urging him further inside of me, if that’s even fucking possible. With a low groan, he shoves himself into the hilt, kisses me, and explodes.

is the only word I can think of to describe us coming together. Sweaty skin and dirty words and bruising grips and clashing teeth. I taste blood as he bites down on my bottom lip hard, or maybe it’s me biting him because I don’t feel a sting of pain, just waves and waves of brain-numbing euphoria.

I have no idea how long passes before our twitching bodies collapse, Jackson bracing himself on his elbows so he doesn’t crush me. When, after a long moment of ragged breathing, he eventually slides out of me and rolls on his side, he leaves behind gaping emptiness and throbbing pain.

Fuck, that’s going to hurt in the morning.

Even through closed eyes and a hazy mind, I feel his gaze trained on me. “What?” I half-murmur, half-yawn, the effort of cracking an eyelid enough to make my head hurt.

“Nothing.” He swipes a strand of sweat-soaked hair away from my equally sweaty neck. “You just look really beautiful.”

I resist the urge to crack a lewd joke about how, yeah, I’m sure I do; exhausted, sweaty, his cum dripping down my thighs.

Instead, I revel in the compliment, let it settle in my chest and taint my cheeks with a blush.

When I can no longer stand the weight of his stare, I force myself to get up and stumble to the bathroom to pee, grimacing with every movement. When I return, I find Jackson sprawled across the bed, still butt-ass naked, eyes closed, arms folded behind his head, face lax in an expression of pure content.

I dither in the doorway, an odd feeling in my stomach as I watch him. This part is weird. The staying. Leaving a bed with every intention to get back in. There’s still a teeny, tiny part of me that wants to flee, but I’m self-aware enough to admit that it’s the shit-stirring, dramatic part.

As though he senses my presence, Jackson’s eyes flutter open, a soft smile already curling his lips. My smile, I like to think of it as. The softer yet brighter version of his normal one that I don’t ever see anyone else receive. That perfect, brown-eyed gaze lands on me and my heart throws a damn parade in my chest. “You thinking of running?”

“Maybe.”

Jackson snorts. “Get your ass back in bed, sweetheart.“

So fucking bossy.

Dragging my feet in his direction, I all but collapse on top of him. He lets out a half-grunt, half-laugh instantly wrapping his arms around me. Hands that were so rough mere minutes ago caress my skin with such gentleness, causing a lump to form in my throat.

They still catch me off guard. The soft touches, the reverent ones, the ones that make me feel as though I’m something precious to be touched. I can’t tell if it’s weird or sad or pathetic that Jackson is the first guy to touch me like that. To look at me like that. Jesus, to talk to me like that.

I do know, though, that it scares the ever-loving shit out of me.