Page 67 of Just Don't Call Me Yours

She stares up at me, those big, brown eyes meeting my challenge. “Nope.”

Her answer shoots straight to my cock because I can think of a few things I’d like to do to her, but I’m not playing her game. “Great,” I say as I grab her chin and give her a quick kiss. “Goodnight, Red.” Then I turn and walk toward the door.

43

margot

Jackson’s kiss still tingles on my lips. As he walks away, the panic in my chest tightens. “What are you doing?” I ask, starting after him.

He stops and turns. “What?”

He’s infuriating.

“What are you doing?” I say again. The rejection of him walking toward the door already has me feeling pulled to him, like there’s a rubber band tethering us together.

Jackson’s thumb points over his shoulder as he stands in my doorway. “I thought you don’t care what I do,” he says slowly like he doesn’t understand why I’m questioning him.

He knows exactly why I’m questioning him.

I glare at him, my arms crossed, and his only response is a subtle quirk of his mouth. “Is there something else you’d like me to do?”

Torn between telling him what I want and not wanting to give him the satisfaction of making me crack, I hesitate. Finally, I settle on saying, “I want you to close the door.”

Without missing a beat, he takes a single step back into my room and closes the door behind him in one fluid motion. “What else?”

My heart races under the intensity of his stare, and I find myself at a loss for words. “Um—I . . .” A million thoughts cycle through, but I can’t settle on one to say out loud.

His brows cinch. “Just say what you want, Margot.”

He makes it sound so simple. He doesn’t understand what it’s like to squirm under the weight of having his full attention. It’s always hard for me to say what I want out loud, but with him, it’s worse. Finding words feels impossible when he’s looking at me like this, let alone words that will articulate how badly I want him. My cheeks warm at the thought.

He takes a step toward me, and I sigh out a breath of relief. “Want to know what I want?”

I swallow hard.

Jackson puts a hand on either side of my face, and I feel the warmth of his fingertips throughout my entire body. He kisses me lightly, his lips teasing. “I want to fuck you like you’re mine,” he says, his voice low. “I want to taste every part of you, and when I’m done, I want to bury myself so deep inside you that you feel me there for days.” His hands slide down until he’s gripping the back of my neck, his forehead resting against mine. “I want to fucking consume you, Margot, and I want to be consumed by you.”

My chest rises and falls, and the heart-fluttering feeling from moments ago has turned into a heavy heat between my legs. The wires connecting my brain to my mouth must be frayed or flat-out cut because there’s no way I can find something coherent to say back to that.

God, someone who looks like him should not be allowed to talk like that. Even with his brows furrowed and his lips pressed in a firm line, he’s good-looking. There’s no reason for someone to walk through life looking the way he does. It’s excessive and unnecessary, but I am also incredibly grateful for it. I’m grateful for the way his captivating eyes hold mine, and the way his tongue instinctively runs over his bottom lip every time he looks at me too long. His thumb lightly brushes my cheek, and I blink, remembering I’m supposed to speak.

Without thinking, my hands find the front of his jeans, unbuttoning them. I look up to find him watching me intently, but he doesn’t say a word. Slipping my hand inside, I find him already hard. Jackson practically growls when my hand wraps around him, and I love seeing him react to my touch. He kisses me, his mouth desperate for mine, and I pump my hand. The sounds it pulls from him prompts me to kiss him deeper. It isn’t until he says, “Margot, if you don’t stop doing that, I’m going to come in my pants,” that I remove my hand with a smile tugging at my lips.

Jackson kicks off his jeans, walking me backward until I bump into my desk. Lifting me, he sets me on the cool, wooden surface, parting my legs as he kneels in front of me. Just the sight of him on his knees makes it impossible to think straight. He’s quick to maneuver my cotton shorts and underwear down, leaving me completely exposed.

His intense gaze drifts up to meet mine, and I’m left frozen, waiting and wanting. Pulling me to the edge of the desk, he slowly presses his lips to my center. His fingers dig into my thighs as he uses his tongue to part me, and the sensation sends a shudder through my entire body. My head falls back, and an involuntary, “Oh, my God,” leaves my lips. With just a few strokes of his tongue, I know I won’t last long. Seeing Jackson on his knees may have halted my thoughts, but the way he uses his tongue has completely erased them. My mind is a blank slate, only focused on the building pressure and my aching need for him.

When my legs start to shake, I knot my hands in his hair, urging him closer. I’m silently begging him to give me the release he’s been building. “Jackson,” I say, and my voice comes out as a desperate plea.

He pauses, his lips pulling into a slow smirk against me. His eyes flick up to meet mine and he holds my stare as he runs over me with a single, slow stroke of his tongue.

Pressing my heel into his back, I urge him to keep going. He’s keeping my orgasm just out of reach, and I know he’s doing it on purpose. My signal makes him smile wider against my center, but it only lasts a second. A moment later, his expert tongue is licking and sucking, adding and removing pressure where I need it most. I can barely see straight. When my body starts to shatter, I tighten my grip on his hair while my other hand holds the edge of the desk for support. Waves of pleasure more intense than I’ve ever felt have me crying out. The orgasm lingers, pulsing with every slow and gentle stroke of his tongue.

It isn’t until I’m completely spent and catching my breath that Jackson gets to his feet and bends down to check the back pocket of his jeans. “Shit, I don’t have a condom.” He groans, running a hand over his face.

Still dazed, I ask, “Are you sleeping with anyone else?” If I can count on Jackson for anything, it’s honesty.

“Fuck, no,” he says with a furrowed brow. “I haven’t thought about another girl in months.”

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