Page 52 of Love Set Free

My hand feels good on my dick; it’s been so long since I’ve reached a release. It’s been so long since I’ve wanted to feel that pleasure. But, again, it’s the words Phoenix says that serve to be the catalyst in sending me over that edge. Cum spurts in arching splashes onto my stomach and chest, my balls drawing tight and my body tingling with satisfaction.

“Yes.Fuckyes." Phoenix buries his face in my neck, groaning through his own climax.

Warmth floods my core. From Phoenix’s cum, obviously. But also, pride. Pride that I pleased my Phoenix. Pride that I’m the one whose body gave him what he wanted. Pride that I didn’t let inexperience, and more discomfort than I anticipated, stand in the way of giving him what I wanted—me.

There’s some more discomfort as Phoenix slowly pulls his dick from my ass. But it’s worth it—it was all worth it—for the connection I feel to him. Even as Phoenix rolls away from me, settling on his back, next to me on the mattress, and our physical contact becomes minimal, I still feel connected to him. I feel claimed. I feel marked—eternally marked—as Phoenix’s.

Warm fingers curl around my wrist. Four gentle fingertips—and one lightly scratchy fingertip, the end wrapped with medical-grade cotton—brush random swirls over the fluttering pulse.

“Are you okay? Was that…was that okay?” The commanding, controlling, wantonly taking Phoenix retreats in favor of the sweet, caring, nurturing Phoenix.

Wanting to give him an honest answer—a truly, truly honest answer—I give myself a moment to think and take stock of how I’m feeling.

Details of the bedroom around me trickle into my consciousness while I’m taking that moment to assess. The walls and ceiling are painted a stark white, but wooden beams stretching across the ceiling soften the look and make it feel clean and inviting rather than sterile. Situated on the corner of the house, windows stretch along vast areas of two of the room’s walls. Reaching nearly floor to ceiling, the windows let in vast quantities of natural daylight and open up the room to stunning views of the ocean. Phoenix’s house looks like it might be even closer to the ocean than his parents—there’s less lawn separating the back of his house from the untidy edge of the long stretch of sandy beach.

Overall, his bedroom is calm, welcoming, warm, comfortable, stylish and luxurious…fully reflecting its owner. It’s a nice room. I can see myself belonging in it. Making it my home.

“That was more than okay,” I finally answer. “When can we do it again?”

Chapter Thirty-One

Phoenix

“This is…this is really not why I brought you to work with me.”

My breath is still labored, sawing in and out of my lungs, and Jackson’s doesn’t sound much better from where he’s splayed out beneath me, draped over the top of the large desk in my top-floor, ocean-view office.

“Are you sure?” His voice rasps and drawls in that honey-drenched way I love so much. It’s not the reason I adore getting to have Jackson the way he always insists I take him—selfishly, demandingly, commandingly—it’s probably not even in the top five, but, fuck, if I don’t enjoy that as a side benefit as well. “It was for sure in my mind when I begged you to bring me.”

My sated cock has softened, so I reluctantly pull out of Jackson’s greedily welcoming hole. A slow trickle of my cum seeps out of the opening and, yeah, there’s a few good reasons why I probably shouldn’t be fucking my boyfriend at work. My first day back at work since…everything that happened.

I debate reaching for some tissue to wipe up the mess I made on his ass, but then decidescrew it, Jackson prefers it when I don’t clean him up. I pull up his pants and underwear, coveringup the delectable view of his ass—best not to leave that hanging out, just in case anybody wanders their way into my office—and try not dwell too much on the memory of Jackson’s reaction to my announcement that it was probably time for me to head back to work after taking a couple weeks off to readjust to everyday life.

When I’d brought it up yesterday, he’d seemed a little upset. A little sad and withdrawn. But he’d pasted on a cheerful enough smile and had seemed resigned to the idea. It’s not that Ineedto work—I could never work a day in my life, over the course of several hundred lifetimes, and not run short of money—but that Iwantto work. I enjoy my job. I enjoy what I do, and I enjoy working with the people that I do, particularly discussing projects with my dad. And I like to think that my involvement with The Wilding Corporation furthers our success and strengthens all the things we’ve built for all of our employees.

But then this morning, after I’d dressed in a suit and prepared to depart from my house–my bed– that I’ve been sharing with Jackson for the past couple of weeks, he begged to come with me. Begging–that would be a benevolent description of the near-total breakdown he had.

I’d only gotten to experience the aftermath of whatever trauma Jackson had felt when I’d left him alone in his hotel suite, that one time back in Rio. This morning, I was a front-row audience to his panic, his wide-eyed fear, his shivering cries wondering what he’d do if I left and never came back.

I’d almost made it, so I almost missed it. If it hadn’t been for suddenly remembering that I should show Jackson where I kept the spare key to the house—what is now going to be his key to the house—he would have let me leave, keeping a lid on his true devastating neediness until I was behind the wheel of my Mercedes and well on my way away from the oceanfront, wheremy house is situated, and further into the center of downtown Westerly, where our company headquarters are located.

I almost missed it. Thank fuck I didn’t. I wouldn’t have been able to forgive myself if I’d returned home, after spending all day at the office, and found Jackson a wrecked shell of himself, mired in misery and anxious fear.

Trying to keep my worry about him out of my voice--not that hard to do with the endorphins of a satisfying orgasm and a fast fuck swimming through my veins–I mildly inquire, “Oh, it was, was it?”

Giving him the freedom of room to be able to pry himself off my desk, Jackson does, slithering gracelessly to a leg-extended sprawl on the floor, with his back resting against the drawers of the desk.

“Mmhmm,” he hums. “It’s never really far from my mind, you know. Pleasin’ you. Havin’ you have me however you wanna. I love pleasin’ you.” His head is loose and lazy as he twists it to look up at me, those pale blue eyes of his swimming with his own satisfaction. A corner of his mouth tilts up in a quiet smile as Jackson insists, “Ineedto please you.”

I have my own set of needs. Mainly, to take care of this man, practically lying at my feet and reeking of my sweat, lust, and sex, who is calmly informing me that my happiness has, somehow, become the center of his world. In turn, I also need to see to his happiness. I need him to feel safe, secure, treasured…loved. Which he is. There’s not a doubt in my mind—no voice of uncertainty or feeling ofbut,what if—that I am in love with Jackson.

There’s little hope that anyone looking at me won’t know what I just spent the last little bit doing, but I take a moment to smooth out what wrinkles in my clothes that I can, before settling my satisfaction-lethargic self onto my leather desk chair. As for the obvious smell of sex in the air…hopefully the excellentventilation system in the building will clear that out before anyone needs to come in here.

“Well…if that’s what youneed…" I’m still keeping my voice light and teasing. It’s not hard to do. Jackson makes me feel light and playful. He brings a peacefulness and calmness to my life; a sure center in a life of fast chaos.

I do know that we should touch on some serious issues, though. Some issues that need to be addressed so that he—we—can move forward. With life, and with our relationship, in a healthy manner.

“Have you…have you considered what you’re going to do?” I ask him. I quickly follow my question with an assurance. “Not that you have to do anything. You can sit around and be my office eye candy all day, every day, if that’s all you want to do. I just thought…since you’re going to be making your home here, with me, that you might, you know, be considering looking for a job.”

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