Page 55 of Call It What You Want
Spreading my thighs, I push my fingers into my channel, all the while replaying the same scene in my head—Jackson fucking me in the ceremony room, pushing his cock into me, unapologetically claiming me in front ofeveryone.
I know it’s fucked up. I know I shouldn’t be turned on by such a blatant display of cruelty, but there’s just something about that dark look in his eye that never fails to make my clit pulse.
I need some serious therapy. Too bad I can’t fucking afford it.
So I do the next best thing and surrender to the fucked up fantasy playing on repeat inside my head, justprayingit’ll scratch the itch that’s been eating me alive for the past several days.
As my fingers push in deeper, my hips lift off the mattress, and I twist into the pressure that’s already building inside me. A carousel of images flicks through my mind—Jackson’s toned body, his huge cock, veins twisting around the shaft like roots crawling across marble. That fierce, monstrous look he gets when he’s close to climaxing...
“Mmm,” I moan. I’m so wet that I can’t get much traction. My pulse beats rapidly in my ears, and it’s all I can hear. That, and the sound of each harsh breath as it pushes past my lips.
Usually, I can get myself off in less than a minute—but today, I deliberately slow my pace and try to draw the pleasure out. Because the more intense the orgasm, the deeper the satisfaction, and the less Jackson will tempt me.
My clit is so sensitive, I’m already teetering on the edge of oblivion, so I squeeze my eyes shut and bite my bottom lip, holding back. The ache builds anyway, coiling tighter with every drag of pressure, and I know it’s only a matter of time before I break.
Suddenly, a deep chuckle rips me out of my little fantasy. My hand stills, my eyes fly open, and I’m met with my worst nightmare. Jackson is leaning against the bedpost, arms crossed over his chest, his gaze drifting lazily from my hand—which is still buried between my thighs—and all the way up my body, before finally locking on my face.
“Morning,wife,” he says with a smirk. “Need a hand, or…a cock?”
“What the fuck?” I slam my thighs closed and sit up, heat scorching my cheeks. “The door was locked.”
“This ismybedroom, Doe-Eyes.” He holds up an old skeleton key. “I can get in whenever I want.”
Right. Of course. It was naive of me to assume I had any degree of privacy here,especiallywith Jackson around. Somehow, he manages to be everywhere, all at once.
Squaring my shoulders, I glare at him. Honestly, I’m less angry at him for waltzing into his own bedroom, and more angry at the fact that he’s been sleeping God-knows-where for the past several nights.
“Well, get whatever you came for, and leave,” I say, giving voice to the frustration I’ve been feeling for days. “I’m clearly busy here.”
His heated gaze travels down my body with deliberate slowness. “Clearly.” Air catches in my lungs as he drops his arms and takes a couple of steps toward me. “You don’t want me to leave. Not really.”
Wow. The ego on this one.
“Don’t tell me what I want,” I snap. “You don’t know me as well as you think you do, Jackson.”
He leans forward and grabs my chin. “Should prove just how fucking wrong that statement is?”
A trickle of awareness slithers down my spine, and I pull in a sharp breath. His blunt fingernails pinch my skin, his grip so tight, I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s drawn blood. But I’ll be fucking damned if I show even a hint of discomfort.
“Why can’t you just leave me alone?” I ask, while looking into his cold green eyes. Once, I thought those eyes were beautiful and turbulent, like the ocean. Now, all I see is ice.
“Isn’t that what I’ve been doing? You’ve had this room, my bed, all to yourself…”
I swallow past the tightness in my throat. “Where have you been sleeping?” The question is out before I can talk myself out of asking it…
Listen, I know it’s hypocritical to complain about him not leaving me alone while also being pissed he’s sleeping somewhere else, but…shit, I don’t know. My emotions are all over the place. I’m not even trying to make sense of them, at this point.
A ghost of a smile touches his lips. “Why, baby? Worried I’m fucking someone else?”
My heart is completely still, like a stone in my chest. “Are you?”
His mouth curves, cruel and amused. “Why would I waste time riding a pony when I own a thoroughbred?”
I twist my head to the side and press my lips together. Did he just compare me toa horse?Like, seriously?
I try to tug my face out of his grip, but that only causes him to hold on tighter. “First, and foremost, don’tevercompare me to a horse again,” I say, seething. “Second, you don’t own me, Jackson. You’veneverowned me.”
He pulls my face closer, so I’m forced to the edge of the mattress. His expression lingers between anger and softness, somewhere in that space where it could go either way.
