Page 84 of Second Chance Vacation

Jackson’s fingers find the hem of my leggings, ripping the seam in one swift motion. I shiver at the change in temperature, feeling the cold air from the air-conditioning vent hit my exposed skin. My skin pebbles as my leggings fall to a heap on the floor.

I want to yell at him.

I want to be horrified.

Yet, the moment his fingers push past the seam of my underwear, he is faced with the glaring truth. I amsoaked. His touch lingers, brushing back and forth between my lips, but he makes no advances to chase my pleasure. He’s hovering over my sensitive pussy with laser-light precision, barely skating the flesh with his touch.

“Jackson,” I moan, begging.

Without skipping a beat, he thrusts one finger inside my tight hole, causing me to clench around him. The friction leaves every nerve aching, pushing toward release. My mind is a fog when he asks.

“Tell me you’re mine,” he whispers, somehow in a commanding tone.

Fuck this feels incredible. He continues to thrust his finger into me, adding a second as I begin to bow into him, my orgasm lingering beyond the horizon but in sight.

“I said—tell me you’re mine.”

As quickly as his touch is there, it is gone again, leaving me painfully empty.

“My body is yours.”

“That’s not what I said.”

I know it’s not what he said, and yet I am paralyzed by it. The implication, the meaning of it all. The writing is on the wall, written in the air between us, in the spaces between my words. Meeting his lips with my own, I work to pull us back to where we were before. Jackson, luckily, leans into my touch. He’s cold, calculated—despite this, my body is at his mercy.

“On the bed,” he demands.

Crawling onto his queen-sized mattress, I gaze up at him. Despite the lust-filled actions, his expression feels distant, faint, glazed over.

“Roll over.”

He gives me no time to comply before he’s flipping me onto my stomach and pulling my hips up until my ass is suspended in the air, my face pressed firmly to the cotton sheets. The sound of his belt dropping to the floor is my only warning as he thrusts into me, causing a yelp to pull from my lungs. A mixture of pain and pleasure causes me to buck into him as I teeter in a constant shift between chasing my pleasure and coiling away from the agony. I attempt to mute my moan against the pillow my face is buried in, but there is no keeping it at bay.

Jackson’s hand reaches around, finding my clit as he begins to circle in tiny strokes. He’s not savoring it like before. He is urgent, focused, intent on his goal.

It’s incredible how attuned he is to my body. With every touch, with every thrust, he knows exactly what to do at the exact right moment to make me completely come undone.

“Fuck,” I cry out. “I’m so close.”

He quickens his thrusts along with the circling of my bundle of nerves as I approach the precipice, ready to fall off the ledge.

Then.

Then.

Then…nothing.

Jackson yanks his hand away and pulls out as my body falls limp to the mattress. Exhausted, wound up, on edge, but definitely not sated. Blood rushes to my face, an angry pit grows in my stomach.

“What the hell?!”

“Get out,” he responds coldly, zipping his jeans as he refuses to meet my eyes.

Tears begin to build in my waterline as my stomach knots. This can't be happening.

“Wha—no. No, I’m not leaving. What was that?”

Jackson throws a new, unsullied T-shirt over his head, all the while evading my question. Hair disheveled, he looks every bit ransacked, completely unraveled, but when his eyes meet mine, he is the picture of distance.

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