Page 16

ROSIE

I am a weak, weak woman. I should never have done it, never even hinted to Jackson that I had any sort of urges.

By Sunday evening, I’ve mentally slapped myself from shame multiple times.

Not only did I practically beg him to eat me out, but I immediately fell asleep afterwards.

I woke up alone and disorientated in my bed, taking a few minutes to remember falling asleep on the sofa as he massaged my feet.

After he gave me a mind-blowing orgasm that turned my insides to molten lava.

I should never have gone there with him, blurring the lines that are already so faded.

What was I thinking? Offering my body to him like a cat in heat, over an amateur tango on Saturday night television.

No, I shouldn’t have done it. And I will not do it again,

There is no need to get Jackson to scratch an itch I’ve spent many years scratching myself perfectly well.

Which I tell myself every day for the next week.

I tell myself when I’m tossing and turning at night a few days later, the sheets damp with sweat and my nipples scratching against my shirt. In frustration, I jerk upright and dive for the drawer beside my bed.

Pulling out my trusty pink vibrator, I close my eyes, lie back and take a deep breath. Nothing. The vibrations that work for me every time are somehow not soft enough, not hard enough, not enough .

I almost knock my lamp off the table as I shove the drawer closed in frustration.

The next day I try again and when the same thing happens I switch to manual mode, my fingers tracing where I’m aching. But they’re too soft, too small.

On Thursday, I have a fleeting notion to try the shower head but after I nearly slip on the wet shower floor, I give up that one before I break a leg.

On Friday, I reach a new low and allow myself the most shameful experiment.

Curled up on the sofa under a blanket, I use my vibrator in the same place Jackson set me aflame.

Remembering his hands on me, the way he teased me, his dirty words buzzing in my ears.

My skin tingles as I chase the vibration with my hips but it’s still not enough.

I take a deep breath of frustration and throw my vibrator to the other end of the sofa.

By Saturday, I’m a mess. My body is buzzing, unable to release any of the tension that’s held me in a chokehold for days.

By the time Jackson is due to arrive I’ve progressed to baking to distract myself and have accidentally made at least three different cakes.

I lay them out on the table on decorative plates and fan out napkins. I assess my array for a few seconds before my senses finally return to me.

Why did I let the man get me off and then laid out a display of home baked goods as if I’m hosting a weird ‘thanks for the orgasm’ party?

He buzzes the intercom and I snatch the Victoria sponge cake off the table, put it back in the cake tin and hide it under the sink. The blueberry and vanilla muffins I start haphazardly throwing in a ziplock bag and shoving them in the cutlery drawer.

I’ve lost my fucking mind.

Jackson knocks on the door and I only have the banana bread left. Banana bread is fine, right? Savory, plain, and unimpressive. The un-sexiest of all the baked goods.

I open the door and nearly swallow my tongue. How can this man look like a wet dream when he’s literally dressed in a t-shirt and jeans?

“Hi,” I say, adjusting my glasses.

“Hi, pretty girl,” he steps inside with a smile.

“How—” I swallow against my dry throat. “How was your week?”

Jackson sighs. “Long. I’ve been waiting all week for this.”

I gulp.

“I can’t wait to see Thatcher take on the American Jive.”

An awkward laugh bubbles out of me. Of course. He’s talking about the show. Get a grip, Rosie.

We’ve had an easy repertoire the last few months, though we haven’t been able to see each other this week thanks to his busy schedule. I usually welcome him like a typical human would and not a walking lust ball that over bakes sweet treats and hides the evidence.

Thankfully, Jackson is acting like normal, wandering into the living room and taking a seat on the sofa.

I head back to the kitchen, needing to take a minute to gather myself. I move the pot of veggie pasta to the oven to bake and take a few calming breaths .

This is fine. We just need to reestablish some boundaries.

The best thing for the baby is for us to remain friends.

Just two friends raising a baby together.

Just two friends who talk every day and cuddle watching Saturday night television.

Just two friends who occasionally share mutually beneficial orgasms…

No, Rosie , I mentally scold myself. Stop thinking about orgasms!

“Rosie, can you come in here for a minute?” I jerk, his stern voice making me feel like I’ve done something naughty that I’m about to be punished for. I swallow, my chest heaving. My brain is officially lust-addled.

As soon as I walk back inside, my confused lust filled lizard brain leaps.

Jackson lounges on the sofa, his big arm along the back rest. He’s staring at me, his familiar smirk hardly present, replaced by a heated look in his eyes.

“How was your week?” he asks.

Is that what he wanted me in here for?

“Uh—” Torture. “Yeah, it was fine.” I rub one sock clad foot against the other like a cricket.

“Hmm,” he says, rubbing his beard and drawing my attention back to the mouth that I’ve been dreaming about for days on end.

“Did you have any fun?”

I blink, “Uh?—”

Before I can string more than a sound together, Jackson holds up my small pink vibrator.

My cheeks burn. Humiliation and arousal flood my body, warring for attention. I must have left it there last night. I can’t believe I forgot it.

But the image of Jackson, sprawled out on my sofa with that look in his eye, his huge hands clutching my favorite vibrator, will be burned into my mind for the rest of my life. Which will hopefully end within the next thirty seconds.

I shake myself awake and cross the room to him, snatching it out of his hands.

“I don’t—” I stumble, shaking my head fruitlessly. “I—uh.”

Before I can turn away, Jackson’s hand catches my thigh. He sits up straighter, tugging me closer until I’m cradled between his open legs.

My brain switches off, the room closing in. I can’t see anything but the hungry look on his face and the crinkle in the corner of his eye.

“What’s your vibrator doing out here Rosie, hmm?” he asks, his voice a low purr.

My knees almost buckle. “I tried to use it,” I whisper.

“Tried?”

I nod my head slightly, unable to peel my eyes away from his. “It didn’t work.”

“What didn’t work, baby?”

“Nothing,” I confess with a whimper. “Nothing has worked.”

He lets out another gruff hum, the noise shooting straight between my thighs.

His large hands curve around the back of my legs, inching closer and closer to where I’m aching. Where I have been aching for days.

Time stops as I gaze down into his face, his dark eyes promising what I know he can easily provide.

“Do you need some help, pretty girl?”

My mouth opens and all I can do is nod. Is this really happening?

Effortlessly, he tugs at my thighs until I’m straddling his lap, my legs spread across his thick thighs. His erection presses into me and it takes everything I have to not grind against him but he makes the decision for me, thrusting up into me.

“Tell me,” he says, gently tracing his lips across my jaw. “Tell me what you need help with.”

I swallow, inhaling his musky scent. “I can’t come,” I confess breathlessly. “Not without you.”

I can’t help the moan that escapes as he presses his lips to the juncture of my neck, gently nipping at my flesh.

This time, I don’t stop myself from tilting my hips, desperate for some friction.

His large hands cup my ass, pulling me further onto his hard cock as my hands explore his shoulders, tugging him closer as a frenzy overtakes me.

He pulls back, cupping my face in his hands.

“Please,” I admit before he can say anything else. “It’s the hormones, I can’t—I just need some help. It doesn’t have to mean anything,” I insist.

He licks his lips, eyes searching mine. I almost look away but I’m trapped by the intensity burning in his lidded stare. “You just want this? Just some…help?”

I nod my head desperately, shifting my hips on his lap. I can’t think straight, my body blazing and desperate. I’d do anything just to be able to orgasm.

“Okay, baby.” He gently rubs his finger against my jaw. “I’ll get you there.”

I almost tremble in relief, my thighs clenching around his.

“But first,” he says, “I want to see you.”

I blink in confusion as a slow smirk spreads across his face. “I want you to show me how hard you’ve been trying, how desperate you’ve been for something I’m very willing to provide. ”

I whimper as he lifts his hand, showing me the pink vibrator in his hands.

“Take your clothes off,” he orders.

I slowly swallow before nodding, lust buzzing in my veins.

I peel myself off his body and strip my clothes off my body with shaking fingers. An unfamiliar boldness overtakes me and I take a seat on the coffee table opposite him. I don’t take my eyes off him as I spread my legs.

He leans forward in his seat, his hands following mine to spread my thighs further, exposing me to his gaze.

I relish the way he swallows, unable to tear his eyes away from me.

Sitting naked before him as he’s still fully dressed, I feel powerful, sexy under his gaze. I hold out my hand for the toy.

He hands it over without a word, his hand clenching on my thigh.

I switch it on and hold it to my clit, the familiar buzzing sensation causing my eyes to flutter. Last night, it wasn’t enough. But now, lewdly spread in front of this man as he watches, it sends sparks along my skin.

It’s still not enough, I know that instantly, but it’s close. I move it in small circles, glancing at Jackson through hooded eyes.

His hands creep higher, spreading my legs further apart as he traces his thumb closer to where I’m aching for him.

“Good girl. Look at this pretty pussy, begging for me.”

I groan at his words, using my other hand to steady myself as I wobble.

“Is it still not enough, Rosie?”

I shake my head wordlessly .

Without taking his eyes off me, he presses one finger inside me and I moan at the intrusion, my head falling back.

“If you’d have told me that this was happening, that you were waiting for me, you wouldn’t have been able to keep me away. I’ve been thinking about you all week too, baby. In the shower, at night when I can’t sleep. I’ve thought about this. Your greedy pussy, dripping for me.”

His words settle over me, setting my skin ablaze. The vibrations and the feel of his fingers is almost enough but just as I’m about to reach that edge I’ve been climbing to, he pulls out of me.

“Jackson–”

He leans back in his seat, spreading his thighs, and licking his fingers, groaning as he swallows my taste. I’m reaching for his belt before I’ve even registered the thought.

Wordlessly, I drop to my knees, tugging at his belt until his cock springs free. My mouth waters at the sight, at the drip of precum beaded at his tip. I lean forward and lick him up.

“Rosie,” he says, leaning his head back as his hands come to my hair. “Touch that pretty clit for me, baby.”

I take him into my throat as I reach my fingers between my thighs, playing with myself the same way I have all week.

With my other hand, I grip his thigh, wordlessly looking up at him and telling him what I want.

“Do you like being on your knees for me? Want me to fuck that pretty mouth while you make yourself come?”

I can barely contain my hum of approval as he starts to pick up speed, using me. My fingers slip in my wetness and I can barely contain myself. Climbing higher and higher, I can’t stop the moan that purrs from my chest.

“Jesus, Rosie, I’m—” I tighten my lips around him, moving faster against him until I feel him spill down my throat, his thighs twitching underneath me.

“Fuck,” he groans as I pull off him, keeping his eyes on mine as I swallow and lick my lips.

He pulls me to him once again, my legs straddling him as his fingers replace mine and his tongue sweeps into my mouth. His hand grabs a handful of my ass and he grinds my body on his hand.

“Good girl,” he praises, taking a raised nipple in his mouth. His fingers curl inside me, and his thumb flicks at my clit until finally, finally, I come, my body shuddering and shaking as I clench around him.

I fall into his shoulder, barely able to catch my breath as my heart pounds in my chest.

I could sleep here, curled up on his lap like a cat, but the blaring of the smoke alarm causes me to jump out of my skin.

“The pasta!” I gasp, clattering off his lap, snatching the first item of clothing I find on the floor and tugging it over my head as I sprint to the kitchen.

I open the window and start fanning the smoke away from the alarm before turning the oven off and pulling out the charred remnants of pasta.

“Fuck,” I hiss as I dump it on the side. The perfectly timed crispy brown is now a dark charcoal.

“Is it salvageable?” Jackson asks from behind me. I glance at him over my shoulder. He’s pulled his jeans back on but left his belt unbuckled letting them hang loose around his sculpted hips.

“No,” I say, turning back to the alarm that is still ringing through the flat. I attempt to fan it again but he reaches up and easily presses the button that I usually use a broom handle to hit .

“Thanks,” I mumble as I try to dissipate the smoke. It’s mostly gone now but I need to do something. I’ve never burnt dinner before, never been so distracted.

“Can you pass me a spoon please?” I ask, not looking at him. “I’ll see if there’s anything to save.” I poke at the charred remains of dinner.

“Rosie,” Jackson says, “Why are there muffins in your cutlery drawer?”