“Lean back, let yourself float,” Jackson says, gripping my hips. “I won’t let you go.”
In a flash I see myself as he sees me, bathed in the bluish-white light with the moonlight spilling across my breasts. It’s me, but not me. Even though my hair is a mess, I love the way I look. I love the gift of seeing myself through him.
“Did you wear this bra for me?” Jackson’s voice is husky, as he nuzzles one breast, then the other through the sheer lace.
“No, I wore it for me,” I say. “I wanted to feel sexy. I wanted to at least have that power over you.”
“You have all kinds of power over me,” he scoops my breasts out from their lace cage and kisses them before laying me back. My hair fans out around me.
“This is happening, it’s not a fever dream?” I say.
“It’s happening,” Jackson says firmly, thrusting again. Harder, and faster.
“Do you hear the ocean?” I ask.
“I do.” He pins my hands above my head, our fingers intertwined. “It wants us back.”
“It wants to swallow us whole,” I agree.
“Maybe we should let it then,” he lowers his lips to mine, kissing my top lip, then the bottom before pressing his whole mouth against mine and splitting my mouth open with his silken tongue.
The waves are coming faster and larger now. He pulls me up and against him at the last moment, wrapping his arms around me so tight that it’s almost impossible to see where either of us ends or begins as we both give in to the inevitable tide.
jackson
“I’m not sure what’s going to happen in the finale. But I’m hoping for the best. Better than that, actually.”
~ Isla Fairfax
“What the hellwere you thinking, Jackson?” My VC is usually calm, cool, and collected. But not this morning.
I’m pacing in my boxer shorts on the balcony. I don’t want Geoff’s diatribe to wake Isla. We didn’t get much sleep last night. Most of what Geoff is saying doesn’t register. I’m too amped up on pheromones and dopamine to care. I think about the night we had, and it comes back in abstract waves of sensation and emotion.
“Jackson!” Geoff growls. “Are you even listening to me?”
“How bad could the video be?” I ask.
“Well, you said you use apps, primarily your own competitor’s apps, to get laid whenever you want.”
“What’s so terrible about that? My app isn’t about gettinglaid,” I say.
“Maybe it’s all a game for you, Jackson, but it isn’t for your investors. We’re real people. With wives and families. I put a lot of money into this. And it’s one thing if you’re doing your best to bring a product to market and it has a few hiccups. But if you don’t even believe in it, and you’re yanking everyone’s chain? Then you’re a whole other level of asshole.”
I flinch at the dressing down.
“Watch the video. I just texted it to you,” Geoff says.
In the video, I’m at the beach bar with Alexis. Marco’s sliding a flaming cocktail down the bar in the background. “I am perfectly capable of getting laid any time I want to get laid,” I say, practically spitting with disgust. “There are plenty of other apps I like to use for that.”
The caption: “Asswipe: AI Swiper founder Jackson Porter admits he doesn’t use his own products for booty calls.”
“Fuuuuuuck,” I say. “I didn’t realize anyone was filming me.”
“Well, surprise! They were. What were you thinking? Are any of the couples you matched even getting together?”
“Does it count if it’s a three-way situation?” I ask, hopefully.
“That is not funny, Jackson!”
