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I whimper…eagerlyand desperately.
Jackson growls into my ear, and his body surges against mine hard—pressing me to the counter behind me. I whimper when I feel something hard, something thick, something…hugethrobbing against my lower stomach through his sweatpants.
Oh my fucking God.
His fingers twist and tease my nipple. His teeth rake over my earlobe, turning me to liquid fire.
And then suddenly, horribly, it hits me.
Shehits me.
Judy.
And suddenly, all I’m hearing is the replay of that goddamn interview from a few days ago. For some horrifying reason in this moment, all I’m hearing is my fucking mother’s voice cackling as she tells Connor Newsome about her sexual exploits of the past.
About her vague, maybe bullshit, but sweet Jesus, maybenotbullshit insinuation about the very man pining me the counter behind me, about to swallow me whole.
And suddenly, the record scratches.
The bile rises in my in my throat, and my core turns to ice. And then comes what I assumed would come a minute ago: the naked fear. The shut-down. The sickening feeling in my stomach that comes with being touched.
I explode. With a gasp, I suddenly shove Jackson away with a snarl on my lips.
“Don’t you fucking touch me,” I blurt, choking, gasping, sucking in air as the swirling room tries to bring me to my knees.
Jackson’s brow furrows. But his hands drop from me, shattering the rest of the moment as he steps away.
His eyes narrow.
“Please,” he mutters quietly.
I shake my head violently, hugging myself as my lips curl.
“No,” I snap. “No, I’m not fuckingbeggingfor any—”
“No,” he hisses sharply, anger lacing his one. “No, I meanpleaseas in give me a fucking break.”
I blink.What?
Jackson laughs coldly as be backs away from me.
“Like this wasn’t your plan all morning?” He snorts. “Or last night, for that matter?”
My jaw drops as I stare at him.
“I beg your fucking pardon??”
“I saidgive me a fucking break,sweetheart,” he snaps. “You justhappenedto be cleaning up my house…”
“If your house wasn’t a fucking biohazard!” I yell back. “Maybe it wouldn’t need to be cleaned for basic fucking health reasons! And I couldn’t sleep after someone was banging around upstairs at two in the morning!”
“Couldn’t put fucking pants on either, I suppose.”
My mouth forms an O shape.
“Oh myGod, you narcissistic pig—”
“What was the plan?” He snaps. “Prance around in some little lace panties for me? Put on a fucking sexy maid outfit? Bend over for me? Spill something on my fucking crotch?”
