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Just. Jackson.
Yet he doesn’t feel like Just Jackson when I catch sight of him across the room, finding him already staring at me.
It's as though the world moves in slow motion and hyper-speed at the same time.
Jackson’s soft expression morphs into something a hell of a lot more intense as he scans me from head to toe achingly slowly, his gaze acting like a caress. Something flickers within it when he reaches my heel-clad feet. Stripper heels, Amelia calls them, and I have a sneaking suspicion Jackson might be thinking the same thing.
I bank that thought for later.
One second he's smoldering from a distance. The next, he's looming in front of me, the intensity in his eyes physically knocking me back a step.
I sigh softly when he winds my ponytail around his fingers, using it as leverage to tug me closer so he can kiss the corner of my mouth, my cheek, the spot beneath my ear. His voice is basically a growl, sending a tingle down my spine. “Jesus Christ, Luna.”
I'm not one to beg for compliments, but when they're coming from Jackson, it's just too hard to resist. Cocking my head, I smirk and raise a brow expectantly.Go on.
Fingers toy with the thin straps of my top, the material like sandpaper against my suddenly sensitive skin. Snapping one lightly, Jackson drawls, “I was wrong.”
“About?”
“I think you're the one who's gonna ruin me.”
I don't get a chance to reply, or even really process his words, before he's kissing me. Hard but slow. Full of promise but I'm not really sure what he's promising. Giving me just enough to sufficiently fluster before pulling away.
“You’re a tease, you know that?” I half-complain, half-snicker as I swipe a thumb across his lips, scrubbing away the pink lipgloss staining them. I resist the urge to tuck his hair behind his ears, because acknowledging the tendrils escaping the sloppy bun at the nape of his neck would mean acknowledging how much Ilikethe fucking bun, and that’s not something I’m ready to do.
He does the same for me, fixing the smudges he caused, letting his palms linger on my cheeks as he sweeps his gaze over the length of me again. “You are so fucking perfect.”
Despite my best efforts not to, I blush something fierce at the compliment I basically begged for yet still sounds so sincere. Briefly, I wonder if I can pass the redness off as a byproduct of the room’s heated temperature.
One look at his satisfied smirk and I know I can't.
So, I engage evasive maneuvers. “Wanna dance?”
* * *
Our dancing doesn't last long.
The friction between our grinding bodies, the heat of the room, the heavy breaths quickly become too much. I don't know who drags who upstairs, I think it might've been a mutual effort. All I know is a flurry of tangled tongues and wandering hands as we practically fall over each other in our haste to get behind closed doors, and it’s a miracle we make it upstairs without breaking our necks.
When my back hits a door, I blindly reach for the handle, twisting it open just in time to get shoved inside Jackson’s room. He follows close behind, kicking the door shut behind him with a loud slam.
While I shiver with suspense in the middle of his room, he leans against the wall. Such a casual stance but there's nothing casual about him. He's tense, brimming with barely restrained energy, practically vibrating with need. I'm no better, so wound up I can barely see straight.
For the millionth time tonight, his eyes rake over me. A long, slow once-over that has my skin tingling wherever his eyes land, has me shifting nervously from one foot to another in anticipation, has me clenching my thighs together in an attempt to ease the ache brewing between them.
Jackson catches the movement, and he groans as he scrapes a hand over his face. The sound goes straight to my lower stomach, tightening the muscles there almost painfully, as does his voice when he commands, all growly and downright fucking dangerous, “Strip.”
Yes fucking sir.
So quickly I almost get a head-rush, I bend at the waist to unstrap my heels with slightly shaky hands. A grunted sound of protest causes me to stop. When I peek at the stiff man looming in front of me, Jackson shakes his head sharply. “Leave them on.”
I drop my head to hide my grin. Suspicions confirmed.
Good thing I wore a skirt.
With a single tug, the ribbon securing it comes undone and the silky fabric pools at my feet. I shed my top at lighting speed, and my chest captures his attention, like I knew it would; at the risk of it being ripped right off my body, I wisely forewent a very expensive bra. When Jackson kisses his teeth, I blink innocently. “Just saving time, baby.”
His grunt is less than convinced.
