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Like, clearly, a lot.
Over dinner, we’re both impatient, but we want to take our time. Both of us said that we need this to be right, or not do it at all.
Over the main course, I told him the story of my virginity.
“I didn’t have many boyfriends in school. Kind of almost none, really. I was never confident or comfortable with how I looked. A lot of boys came on to me because they thought I would be easy. I wouldn’t have even minded being easy; I was a little envious of some of the girls who were. But I knew if that was the only reason they wanted me, then it was a bad reason and I didn’t want them.”
I take a sip of champagne.
“So, this one boy, Casey Reid, he was the star quarterback, the boy that all the girls wanted. He asked me to the prom. I was suspicious, and I said I didn’t want to go. Which was true. But he was persistent, and I thought that was charming. Long story short, he wanted to do it in the limo on the way. I had a new dress, my hair done, a makeover, and he wanted me to roll around in the back of a car on the way there.
“Even that might have been okay — kind of — except as soon as I started to say ‘no,’ he got pissy and sulked. Then all night, he ignored me. At the end of the prom, he told me to take the limo home, he was going to a bar with his friends.”
Jackson shakes his head, smiling as he strokes my hand and the inside of my wrist. “What an ass,” he says, but his eyes are sparkling. “Still, if he hadn’t been such an idiot, I may never have found you.”
Even stories like that don’t take away from the moment. We’re together in a magical place, just him and me, surrounded by shadows of staff, bringing us wonderful food and drink, under the stars.
He has a suite booked in the Marriott. Of course he does. And not just any suite.
We take another bottle of champagne into the presidential suite.
We stop as soon as the door is closed, and we kiss in the lobby. I’m too inflamed to even take in the fact that the suite has a lobby.
Wrapped tight together, his breath sets me on fire. His hand on my neck, his hand gripping my hair. I’m lost in his lips. I scrape my nails down his back. His body moves. I grab his fantastic ass.
He grips and squeezes my ass and my tits while we kiss, and his other hand strokes my neck. My thighs lock around his. I drag my mound and clench against the hard muscle of his leg, feeling how drenched my new La Perla has already gotten. I feel his cock through his pants, and I’m hungry in a way I never felt before. He pulls me closer.
I press against his hip, rubbing my cleft on him. His tongue takes mine. I squeeze my tits against him as I twist from side to side. Every part of me wants every part of him. I reach for his cock. He takes hold of my pussy.
Groaning, he says, “We should take it slower.”
He’s right. I hate him for it.
I shake my hair as he leads me out into the cool night air on the terrace. We’re high above the city. There’s not another building as tall within a mile. The night air carries the scents of jasmine and sweet olive trees.
“This is a cool suite,” I tell him. “For a guy who lost everything, you sure did bounce back, Joe.” I turn to see his blazing eyes and his face, coloring up.
“You have been driving me mad.”
I bite back a giggle. “Have I got you twisted up, Joe?”
He moves. His head drops. And his shoulders. He prowls toward me.
I back away. “What are you going to do about it?”
“I’m going to teach you a lesson.”
I’m shaking inside, but I’m damned if I will show it.
“I’d better warn you, Joe. I’m a slow learner.”
“Come here.”
I turn and run. I squeal as he chases me around the wide terrace. I dodge and run, I feint and turn. But he is way too fast for me.
I give him a run, though. So when he catches me — of course he catches me. Like I could stop him — he’s panting. Hard. He overpowers me easily. Sits on a couch and hauls me down, over his knee. He lifts the skirt of my new Versace dress.
I gasp at the cool air on the cheeks of my ass. “What if someone can see?”
