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6
Day Six
When I open my eyes, it takes a few seconds for me to realize where I am. Still in Jackson’s cabin, stark naked under his covers. I look to my left, and his spot is empty, there’s no lights on in the room, and there isn’t any sign of him out on the balcony. I reach across the bed and flip on the table lamp. On his pillow is a folded piece of paper. I take it between my fingers and sit up with my back against the headboard.
Hey, beautiful, I needed to get some work done and didn’t want to wake you. So I’m going to be out on the east deck. You fell asleep on me last night, but don’t worry, I’m not done with you yet. Jack
Thinking back to last night, I squeal and smile so hard that the bridge of my nose pushes up to my brows as recall how good his tongue felt against me. He was strategic and ruthless in his assault, making me come multiple times until sleep called my name. My core heats up again at the memories flashing through my mind. I’ve never had a man bring me to orgasm so much without ever using his dick. I mean, the man never even took his pants off. When he said it wasn’t about him, he was not playing. And I’m not mad at him for it either, but I do feel a little guilty that he pleased me so well and I just passed out without returning the favor.
I check the alarm clock on the nightstand. The shimmer of gold foil catches my eye. This has me smiling even harder. It’s just after four in the morning, and I imagine he’s probably the only one up and out on the deck. I scoot out of bed and fumble around the floor until I come across his button-up shirt from last night. I don’t want to put my heels on so contemplate if I should even go through with my plan to join him. But then I remember I packed a pair of those foldable footies in my clutch just in case I needed to take my shoes off. I slide my feet into the thin fabric, button the shirt that falls just underneath my ass, and grab the condom from the bedside table. I try to remember when he had time to pull out the love glove, but all I can recall is the sight of his head between my thighs.
I slip the wrapper into the front chest pocket of his shirt and secure the door behind me. When I finally find my way to the east deck, he’s sitting alone, the black sky as his backdrop. The only light is from a faraway lamppost along the edge of the deck, casting a luminous glow on his silhouette. It’s not until I’m closer to him that I can read his features. There’s no one in range, but he’s somehow managed to acquire a glass and a full bottle of Jim Beam.
“Where’d you get that from?” I ask, surprising him with my presence and pointing to the bottle in front of him.
He looks up from the thick stack of papers in his hand and smiles. “I caught the bartender as he was closing for the night. Cost me a hundred bucks, but hey.”
He shrugs, and I snicker.
“What?” I ask when he doesn’t break eye contact.
“Just admiring how sexy you are in my shirt.” He adjusts himself in his seat, slouching farther into it and stretching out his legs.
I playfully model my ensemble, twirling and posing. Though he laughs at my antics, I sense the tension in his shoulders. I lift his glass from the table, and he hands me the straw that rested beside it. As I swallow the liquor, I glance down at the pages. From here they look to be contracts, and suddenly the large bottle of whiskey makes sense. Refilling the glass, I hand it to him, then straddle his lap. My hands find his temples, and I knead his pressure points. Jackson closes his eyes, sighing deeply into my chest.
“Um. That feels amazing,” he mutters. After a few minutes, he clasps my wrists together and pulls them to his lips to leave sweet kisses along every finger. “Thank you,” he says into my palms.
The faint sound of bubbling water creeps into my thoughts, and I gaze around in search of the source. I’m sure it isn’t the ocean; waves make more of a swooshing sound. I glance behind us, concentrating on the noise.
“It’s the hot tub. They just finished cleaning it maybe an hour or two ago and forgot to shut it off,” Jackson adds, answering the question I asked myself.
“You were out here that long?” I lean back, using the strength of his arms around my waist to support me. “You could have woken me. I would have gone back to my room so you could work.”
“Don’t be silly.” He pulls me in, our chest rising against each other. “I like having you asleep in my bed. I was actually hoping to climb back in beside you when I finish here.” He kisses me.
“Um, beside me or inside?” I ask, climbing off his lap. He isn’t wearing a shirt, allowing my sights to roam freely over his chiseled, tatted chest. The man is in amazing shape, and I brainstorm cunning ways I could convince him to spend the last day and a half on this boat topless.
“Both,” he answers, and I swear his dick jumps.
I walk backwards, teasing him with my eyes.
I begin to unbutton the shirt midway to its end. With just a few feet between us, I halt and spread the fabric open, showcasing my naked, perky breasts. His gaze turns dark with lust, and he grabs his dick through his shorts, giving me the approval I need to continue my show. Careful not to break eye contact, I continue to undo the shirt while inching closer to the jacuzzi. Soon I am unable to see his expression. The lamppost provides only enough of a glow for me to read his silhouette. Jackson stands, taking one stride after the other towards me.
The back of my calves’ bump against the cool stone of the hot tub. A click sounds, and the fixture above buzzes to life and light shines bright around me. Jackson pauses at first, a smile spreading across his face. The light is dim, not enough to blind me but enough to illuminate my beautiful brown skin. I turn on my toes and climb into the tub, being sure to face him, waiting for him to reach its edge. I undo the very last button, exposing myself to him. He steps in after me, dick in hand, and runs the thumb of his free hand along the curvature of my breast, before cupping it whole and then pulling me close to him. Water splashes around us, soaking the tail end of the shirt, ascending through the material, turning it from lightweight to slightly heavier. I oblige and open my mouth, savoring the taste of his tongue and admiring the freshness of his breath. I fiddle around inside his shorts, replacing his hand with mine. My pussy moistens at the feel of his girth as he pulses and grows in my palm.
He deepens our kiss, moaning in my mouth. I tighten my grip around his dick, and he moans louder. He bites me, and I smile, knowing I’m doing my job of turning him on. His hands roam freely, and I continue to massage his shaft.
Reaching my sweet spot, he whispers, “Spread ’em.”
I do, bracing myself for the pleasure that’s about to commence. His thick fingers slide past my clit down to my love canal. With one finger first, he slides inside, then gently adds another, and soon I’m rocking against his wrist, aching for a release. But he stops, and soon I don’t feel his touch on any part of me. I open my eyes to him relieving himself from his shorts, the water’s stream pushing them to the other side of the pool. Our skin touches, sending tingles through every single nerve ending. He watches closely when I remove the condom I stashed in the front pocket and present it to him. He takes it, breaks the wrapper with his teeth, and effortlessly slides it on. He grips my thigh, lifting it to his waist, kisses me, then sweeps me up until both my legs are wrapped around him. His dick is hard beneath me, and I grow impatient waiting for him. He eases us down into a seated position, his dick entering me at the same time.
I gasp, throwing my head back in pleasure as he thrusts inside me, filling me to the hilt. Soon we find a rhythm, and I rock into him, enjoying every stroke, the whirlpool adding to our thrills while we ride the waves of pleasure. Jackson grips me tight, gaze locked on my face, his stroke quickening with each moan from my lips or pinch of my nails digging in his skin.
“Damn, you feel so good, Sabrina.” He grunts.
I don’t respond to him. Not because I don’t think he feels good, too, but because I hate talking during sex and fear if I answer, he’ll keep talking.
“Shh,” I whisper, grinding against him.
