Best Laid Plans (10 page)

Do I? “I don’t know.”

“Well, your legs are open,
your hands are on the headboard, your eyes are on the mirror, and you’re
answering my questions. Aren’t you in control?”

I stare in the mirror at a
naked man hovering over me. That doesn’t give me a strong sense of control. “I
feel nervous.”

“I’m not asking you how you
feel. I’m asking you what you think about losing control.”

“I think I’m going to
disappoint you.”

“Look at me—in the mirror. Look
at all of me. Do I look disappointed?”

I move my eyes down the
length of him and I see…the length of him. He is hard, and straight, and
certainly not disappointed. In fact, maybe overenthusiastic is a better
description.

“Your mind doesn’t like
giving up control. It’s going to try to distract you—to make you feel
ridiculous, or frightened, or shamed. None of those things are true. All that
is true is that you are laying here on your bed, unrestrained, receiving a
lesson from a teacher who only wants you to be an excellent pupil.”

He kisses me between my
breasts. “The lesson is almost over. I just need you to focus. Look into the
mirror and look into my eyes.” He moves to my right side and lays on his side,
pressing against me and facing the mirror, his head now positioned over my
right breast. His right hand strokes my thigh. I can feel his erection pressed
against my hip. He slides a finger into me and my arms move reflexively.

“Arms!”

I put my hands back on the
headboard and he slips a second finger in. My knees start to bend.

“Put your legs down!”

His mouth clamps on my nipple
and I moan. He lifts his head up. “It’s hard having to control yourself around
me, isn’t it?” I nod my head, never taking my eyes off the mirror. “If your
hands were restrained, you wouldn’t have to remember to grip the headboard.” His
fingers slip in and out, slowly circling. “If your legs were restrained, you
could let go of having to control your body. If I blindfolded you, you wouldn’t
have that harsh light or be watching your own expression. You could just feel
every sensation.”

His tongue flicks across my
nipple as he slips a third finger deep into me. I moan. I don’t have the energy
to control it anymore, but he doesn’t stop his assault.

“I don’t think I would gag
you. You suffer so erotically.”

Something bursts within me. I
don’t want to be still. I don’t want to stare into the mirror. I want to hold
him and feel him and have him inside me. I want to tell him to kiss me, and
touch me, and fuck me. I don’t want to worry about how he’ll react. I hate
having to be so vigilant when all I want to do is lose myself in him.

A sob bubbles up from my
throat. I don’t want to let it out, but I can’t control one more thing tonight.
If I can’t lose myself in
him
, I’ll lose myself in this feeling and I
start to cry.

He kisses me on the forehead
and whispers, “You can relax now,” as he rises from the bed. I curl into a
ball. He switches off the overhead light and the room darkens. There is a faint
glow from the hall light and his silhouette picks up his pants from the floor.
I realize Minerva was right; he breaks women and then loses interest. I bury my
face in my pillow, thinking how I didn’t rate more than a one-night stand
foreplay session.

Jackson places the comforter
over me, and then he joins me in the bed. He pulls me to him, uncurling me with
his body, and moves on top of me. My mind is confused but my body responds instinctively;
my arms wrap around him and I mold myself against his muscular frame. I’ve
wanted to feel his naked body pressed against me so much that I’m clinging.

He brushes a curl off my
forehead. “Look at me,” he commands, holding my head in his hands.

I don’t want to. I knew I was
going to disappoint him and here I am, crying, when we only just started. He
moves his finger under my chin and lifts my head up. I look into his face and
see his smile.

“Don’t be ashamed of these
tears. You’re a passionate woman, Jillian, but you hold everything in so
tightly. I wanted to show you how controlling what you say, what you do, and second-guessing
yourself just gets in the way of your passion. I want to set you free. I want
to make you soar.”

He moves his hand from under
my chin and wipes a stray tear from my cheek. “But right now I need to fuck
you. Luckily, I have a condom from this century. You can move your arms, you
can move your legs, and you can make as much noise as you want. Just don’t
think. Follow my lead and trust me. And use the safe words if you can’t.”

He pulls himself off me and lifts
up on his knees, hovering over my chest. He hands me the condom. “Put it on me.”

I open the condom package and
pull out the latex ring. I take hold of him in my left hand. He’s big and
straight and beautifully shaped. He’s so hard in my hand, yet the skin feels
wonderfully smooth and very warm. There isn’t anything that isn’t hot about
this man. I roll the condom down his shaft, and hear his sharp intake of
breath. When I look in his face, it’s obvious he isn’t trying to control his
expression anymore.

“You seem to have some
experience with this.”

“I’ve decorated a lot of
parties with condom balloons.”

He chuckles under his breath.
“So much experience, and all of it the
wrong
kind. Why does that turn me
on?”

His lips lock on mine, and I
feel the need again. It’s stronger now that I’m free to touch him. His lesson
has made me bolder, or am I just too excited to be self-conscious about what I’m
doing? My hands need to feel his hair, the muscles in his back, his arms—every
part of him.

He lifts himself up on one
elbow. His eyes darken as he presses against me. I stare back at him and we
communicate through this silent eye contact.

“Tell me you want me,
Jillian.” His voice is low but so controlled.

Right now there isn’t
anything I want more. “I want you,” I whisper.

“Tell me how badly you want
me.” I hesitate and feel his fingers pinch a nipple. “Don’t think. Your
pleasure is so close. Your release. But you are going to have to convince me
you want it.”

This isn’t the time for
shyness. “I want it.”

“You made me wait outside
your door and sell you on coming in. Now it’s your turn.
Sell me.”

He moves his mouth to my neck
while his hand continues to tug on my nipple. I arch my back in response, and
give voice to the feelings building within me. “I need you, Jackson. I need you
inside me now.”

His hand moves between my
legs, and gently rubs between my thighs. “And?”

That word again. Is this a
lesson?
Don’t think
. “No man has ever made me feel this way. I didn’t
think any man could.”

“And?”

Damn him! “In the back of my
mind, you are going to take me and use me up and then leave, and I’ll never
recover but right now I don’t care. I only know I want you to fuck me!”

“Jillian, this is very nice
to hear, but all I’m asking for is the
magic word.”

Oh, no
. Tomorrow I’ll regret everything I said, but right
now all I want is to end this agony of waiting. “
Please!”

He thrusts deep and hard, and
now my eyes really close. It was too much, too fast. My breathing is ragged as
I try to relax all the muscles inside me.

A hand cups my face. “Jillian,
look at me.”

I open my eyes and recognize his
look of concern—the same look he gave me at the start of the evening. I’ve
broken the connection between us and feel as awkward and inexperienced as I was
when I lost my virginity. I take a steadying breath and shift my hips to adjust
to him.

“Are you okay?” he asks.

Not trusting my voice, I nod
my head.

He sighs. “This isn’t the
part that’s supposed to be frightening. I’m going to pull out a little.”

The fullness starts to recede,
as his hips lift off me slightly. He stares at me so intently—waiting for me to
let him know what I’m feeling. I release the tension in my face, willing it to
relax into a smile. Like Christian Grey, he fucks hard, and I am out of my
league. Our whole relationship has been a series of false starts.

I raise my head up and give
him a gentle kiss on his lips. “I’m sorry.”

“What are you sorry for now?”

How do I answer that
question? For ruining the moment? For wasting a condom? “For…
I’m
—”

“Jillian, don’t apologize for
my blunder. You respond to me like someone with more experience. In my
excitement, I forgot that I need to treat you like the rare, exotic creature
that you are. Do you remember what you said to me the first time we kissed—when
that damn spotlight hit us?”

That was only last night. I
was so angry I could have said anything.

“You said, ‘Let me fix this.’
Now it’s my turn. I’ve told you before: when I want something, there isn’t
anything beyond my reach. And what I want is to give you the best fuck of your
life.”

My jaw drops open at his
words, and he uses the opportunity to press his mouth to mine. His tongue
strokes and explores. Was it only last night when he first kissed me? When I
thought he was the most arrogant man in the world.

His mouth moves from my lips
to my ear. “What’s going on in that head of yours? Are you second-guessing
everything?”

His hands move to my breasts,
and he rolls my nipples between his fingers. Isn’t this what I wanted when we
were standing at my front door? Didn’t I wish he would ravish me senseless so I
couldn’t think?

His razor stubble scratches
my cheek as he whispers in my ear, “Where are you?”

A good question. “I’m on a
cliff.” I moan. “I’m afraid I’ll fall. I’m afraid I’ll crash and burn.” Afraid
I’ll end up like all his other exes.

“You can fly, Jillian. You
can soar with me. Let go. Let go of all of those thoughts and worries. Trust
me. I’ve got you. Make the leap.” His mouth moves back onto mine.

I close my eyes and imagine
stepping off the edge of Half Dome as my body relaxes into his erotic assault. My
arms wrap around his neck, and I lift my hips up to take him deeper inside me. Jackson
follows my cue and increases the tempo and depth.

“Open your eyes. Look at me.”
His voice has lost its sensual purr. It’s now pinched and tense, and I
instantly obey it. “I knew it would be like this with us, once we got past all
of your defenses. I knew there was a sweet little submissive woman inside.”

My tongue wants to debate
that observation, so I move my mouth on his and let it express itself with
action rather than words. When his tongue tries to lunge for mine, I parry his
attack with the skill of a fencing instructor.

He lifts his head up and his
eyes are alight with amusement—and excitement. He tsks at me. “What am I going
to do with you?”

His mouth moves to a pebbled
nipple and flicks it with his tongue. I arch my back, raising my breasts
higher, wanting him to play harder with them. His teeth replace his tongue and
my breathing becomes shallow.

“Jackson, I’m close.”

“I know. Come for me.”

“I want you to come with me.
Please, would you? Can you?”

“That’s a distinct possibility.
Keep your eyes open. I need to see what it looks like when you come. We’re
going to come together, looking in each other’s eyes.”

I respond without thinking. “Yes,
sir.”

I can see the effect my words
have on him. His eyes open wider, and the look on his face is so possessive
that it sets off a sensation deep inside me. His thrusts become more urgent—deeper
and faster.

“Come for me. Come for me
now.”

Jackson was right—I am flying,
and all my senses are in overload. My muscles try to contract, but there’s no
room when he’s buried deep inside me. My body shudders into his solid mass of
muscle. Staring at him takes all of the concentration I have left. His breath
halts and trembles, and his expression becomes so twisted and tight that I
wonder whether orgasm is painful to him. He thrusts his hips into me with an
erratic rhythm, while gritting his teeth, and then collapses on me.

I relish the weight of this
man covering my body. As we lie there catching our breath, I get an impulse to
kiss him. I’m sure if I thought about it, I would second-guess myself so I kiss
him on the forehead and whisper in his ear, “Thank you.”

He takes a deep breath and
lifts his head over mine. “For what?”

“For not leaving.”

“What are you talking about?”

“When I started crying you
got up and grabbed your pants.”

“That’s where I had the
condom.” He gently pulls off me and rolls to the side.

“Well, I thought you were
leaving. Tears are usually a good indication that a date is over.”

“We’ve had this conversation.
Thinking is bad. I fully intended to make you cry.” Jackson’s fingers draw little
patterns across my waist.