In Too Deep (2 page)
Laying on my side, I stared at the antique clock on the nightstand. It was 8AM and I’d been awake for an hour, but the second I heard Jackson begin stirring behind me, I closed my eyes and pretended to be asleep.
“Mmm, baby.” He rumbled something deep and content, wrapping his sleepy arms around me and trying for the thirtieth day in a row to act like this could be just another one of our pre-Gabrielle mornings. Kissing the back of my neck, he rubbed his hard cock against my back, sliding his hand from my side to my stomach, then slowly up to my breasts. “Good morning,” he murmured into my skin, kissing along my shoulders as his fingers tugged on the neckline of my cotton nightgown, pulling slowly down until my breasts popped out. “Mmm.” I could practically hear his mischievous grin. “Sawyer could barely take his eyes off of you last night,” he said, referring to his friend and one of the other investors of Monarch, a much-anticipated hotel in Chelsea. “Mila was sitting right next to him and all he could do was stare at these beautiful fuckin’ things all night,” he murmured, turning me onto my back and climbing on top of me. As he kissed my neck, I wondered if he was more turned on by me or the fact that his friends wanted me. Blankly, I stared at the ceiling, trying to find the hot, desperate need that once took over my body the second Jackson touched me.
After all, I hadn’t left him. I was still with him. The love I was so sure would fade was not quite gone despite everything that had happened and it was leaving me with conflicting feelings I couldn’t reconcile. A part of me just wanted to go with what Jackson had suggested and never talk about Gabrielle again. I could go with the suggestion the police had put forth – that she had possibly run off due to recent stresses in her life. It was finals week after all, and she’d apparently skipped her first two already. A straight-A student before that, the cops deemed this the behavior of a runaway. It didn’t help her case that many of her drawers were found emptied, and that close friends had claimed she was depressed as of late.
With all that said, the blood in her apartment seemed just an accident – the result of a drunkenly broken wine glass.
I found the theory dismissive but it was much better than my own paranoia, which had me wondering if I’d have been too wild with rage that night to remember hurting her seriously. Maybe I had. After all, she’d bled. A lot. Had I hit her head? Had she had gone for a walk to blow off steam after our fight and fallen into the Hudson River?
I didn’t know and I couldn’t handle my guilt or paranoia alone. So I stayed with the man who had seen me through all my recent trials and tribulations. It felt right and wrong at the same time. With all our hearts, we loved one another. But my skin still crawled when Jackson touched me. All I could see were flashes of those tapes, of Gabrielle’s wide-open mouth and his deep thrusts between her legs. In a way, I hated him. In another, I felt obligated to stay.
Because what if I
was
somehow to blame for Gabrielle’s disappearance?
At my request, Jackson had deleted her panicked voicemail about me on his phone. But my bloody T-shirt was still nowhere to be found. While I found my jeans from that night washed in the dryer, the stained top was still missing. I asked Greta, our housekeeper, and repeatedly, she insisted that she’d never even seen the shirt in the laundry.
Twice, I dreamt of Jackson keeping it as evidence.
But it was a dream, not a premonition and regardless, I told myself that that wasn’t my reason for staying. My reason was that we’d been perfect together for four years. I hated him now but I loved him as well. Clearly, that love was strong. Clearly, it meant something if he could do something so heinous and still have my heart. On top of that, my mind was in pieces over Gabrielle’s disappearance. I couldn’t handle any radical changes right now. I needed the familiar comforts of our apartment, my friends, Jackson and my shared social life. I needed distraction.
And Jackson himself. I was pretty sure I needed him too, even though I had yet since the incident to let him have sex with me.
“Fuck, Lara, how long is it going to be?” Jackson groaned when I stopped his wandering hand above my panties. He flopped onto his back, thrusting his fingers into his messy morning hair. It was still so cute to me – the only thing that ever made a man like Jackson look remotely boyish – but I couldn’t bring myself to smile and giggle about it like I used to.
“I don’t know, Jackson, it’s going to take time. My heart is still broken and I’m putting the pieces back together on my own,” I said between my teeth. After all, I couldn’t tell anyone about Jackson’s infidelity. Gabrielle was nowhere to be found and news of their affair would no doubt bring an investigation to our home. I couldn’t have that. And while Sloane would know that I had nothing to do with it, I couldn’t tell her because she’d break her hand slapping Jackson the next time she saw him. And that, of course, would force Caleb to choose between his fiancé and his best friend of ten years, which would spark a drama that I didn’t want, so I opted to cope solo. “Just give me time, Jackson,” I exhaled, ruining my manicure by chewing its edges to nothing. My voice was a dead monotone. “It’s going to pass but it’s not going to happen right away. If you don’t recall, you fucking cheated on me.”
“And I regret it more than anything. I’ve never made a mistake this stupid before in my life and lately, I’ve been thinking about it every second of every fucking day. I dream about turning the clock back so it never happened. I can’t stop reliving that day we fought and then you ran off with Sloane.”
That was apparently how the affair started. On a random Thursday, I blew up at Jackson for lying to me about his smoking. For years I thought he’d quit, but the night of the Winter Ball, I found a pack of cigarettes in his Zegna suit pocket. At home, upon searching the rest of his closet, I found three more packs tucked neatly away in his shoe closet, hidden safely from my eyes. Still drunk off champagne, I screamed at him. We argued for an hour and while he slept that night, I opened a bottle of wine and booked a flight for myself to Naples. Sloane and her sister were already in Europe together so she met me there and we spent two-and-a-half weeks on the Amalfi Coast.
In that time, a neglected Jackson had apparently begun sleeping with Gabrielle.
“Three times. We did it three times in four months. Fucking Caleb’s always ordering those fourth, fifth rounds when we’re out. And she always happened to text when I was hammered. Saying things like she wanted me to tie her up. To make a video. That kind of shit.”
“Yeah.” My fingers dug into the mattress. “A video that you
jacked off
to while I was in the Hamptons with Sloane.”
“I was watching it like any other porn, Lara! Just to get off while I waited for you to get home. Babe, goddamnit, I swear. She meant nothing to me.
You
– you’re my world. You’re the only person on this Earth I can’t live without and it’s killing me every day I feel this barrier between us. I don’t feel like myself with it there. I get why it’s there. I deserve it. But I fucking want your body as much as I love you, Lara, and I need to feel you again. I
need
to.”
“Or what? You’ll cheat on me again?” I didn’t mean to drawl with such attitude but I did. Jackson turned to stare at me and then suddenly burst off the bed, a frustrated growl escaping his throat.
“
No
. Absolutely fucking not.” He paced for a second before stopping at the foot of the bed. Standing before me in his navy boxer briefs, Jackson stared at me, his six-pack rippling as he raked his fingers through his hair. “I’ll never make a mistake with you again. But I need my girlfriend back. I need to feel my other half again soon because it’s killing me. It’s killing me to know that you’re right next to me but we’re nowhere near each other. You’re somewhere else, far away and I miss the fucking hell out of you. I miss my girlfriend. That’s all.”
And with that, he got in the shower. Hugging my knees to my chest, I sat blankly in bed, swayed by Jackson’s desperate words but still hollow inside, disconnected from him. Even as I watched him fully undress through the crack of the bathroom door, I felt nothing. I was used to wanting him so bad it hurt till I could touch him with my fingers but now my body was dreary, unfeeling, emotionless. And I hated it. I wished for the spell of conflicting emotions to end but had no idea when it would and it was driving me toward the edge of insanity.
If only I knew.
It would all end that very night. By that night, I would want – no
need
Jackson’s arms wrapped around me again, his strong hands cupping my jaw and pressing his lips against mine. I would finally feel like we were us again. But the relief would come at a brutal cost.
It started at Caleb’s birthday party, held as usual at Buccieri Wall Street, a historic bank turned party venue. The morning of, Dane McNulty had texted Jackson a picture of his date for the night – some twenty-year-old Victoria’s Secret model who was ninety percent legs.
Looks like I’m top dog tonight,
read the words accompanying his picture. Jackson’s blue eyes flicked across the message with irritation. Scoffing, he tossed his phone on the bed and returned to buttoning his crisp white shirt.
“Nult’s a fucking idiot,” he sneered.
“Dane McNulty? What now?” I sounded almost interested.
“Nothing, he’s just up to the same juvenile shit.”
“Uh-oh.” The “same juvenile shit” meant making everything into a competition. Dane McNulty had been with Kinsley Weiss for three years before leaving them to found McNulty Partners, which wound up ranking just above Kinsley Weiss in a list of top New York hedge funds the following year. Since then, Dane and his ballooned ego tried relentlessly to one up Jackson, buying the bigger country house and writing the bigger check at the galas. Still, the men of their shared social circle came to a verdict: Dane’s net worth was higher but Jackson had better real estate
and
the most important trick up his sleeve: me.
I was no more beautiful than the other wives and girlfriends, but the boys in Jackson’s circle forever adored me because of a silly little trick I always employed with them – one my mom had taught me back in middle school, when I ached to fit in. “
Always make sure to have a full conversation with every guest at the party, and make sure to talk to them about the one thing they love most. If you don’t know anything about it, ask them to teach you
.” That simple charm was what landed me more connections and acquaintances than the other girls, which then led to Jackson and my profiles in society columns and magazines. Those little portraits in our sitting room or before our Christmas tree gave us the attention Jackson didn’t want to admit that he loved, even craved. Simply because it put us above his friends.
Jaw tipped upward, he knotted his tie deftly, no mirror needed. “He thinks I actually care about his game of one-upping.”
I fastened my earrings distractedly. “You do entertain him every time.”
Jackson laughed. “And I put him in his place every time. Because he’s a smug asshole. A smug asshole who’s gonna shit a brick when he sees the black dress you’re wearing tonight.”
“What black dress?” I frowned, having picked my pearl earrings based on a peach-colored gown I’d known for days that I’d be wearing. Jackson tightened the knot on his tie and grinned, looking so adorably mischievous that I had to crack a half-smile.
“The one in the Bergdorf’s box in my closet. Go put it on now.”
~
The only thing brighter than the lights outside Buccieri was Jackson’s beaming grin as he paraded me up the red-carpeted steps and through the towering front doors. Heart pounding, my eyes scanned the party for a server with a tray of champagne. I took shallow breaths, both nervous and excited in a wildly sexy number that was one shift away from becoming a full-body wardrobe malfunction.
With a racer back, the gown was sheer, black and floor-length, the bodice boasting an opaque and
very
well placed X shape that just covered my breasts, belly button and bikini area. Beneath the sheer parts, my heeled legs, braless cleavage and naked hipbone were exposed. It forced me to go without underwear, which in turn forced Jackson to gnash his teeth every couple of seconds and groan with true torment.
“I don’t know if I’ll survive tonight,” he murmured. “I don’t know what I was thinking putting you in that dress. Kind of forgot that I’d be as tortured as every other guy in the room.” Swiping two flutes of champagne off a passing tray, Jackson handed me one and tossed back the other. “Unless,” he murmured, his lips touching mine, “you let me take you home and fuck you tonight.”
“Jackson.” I smirked, relieved to feel a spark lighting my body. Perhaps it would be the night – the first night in ages that I could feel Jackson’s touch without seeing Gabrielle.
“I swear to God, Lara, I’ve never wanted to fuck you more than I do right now. And that’s saying a lot.” Jackson kept his hungry eyes glued to me as he ushered me into the dining room, his hand on the small of my back.
I laughed. I believed what he said. I’d never worn a dress like this before in my life. On top of that, Jackson had the highest sex drive I’d ever encountered and at this point, he’d gone nearly thirty days without having sex. It was easily the longest time he’d gone without sex since losing his virginity at fifteen.
“Dear fucking
Christ
, Kinsley.” The resonating voice that came out of nowhere belonged to Sawyer Davies, the group’s wavy-haired prankster who’d, since grad school, gone from Ralph Lauren model to real estate tycoon. “Let me guess, you son of a bitch – you heard about McNulty bringing a VS model and had Lara put on this… this…” Running a hand through his coiffed, brown locks, he took me in, happily ruining his hair in the process. “Lara. Christ. You look beautiful as always.”
“And you’re looking very handsome yourself, Sawyer.” I could feel Jackson’s eyes on my ass as I leaned in to kiss Sawyer’s cheek. The smirk on Sawyer’s lips confirmed it when I stood up straight again.
“God, you fucking two,” he shook his head. “Can you stop being so fucking
cute
and
sweet
together? Mila was just on my ass for never looking at her the way you look at Lara. You’re fucking up my shit, brother,” Sawyer joked, giving me another look from head-to-toe before shaking his head and going.
When he left, I peered at Jackson, who was already peering at me with smug satisfaction. “As if your head needed to get any bigger,” I snorted.
He grinned, his broad shoulders struggling to shrug in his fitted, black suit. “I can’t help that people envy our happiness,” he said.
Our happiness?
I blinked at Jackson as he continued ushering me into the party toward Caleb’s main table.
He didn’t say the words with any hint of irony or sarcasm.
Our happiness.
He truly meant it. Jesus. I wondered if he was drunk already or if he simply loved me that much – so much that our relationship with awful, glaring issues was still better than what he could have with somebody else.
“Whoa, there! Happy birthday, me!” Caleb’s eyes went wide when he saw me. Sloane’s mouth dropped as she ran to me, arms outstretched. But when she got to me, she stopped short and gave me an air hug.
“I’m afraid to twist this dress around and expose your whole body!” she squealed. “Oh my God, Lara, where did you
buy
this?”
“This little pervert bought it for me,” I smirked, nodding at Jackson. I looked up at him to find him looking elsewhere though – across the table at slick-haired Dane McNulty, who shook his head at the big, shit-eating grin on Jackson’s face. He wiggled his eyebrows at Dane, as if asking, “
Yeah, you like that?
” Guessing the context, everyone at the table burst out laughing. With Sloane wrapped around me in a hug, I joined in. It felt good. Familiar. I was starting to feel like myself again. I should’ve known that all it’d take was one of these parties with champagne, friends and Jackson’s silly antics with his boys. Those things had always been a surefire way to put me in a good mood.
“It’s so weird,” Sloane murmured to me as the entrees were being brought out. She’d been nursing the same flute of Veuve all night but was already drunk – a downfall of being five-foot-six and a hundred and twelve pounds. Her jet-black hair spilled over my shoulder as she leaned her head on me, watching Caleb and Jackson give a hard time to some new guy at the company. “We’re all just laughing and celebrating tonight like Lyle and Sofie aren’t at home worrying like crazy about Gabrielle. What kind of friends are we to be out here drinking instead of trying to help them find her?” she asked.
I gave some generic answer that Sloane agreed to before I even finished. Clearly, it was the same thing everyone else had been saying.
“No, we have to keep living our lives or they’ll feel worse,” “Gabrielle’s out there. We just have to put out positive energy for her to come home.”
And within a couple minutes, Sloane was shrieking with laughter again, swatting Caleb’s hand as he went from holding an ice-cold beer to slipping his palm into the cutout at the waist of her dress. “That’s freezing!” she yelped, trying to wriggle away as Caleb lay his hand flat against her skin. Sawyer watched Sloane’s body writhe against him before turning his gaze to Jackson.
“You gonna do that to Lara now or are we really gonna end this night with no wardrobe malfunction?” he asked.
His arm around my shoulder, Jackson shook his head at Sawyer. “You’re a sick fuck, you know that right?” he smirked as I thought,
you love it.
When I excused myself to the bathroom later, Jackson followed. I bit my lip, feeling a flutter in my stomach as I heard his neat footsteps on the marble floor behind me. But I decided not to look, not to let him know that I knew. I wanted to build up the excitement, the anticipation that I hadn’t felt for Jackson in a month.
And it worked. The second I opened the bathroom door, he was on me. His chest pressed against my backside, he pushed me in, shutting the door behind us and pushing me up against it. Gripping my jaw, he opened my mouth for his tongue, sweeping it against mine and then sucking hard on my lower lip. “I need you now,” he grunted, his voice low, gravelly as his hand grabbed the X shape on my dress. Eyes gleaming, Jackson twisted till my breasts and pussy were exposed beneath the sheer fabric. Breathing hard, he took a few seconds to stare at me, his lecherous gaze feasting upon my naked body as if it had been starving for ages.
With a growl, he pushed my breasts up, kissing them over the sheer cloth of my dress. He took my tight nipple in his mouth, nipping, sucking as his other hand groped me roughly, with abandon.
In no time, I was pushed up against the sink, my hands gripping marble as behind me, Jackson gathered the bottom of my dress. Breathless, I watched through the mirror as his handsome face contorted with the desperate need to be inside me already. With one hand, he undid his belt, his zipper, pulling out his hot, hard cock. I moaned as he rubbed its head along the length of my wetness.
But the second I closed my eyes, I saw her.
“
Fuck,”
I hissed, standing up and pulling away.
“The fuck – ?” Jackson nearly fell over, having been a mere second from plunging himself inside me. I spun around to see him bewildered, his blue eyes wild and his pulsing hard-on tortured. “Babe, what – ?” Panting, he read the look in my eyes. “Fuck, Lara,
come on!
” His voice was hoarse with torment.
“You bent her over like that.” I covered my face with my hands, desperate to erase the image of Jackson slamming into Gabrielle, those desk drawers rattling open in a noisy chorus with her moans. “Trust me, I do
not
want this scene playing over and over in my head! Every time I see it I think, ‘He doesn’t love me. He would never hurt me this bad if he really did.’”
Eyes blazing, Jackson roared at me like an animal. “I love you more than I can fucking
say!
”
Once he got dressed, he stormed out, leaving me alone in the bathroom, a shaking mess.