Chapter 12
Chapter Twelve
Jackson
D espite my promise to Maggie to deliver earth-shattering orgasms, duty calls.
After Maggie and I snuck out the back door and I watched her drive away, I met up with the rest of the crew and received the news that we’d be staying on for another twelve-hour stint to cover the station while the regular crew had mandatory training exercises.
That didn’t mean I couldn’t flirt with her via text messages, though. And I have. All day. Every message more suggestive than the next until, finally, she sent me one of her vibrator, claiming it was my competition and it was winning.
I know it’s wrong, but I can’t stop. I fully intend on proving to her that there’s no competition.
I push through the back door of Sticky Sweet, hauling in the cans of paint stacked outside.
“Honey, I’m home,” I call out. “Where do you want me?” A dozen different mental images pop into my mind.
Maggie bent over her desk, or up against the wall in her office.
On her back at one of the tables, or better yet, riding my dick in one of the flimsy bistro chairs while I explore her glorious tits.
“In here.” Her voice floats over the Fleetwood Mac playlist. Just the sound of her has me at half-mast already, and I adjust my cock as I follow it, drawn to her like a moth to flame.
The shop is empty, all the tables pushed to the center of the room.
Paper lines the windows, hiding the work being performed.
Even in the disarray, coming into this shop is as comfortable as coming home.
“Did I mention that covering the windows while you do the work is genius?” I say to the empty room.
I thought her voice came from the front, but she’s nowhere in sight.
All I want to do is find her and finish what we started in my bunk room.
It’s all I’ve been able to think about for nearly twenty-four hours.
I round the display case to find Maggie on her knees, ass in the air. If I angle my head just right, I can look straight down her shirt at those gorgeous breasts.
“It’s giving me all kinds of fun ideas. Naked painting? Naked anything.”
That finally gets a reaction, and Maggie pops up, paintbrush in hand.
“You can’t talk like that, Jackson,” she admonishes.
I lose the battle on holding back a grin. “It’s hard to take you serious with paint on your nose.” She goes to wipe it off, paintbrush still in her hand. “And now in your hair.” It’s fucking adorable.
Slipping the paintbrush into a cup, she stands and puffs out a breath.
Frustrating Magnolia is high on my list of favorite things to do.
Just spending time with her is also at the top of said list. There’s no harm in admitting that I like hanging out with her, spending time doing anything with her.
Hell, I’m even helping her paint her store when I loathe painting.
Alice would be here helping if she were already in town, I’m sure of it.
But Alice doesn’t want to bone the baker.
And I do. I’ve halfway undressed Maggie by the time she meets me at the end of the counter, and I’ve mentally calculated exactly how long it’ll take us to get this project finished and get back to my place and get naked.
“Soooo, what happened at the station…”
“Was amazing.” I speak over her, drowning out whatever rationalization she was about to throw at me.
Her cheeks turn that shade of pink that I like so much. “But it can’t happen again.”
I crowd her, not stopping until we’re nearly chest to chest, and glare down at her. “I don’t much like the sound of that. What I do like the sound of, is the one you make right before you?—”
Delicate fingertips smash against my lips.
“Jackson, please. This is hard enough, being around each other and acting like nothing happened between us. Especially when you laid a hot and heavy lip-lock on me in front of all your friends.” Her eyes seek mine for understanding.
“Mags, it was a kiss after a heated call.” I play off our epic first kiss, even if it bites to have to do so. “It’s fine.”
She shakes her head, that red hair wild and unruly, looking like a halo around her head. “It’s not fine. We talked about this.”
I want to argue. But now isn’t the time or place. I’m just going to have to wear her down, and the best way I figure is to challenge Maggie. She’s never let me down before. She always faces her fears.
“Now, put your sexual charms away and help me get this shop painted before I have to get back here in the morning to bake. I don’t wanna be up all night painting.”
Me neither, especially when there’re plenty of other things I’d like to be up all night doing with her, even if I know that’s a pipe dream.
The disappointment is real, but still, I relent. “Okay. Where do you want me to start?”
An hour later, I’ve rolled a first coat on all the walls and am taking a break, enjoying the view of Maggie with her arms stretched overhead as she does the cut-in work.
The song shifts as she puts the final touches on the corner, then climbs down from the ladder. She’s caught up in the moment, singing and dancing, and I’m struck by how effortlessly beautiful she is.
She shimmies up to where I’m sprawled in a chair, looking me dead in the eyes as she sings about wanting to be with me everywhere.
My heart does that weird stutter-step thing it does when she’s happy like this.
And then she dances away, gathering up her supplies and heading to the back room, like she hasn’t just stunned me stupid simply by being herself.
Why can’t we explore this attraction again? Would my sister really be that upset if I started something with her best friend? We’re all adults now, unlike last time. I’m starting to care less and less about how Alice would feel, and more and more about how amazing it is to just be with Maggie.
“Did you get the rolling done?” Maggie calls from the back room over the sound of running water.
Guess break time is over .
“Almost, starting the second coat now.” With a groan, I stand to face this final sprint session of painting.
I’m halfway down the wall when I see Maggie return from the corner of my eye.
She lifts her arms again, her T-shirt riding up, teasing me with a glimpse of the perfect pale skin of her stomach.
Her tits ride high and firm, and she arches her back.
The roller brush clangs into the ceiling.
“Jackson!”
I rip my horny eyes off her glorious breasts to inspect the damage to her otherwise perfect paint job. A giant splotch of shell pink adorns the ceiling.
“Shit. Sorry.”
“Great. That looks like ass,” she deadpans.
“Well, you can’t come in here, thrusting your tits in my face, and expect me not to be enthralled.”
She rolls her eyes. “I stretched. I did not thrust my tits in your face.”
I pin her with a scowl. “You breathe, and I notice. Now go away and let me finish my job in peace.”
She retreats with her hands raised in surrender. I make quick work of finishing the second coat, and Maggie has cleaned up all the other supplies by the time I’m done.
“No wonder we almost ran out of paint. You’ve got more on your person than on the walls,” I jibe as I throw away my disposable supplies and shoo her away while I clean the roller and pan.
“Well, I got the job done. And it looks fabulous. Bonus, we finished early enough that I’ll still be able to get a couple hours of sleep before I have to be back in the morning.” She hugs me from behind. “Thanks for helping, Jax. I don’t know if you know how much I appreciate you.”
I squeeze her arms with my elbows to keep her from letting go .
“Anytime, sunshine.”
I follow her home, only staring at her ass once as she walks up her front steps and lets herself in.
I hate like fuck that she’s drawn the line.
My body has been uber aware of hers all day.
There’s only one thing that’s going to quell this tension I’ve been fighting.
Well, three things—a hot shower, a hand job, and a nap.
But not even ten minutes later, my cell phone rings as I pull up to my place.
“Maggie?”
“I’ve got a problem. Apparently, there’s a water main busted, and I’ve got no water. Normally, it wouldn’t bother me, but, well, you saw me. Can I come use your shower?”
She can come use more than my shower.
A million different responses threaten to pop out, but I go for safety. No sense in driving myself insane. “Yep, you know where the key is.”
And maybe if I hurry, I can check off at least one of the items on my to-do list before she gets here.
The back door opens as I close the fridge. I managed to squeeze a shower and the world’s fastest orgasm into the few minutes I had to spare, then threw on a pair of old sweats, foregoing a shirt, and am now making a much-needed snack.
I need fortification if I’m going to survive knowing she’ll be naked under my roof and not take any action on it.
“Towel’s waiting for you. Help yourself to whatever else you need,” I say by way of greeting.
She’s been here before and knows her way around.
She mutters her thanks and passes through my apartment.
I haven’t done much with the place because it’s temporary, but having Maggie here tonight feels different, and I’m avoiding thinking about why it seems to matter now.
And then the shower squeaks on.
I turn on some music to drown out the noise and think about the wreck we ran before the shift ended this morning to keep myself from doing something stupid. It doesn’t help. I keep imagining her lathered up and soaking wet, trails of suds sliding down her perfect, slick skin.
When she returns, I’m camped on my couch with a pillow in my lap like a fucking teenager. She plops down beside me, the shitty couch pitching her into me.
“Whatcha watching?”
I flip a channel. “Nothing.”
The scent of my soap on her skin fucks with my brain. I want to rip off the oversized shirt she’s wearing and explore every inch of her with my mouth.