Chapter 24
Chapter Twenty-Four
Jackson
" S ay that part again." Daphne folds her hands in her lap. She sits up straight, her dark eyes on me, her full body at attention.
"Can you give me three months," I repeat myself.
"No. The other thing. About sex."
"Oh." A laugh spills from my lips. "We can have sex. All three months."
"Yes, that part." She nods. "I like that part. But I don't…" She trails off, but it's not the way she trailed off this morning. She's still putting something together, but she's not confused. She sees what she wants, and she's going after it.
In the past, I've cursed relationships where women only wanted me for sex. And I do hate the idea of never winning Daphne's head or heart—
But I want to fuck my wife again.
And again.
And again.
Maybe, deep down, I'm not that different than my sister. Maybe, deep down, I'm a romantic too.
There is something about the word.
Wife.
Not my usual desire to possess someone between the sheets. A new desire to offer some part of myself I normally hold close.
Three months with Daphne.
It will be harder to say goodbye at the end, but I can suffer that torture.
"I can't do three months," she says. "We can stay married, on paper, for as long as you need, but I can only play house for three weeks." She speaks with finality. There's no room to question or counter. "That's my final offer. My only offer."
"I've already admitted I'm desperate."
"I know. I should ask for a hundred grand in the proceedings. Or at least to saddle you with half of this semester's student loans."
"But you've already said your parents pay your tuition."
She lets out an easy laugh. It eases the tension in her brow and shoulders. Not all the way, but enough. "Then a hundred grand for a down payment. You can afford it." Her fingers brush my watch.
"If I make partner, I can afford it next year." Partnerships usually come with a buy-in. I have to buy my stake in the firm. Next year, I'll participate in the profits, which could be hundreds of thousands or millions.
This year, well—
This year, I'm not buying any extra designer watches.
"Save the money," she says. "Buy yourself a designer tie too."
"They're not that expensive."
"A bunch. That's what you said last night, isn't it?" She smiles, and this time, it's easy, free. She's here with me. She's happy.
She's happy to fuck me, yes.
But it's not just sex.
She didn't say I'll fuck you for three weeks . She said play house.
It's not exactly I really want to be your wife , but it's more than I want to fuck you .
It's some in-between space I've never really explored.
She continues, "Didn't you say you wished you were wearing a tie, so you could wrap it around my wrists when we got back to the room."
"You remember?" The thought sends blood rushing south. And centrally. My heart and my dick sing. She remembers my dirty promises. And her decision to marry me.
"A little." She bites her lips. "And I… do you think… could we do that now? You know. Seal our contract with a little physical contact?"
"It's not traditional," I say, "but I'll allow it."
She smiles. "How do you want to do that… do you have a routine or… do you mind talking about it? Most guys don't want to talk about sex."
"Why not?" I ask.
She tilts her head to one side, trying to figure out how to explain it to me. She has this look when she's thinking. An adorable and sexy and totally badass look.
I like her a lot.
Too much maybe.
This time, I'm the one who's going to walk away with a broken heart. But I don't care.
She finds her thoughts. "They think it kills the mood. Or they think it means they're bad in bed. Otherwise, why would I bring it up? Men are like that, sometimes. They think everything you say is a criticism. They take every single unhappiness in your life as a personal fault."
"You sound like a married woman," I say.
She laughs. "I do, don't I? But our marriage will be different. Or is that what everyone says?"
"It is. But it will."
"They say that too," she says. She leaves but we're only doing this for three weeks; that's not enough time to get sick of each other unsaid.
I can't imagine getting sick of Daphne. But I leave that unsaid too.
"So, uh." She sits up a little straighter. "Is there a particular way you like to do this?"
"Have you ever been tied up before?" I ask.
She shakes her head no .
Blood rushes south. I want to be her first here. I want to introduce her to all of this.
"But I've fantasized about it before." Her cheeks flush. Her chest too. She's nervous, but she still speaks with a clear, calm voice. "I think I know what I want. Not a role play this time. Just you and me. You're in a suit and I'm in something casual. And you order me out of my clothes and then you tie me up on the bed."
She fantasizes about me.
That is way too fucking hot.
"How do I normally do it?" I ask.
"Sometimes, I'm on my back. Sometimes, I'm on my stomach. I'm always naked. And you stay mostly dressed. The rest is, flexible." Her cheeks flush as she shifts from a memory to the moment. "I don't want to script it. For good sex, you need to be present. But that, uh, that sounds good to me. No pain yet. Not this time. And no edging or anything. Just you, doing what you want with me."
She's thought about this.
And she's sharing all of it with me. Everything she wants.
The vulnerability of it makes my chest warm.
And my dick hard.
But now isn't the time to follow that. I need to make sure she's comfortable first. I need to set the ground rules.
"Did the traffic light work?" I ask. "Or do you want to use a safe word?"
"The traffic light."
"I'll have to check in," I say. Some women don't like that. It takes them out of the scene. Others need it.
"Let's do that this time," she says. "If it goes well, we can do something else next time."
Next time. She wants next time. Three weeks. Twenty-one days to have my way with her. I want more, but I want that too. "When is next time?"
"This is our honeymoon, right? That means we can turn off our phones and spend the next three days in bed," she says.
"How about we turn off our phones, spend today in bed, go back to Los Angeles early?" I offer. "Before Zack and Laurel can ruin things."
"They'll follow you back to Los Angeles," she says.
"Yeah, but it will give us a day."
She nods. "Tomorrow. Today, I want to enjoy this. So. Where do we start?"
"With wardrobe," I say. "You want to go first?"
She nods. "Give me ten. I know just the thing."
Daphne waits in the main room while I dress.
I don't have a jacket, but I have slacks, a button-up shirt, a tie, and dress shoes. Enough to set the scene. Enough to give her the power dynamic she wants.
When I'm finished, I open the door a crack. An invitation for her to enter.
She waits for a moment, then says, "Close your eyes while I set up."
I do.
Immediately, my imagination stirs. What's in her vision? What fantasy am I filling for her?
Reality is always different than fantasy. Some people find the actual experience a letdown.
Daphne knows better.
Still, I need to do my best for her. I want to make this an experience she remembers. One she comes back to again and again, on her own. With other—
No. I can't think of her with someone else. I can't think of anything twenty-two days out. Only of this time I have with her. Where she's mine.
I take a deep breath and let out a steady exhale. There's a heavier weight to this already. She's my wife.
I need to make this count.
Three weeks with the most eager, curious, fascinating woman I've ever met. That's not as good as forever, but it's more than a lot of people get.
I take another deep breath, and I say, "Come in."
She moves with slow, steady steps. I feel her warmth, catch her scent as she passes me. Apricot and lime and something all Daphne.
What is she doing? Wearing? Thinking?
My head whirs with a kaleidoscope of possibilities.
Then she says, "I'm ready," and my eyes and thoughts go right to her.
Daphne is better than anything I can imagine.
This is better than any fantasy.
She's in that same crop top and shorts, only this time, she's not wearing anything under the shirt. Her nipples show through the thin material.
Her chest heaves with each of her inhales.
She's already lost in this, and I want to be the one to find her.
I want to tear the fucking cotton in half.
I want to have my way with her right now.
And I want to savor every minute.
Then she pulls a condom from her pocket and tosses it on the bed, and shoots me a cheeky smile and I want to claim her even more.
She is a brat.
And I fucking love it.
I close the door behind me.
She sits up a little straighter.
This isn't a scenario. We aren't playing a game with rules, but we have our roles. I sink into mine. The stern boss.
I let my voice drop to a demanding tone. "Where are you going dressed like that?"
She sits up straighter and speaks with a tiny hint of defiance. "Dressed like what?"
"In shorts." I take another step toward her. "This is a nice place."
"They're nice shorts." She holds my stare. She sits there with the perfect mix of strength and power and pliability.
A dare to challenge her back.
To make her.
I've never wanted that before, but with her, I need it.
I move closer. Closer. Close enough to touch her.
I lower my hand so it brushes her shoulder. The skin. Then, the strap of her tank top.
She shudders from the contact.
I keep my touch soft, even though I want to hold her close, to feel every part of her. I have to take my time. I have to tease her. "And this?" I finger the strap.
She looks up at me. "What about it?"
"This—" I slip my hand under the soft fabric so my fingers brush her breast.
She fights a groan. "What about that?" She gasps as I cup her breast with my palm.
I run my fingers over her nipples, teasing her with a soft touch. Desire floods her expression. Anticipation. Need.
Her body melts into mine, but she still stands strong and proud and defiant.
I let even more demand drop into my voice. "You want people to see your breasts?"
"Maybe," she breathes.
"You want people to see me do this?" I toy with her again and again.
She lets out a low, heavy sigh. It's pure desire. Pure need. "You wouldn't." She finds her resolve enough to look me in the eyes. "You don't have the audacity."
The dare makes my entire body buzz. "Are you testing me, baby?" I ask.
She shrugs maybe I am, maybe I'm not . "Prove me wrong."
My dick whines. My blood rushes south. She's so sexy this way. Too sexy.
I'm not going to last long enough.
But I can work with that.
I toy with her one more time, then I push her onto her back. Hard enough to move her but not hard enough to hurt.
She gasps as she falls backward. She lands with a soft thud. Looks up at me like she can't believe my actions. Or how much she likes them.
She catches herself and slips into her role. "If my shirt is a problem…" She pulls the fabric over her head and tosses it aside. "Maybe that's better."
Fuck, she looks sexy, defiant, and topless and spread over the bed.
Her blue eyes are heavy with desire.
Her slim curves are stretched over the comforter.
Before I can instruct her, she continues. She surprises me again. "Maybe the shorts are a problem too." She lifts her hips and pushes the fabric off her ass. "Is that better?"
Fuck, the way she surprises me—
It nearly undoes me.
But I can return the favor. I can surprise her too. I move closer, and I pull the shorts off her legs. "Much better." I wrap my hands around her ankles.
She gasps as I pull her to the edge of the bed.
I drop to my knees in front of her legs, hook my fingers in her black panties, roll them over her ass and hips, down her legs, all the way to her feet.
She shudders as I press her legs apart.
I pin her to the edge of the bed gently to test how much she can take.
She lets out a low moan. She tugs at the sheets with her hands.
She's losing herself in this. It's a beautiful sight. The most beautiful thing in the world.
Somehow, it's different than with other women, than other times. I always enjoy sex. I always enjoy the experience of making a woman come, but I feel this somewhere deeper too.
A drive to connect physically, emotionally, mentally. In the bedroom and outside it.
To give her what she wants everywhere, forever.
I can't do that. But I can enjoy this moment. I can enjoy the next three weeks.
I press my lips to the inside of her knee. A soft kiss. Then, the scrape of my teeth.
She moans as I repeat the gesture.
Higher.
Higher.
Higher.
But I don't give her what she wants. Not yet.
I move to her other leg, and I repeat the pattern. I tease her with a soft kiss, a gentle bite, higher and higher.
Until I'm where I need to be.
Then I bring my lips to her.
She groans from the contact.
A soft brush at first.
Then a little harder. The flick of my tongue. Softer. Harder. Faster. Slower.
I take my time tasting every inch of her soft folds. I tease her with soft flicks. With slow, long circles.
I tease her again and again—
Until she's tugging at my hair.
The force of the gesture makes my cock whine.
I love seeing her lost in this. I love how much she needs me right now, how she'd do anything to have me.
After one more delicious tease, I give her what she wants. I run my tongue over her clit. A firm stroke. Then a softer one. No. Too soft.
A little harder.
There.
That's the spot, that pressure that makes her thighs shake.
I test the spots until I find the one that makes her purr, then I try different speeds, different pressures.
Until she groans, "Fuck," and tugs at my hair again.
That's it.
I give her what she needs.
I press my palms into her thighs, keeping her pinned to the bed, as I lick her to climax.
She rocks her hips as she comes, groaning my name, tugging at my hair.
She gets wetter, sweeter as she pulses against my lips.
I work her through her orgasm; I give her a moment to catch her breath, then I stand and flip her over on her back.
Daphne grunts as I pull her wrists together behind her back. "Is this what you're trying to do, baby? You're trying to tempt me."
She mutters an incomprehensible collection of vowels.
"Bad girl." I undo the knot of my tie then I wrap the fabric around her wrists. Not hard enough to really contain her. Only enough she feels bound. "Do you know what I do with bad girls?"
"No," she breathes.
"Whatever the fuck I want." I unzip my slacks.
The sound is enough to make her moan. I leave her there, in anticipation, for a moment. I savor the sight of her spread over the bed on her stomach, legs parted, hands bound by my tie.
Naked except for the rings on her left hand.
There is something sexy about it. Something I want to claim for longer than a few weeks.
But I can't.
I have to enjoy this part.
I adjust my slacks, I take the condom, I roll it over my cock, then I position her body against mine.
The bed is a little low, but I make it work. I hold her hips with both hands. I pull them to mine.
In one swift, smooth motion, I pull her body over mine.
She groans as I slide inside her.
She feels good. Soft and wet and mine. The thought echoes through my head in a way it never has before. I want to claim plenty of women in the moment, as part of the scene, but never in some deeper way—
Some way, I offer the same part of myself.
I close my eyes and soak in the sensations of her soft body against mine. She feels so good, so right, so mine.
But that's only here.
Only now.
I need to savor that part.
I pull back and drive into her again and again.
Until I'm almost where I need to be.
The pleasure builds in me quickly. A fullness. A need for release.
Then she rolls her hips, and I'm there. I work through my orgasm, spilling every drop, pulsing inside her.
When I'm finished, I take care of the condom, I right my slacks, I leave her there on the bed, bound, waiting.
Then I undo her tie, I roll her over, I pull her onto my lap. "Do you want to go for one more?"
She nods.
"Show me this time." I keep my eyes on her. "Show me how you fuck yourself."
She doesn't wait for further instructions. She closes her eyes, slips her hand between her legs, strokes herself to orgasm.
She's already close. She comes fast.
And this time, when she releases, she releases fully, as if some other part of her is dissolving into some other part of me.
As if she's dissolving between my arms.
As if she really wants to be mine.