Chapter 27
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Daphne
" I t's a bad habit." Jackson takes another bite of red curry, chews, swallows. He speaks with an even, calm voice, as if I just asked him what he thinks of lunch, not what's your darkest fantasy . "Depriving people of information." His eyes meet mine. "One I learned at work."
"Is that why you're holding out on me?" I ask. "Because you're a lawyer?"
"That's part of it." He takes another bite. He stays in control. "Mostly, I like to draw it out. I like to tease a woman for as long as I can." His voice drops to a tone I recognize from last night. From an hour ago. The one he uses to dirty talk. "Sometimes, for days."
"Days?" My throat goes dry. My stomach drops. I don't have days to wait. And even if I did, I don't want to wait for them. Not now. I want this. I want this secret. I want everything.
But maybe this is the start of that.
Maybe this is his fantasy.
Torturing a poor, innocent woman with days of anticipation.
He watches my expression with a coy half-smile. I'm eager and he can tell.
He likes it, sure, and I like that he likes it, but I still feel at a distinct disadvantage.
I want him to tease me, yes, but I want to tease him back just as hard.
He lets me stew in anticipation for a minute, then he continues, "I love to wait. Especially in the beginning. Especially if there's an intense chemistry. If I know a woman wants to fuck me senseless, I walk her to her door, and I kiss her like I'm going to take her, and I say good night."
"And you just leave?" I ask.
He nods. "If I have the will to do it." Something drops into his voice. A raw edge. He's struggling to stay in control.
But I'm struggling more. I take a deep breath and let out a slow exhale. I take a long drink of water. I'm playing this game too. I'm irresistible too. "Do you ever break?"
"Sometimes," he says. "I test myself. See how long I can go."
"Are you going to do that with me?" I ask.
"If you want me to." He takes a long sip of his tea and sits up straight, collecting his thoughts and turning them into something coherent. Then, he speaks with some strange mix of control and raw desire. He's ready to tell me this, but he's letting go of something too. "That's one of my fantasies. I admit, to a woman I'm trying to delay satisfaction. She finds out and she teases me until I have to give in."
My chest warms. My stomach too. I like this idea. A lot. And knowing he's sharing a secret with me? Sexual confessions shouldn't feel this romantic. But they do. "Like at the club?" I ask.
He nods. "We've done that. But we could do it differently. One of the other ways I imagine."
"How does that go?" I turn my body toward his. I tune toward him.
He drifts off to some place in his mind. A memory. A fantasy. A scene he's used too many times. "I'm busy with something. A work call. Someone comes in and tries their best to distract me. It's a game. To see who can break first.
That sounds hot. Risky. Which only makes it hotter. And his. All his. Which makes my entire body buzz with something even stronger than desire. Affection. "What else?"
Need drops into his voice. "Sometimes, we're somewhere I know we shouldn't have sex." He takes a long sip, trying to stay in control. He swallows hard, looks me in the eyes, continues, "A church or a dressing room at the mall. Or a hotel pool. Sometimes, we're somewhere we can't have sex, and she teases me, by flashing her breasts, or slipping my hand between her legs, or placing her palm on my thigh. Not enough to get either of us off. Only enough to lengthen the tease."
My cheeks flush. My chest too. "I like that one."
"We can try it after this."
"I want another fantasy first," I say. "A complete scenario. I gave you a few. So it's your turn. Something you're embarrassed to tell me. Something you think I won't want to hear."
"Right here, in the middle of this Thai restaurant, stone-cold sober?" he asks.
"Yes," I say.
"What if I'm not embarrassed by any of my desires?" he asks.
"Then you're a more evolved person than I am." Is that even possible? I should know, better than anyone, how often people crave the taboo, how little shame benefits anyone, but I still feel the twinge all the time.
He refills our mugs and takes a long sip of his tea. It's not steaming any longer, but it is warm. He's not hiding from the heat. He's embracing it. "I'm not embarrassed by any of it. Not anymore. But I don't want to tell you I crave scenes where I have power over people. Where I use a partner as a prop for the benefit of someone else. I know it doesn't mean I want that in real life. I know it doesn't mean I lack respect for women or struggle with letting go of authority. But it still feels wrong, at times."
"I know what you mean," I say.
"The scenes aren't all that unusual," Jackson says. "Sometimes, I'm a professor punishing a student. Or a student is trying to seduce me into a perfect grade. Sometimes, I'm a boss ordering an employee to satisfy me. When I read too much crime fiction, I see myself as a mob boss, using my wife as a prop to fuck with other people."
That's not what I expect him to say. That's so far from what I expect him to say. And I love that. I love the way he surprises me. "Tell me about that one," I say.
"There's a man who wants something from me, who I know wants you, so I ask you to interrupt our meeting, strip for me, demand me, fuck me right in front of him. We make him watch. We make him crave you. We make him hurt for it. Just because we can."
It's certainly not the most fucked-up thing I've ever heard, but it's certainly not a fantasy I'd share with friends. I'd worry what they thought of me. But he's willing to share that with me. He trusts me. There's something impossibly sexy about that trust.
"Sometimes, it's not so outlandish. A colleague. An opposing lawyer. A group of young employees. But it's always the same. I fuck someone in front of them because I can. Because I want them to know I'm the one with the power." He sets his cup down and looks me in the eyes. "I don't know if I'd ever try it. I've never invited a third person into the bedroom. I know a threesome is a common male fantasy, but it's never been one of mine."
"It's not a traditional threesome," I say.
"And there's another man. Not another woman. That's not what men are supposed to want."
But he does. That's what he's saying. He wants another man to watch us. At least, in his fantasy life, he does. "Could it be another woman?" I'm not sure why I ask. Curiosity maybe.
"No." He shakes his head. "Ever since Cassie came out, I… I can't think about seeing two women together as sexual. It crossed some wire in my brain."
My lips curl into a smile. "I never got why guys wanted to see girls kiss each other. But, yeah, after that… it didn't just feel odd. It felt wrong."
"It was almost always a man," he says. "Even before that. Sometimes, a lot of times, a woman's ex-boyfriend. I wanted him to see I was a better fuck."
"It is okay to tease you about a massive ego?" I ask.
He smiles with an ease I don't expect.
We have a trust here. A comfort.
We can share what we want without jumping to conclusions.
I like that about him.
I really do.
He continues with a half-smile, "I don't usually want to claim someone. In the moment, or the scene, maybe, but not as my lover." He doesn't usually want it. So he wants it sometimes. He doesn't expand. He continues, "But I want that, a lot. I want to know I'm the best fuck a woman's had. I want to see the evidence on someone's face. Her ex in shock because he's never heard her come like that. Now that I'm older and more experienced, I know it's ridiculous. I know a woman is going to have the best orgasm on her own. But I still want it sometimes."
"And you want the power over someone," I say. "The status. It's common, you know. We all crave the things we tell ourselves we shouldn't want."
"What should you not want?" he asks.
"Besides you?" I ask.
"Now that we've crossed that bridge." He nods.
I want to give myself to him. I want to fall in love with him and make him fall in love with me. That's the one thing I really, really shouldn't want. "I want to play the game you said. To see who can break first."
"When do you want to start?"
"As soon as we finish here," I say. "And we get somewhere our family can't interrupt."
"I know a place," he says. "A club here. It's not open for a few hours. But we could go there. We could fuck in front of a third person easily."
Fuck. "What time does it open?"
"Eight or nine."
That leaves six or seven hours to think about it. "Until then?"
He doesn't ask if that's a yes or a no. He sees it as a maybe, but how could I ever wait six or seven hours to have my way with you . "I have an idea. If you trust me."
"You know I do."
He nods perfect . We finish eating, pay, and drive to the Strip, park in a lot, and walk through the labyrinth of indoor then outdoor hallways to find the pool.
A small, rectangular body of water with a dozen people inside and another dozen sitting around it.
It's not crowded the way other pools are. Because it has a cover charge and a strict eighteen or older age policy.
Because it's a top-optional pool.
And half the women are indulging in their right to do away with their bikini top.
A group that can or cannot include me.