Chapter 23 #2
With his free hand, he takes my elbow and lifts my arm so that it hovers over a discreet, black button built into the wall. “Here,” he murmurs into my ear.
“Okay,” I answer, still not pressing it. My heart races at the uncertainty of what’s going to happen.
Jackson’s fingers move from my elbow to my hand, covering it entirely.
His body shifts so that there is no space between us.
My back touches his bare chest as he leans farther into me.
With his face next to my cheek, he uses his other arm to press my head up against the glass, while still maintaining to hold on my hair.
The effect almost causes me to panic. Almost. “Your defiance will get you punished. Is that what you want?”
Maybe…No… “I don’t know.” I answer not able to think straight. Condensation forms on the glass from my heavy breathing.
“My focus is elsewhere.” He brings my hand down on the button, and the darkness of the glass fades away.
Another room comes into focus, but that doesn’t bring me any sort of relief.
Dead, mutilated bodies are piled into a heap on the floor.
Blood and guts spray the wall, furniture, and floor.
But the most shocking scene of all is a very much alive Sam lying on top of the dead with Gateley fucking her.
“Shit,” I whisper, shaking my head while trying not to throw up.
That could be me next. My dead corpse being fucked on by these lunatics.
Jackson uses his weight to hold me in place. “Death follows me everywhere. Even if I am not the one doing the killing. What you are seeing in there…all the blood… the gore… the violence that took place… that's what I'm like on the inside. What I was forced to become in order to survive.”
He lets go of his hold on my hair and instead places his hand around the base of my neck. “If you think I’ll spare you, you are wrong.”
“Did you do that?” my voice barely above a whisper. “Did you kill those people?”
“No. Gateley is responsible for that. I just watched from inside here.” He squeezes my neck at the same time he uses his legs to shimmy my thighs apart.
My shoulders shake from the sensation, and a familiar knot forms in the pit of my stomach.
Heat radiates off his skin, causing sweat droplets to form on my forehead.
I try to free my hand to wipe it away, but Jackson buries himself even closer.
“You did nothing to stop it?” I ask, my voice muttering against the glass.
“I didn't,” he confirms. “I watched every single drop of blood splatter while I drowned in my envy and alcohol.”
I force myself to swallow while gazing at Gateley’s bare ass, thrusting into Sam.
They seem completely lost to the outside world because of the situation they created.
He lets me go but doesn’t step back. However, just doing this allows me to put a little space between us.
Jackson’s reflection forms in the glass, and what I see makes me come unglued.
He stands with one hand stroking his cock.
I bite my lip at the scene. His tattoos are clearer now, darker…
harder because of his clean skin. And there’s so many scars, it would take me too long to count them all.
I had noticed some tattoos and scars before, but my primary focus was trying to tune him out.
A task that is now impossible given the current circumstances.
The number of tattoos and scars takes my breath away.
I was wrong about him looking more human without all the dirt and blood.
Now, all the evidence of his crimes is clear for all to see.
Each scar was an attempt at someone fighting back and failing, I’m sure.
“There’s fifty-seven,” He makes a fist around the head of his cock and continues to stroke.
“What?”
He looks down at his collarbone and arm.
“Well, will be fifty-nine once the ones you gave me heal.” He lets go of himself, his erection curved and overwhelming.
“Now you see me as I really am, little fire. Damaged inside and out. There’s no saving you or me.
” He reaches for the back of my dress and grabs the top of the fabric stretching across my back.
“I wasn’t looking at your scars,” I lie. His fingers brush the edges of the fabric, and every so often, my skin. Goosebumps form from his touch and travel down, eradicating any sense of logic with them.
“No?” With one word, he conveyed exactly what I didn’t want.
I stiffen. “No, not that either.” Another lie. His cock is a sight to behold, but I refuse to acknowledge it.
He takes the fabric of my dress and pulls, causing it to rip right down the middle.
The sound of fabric ripping echoes across the dark room.
Tossing it to the side, his erection presses up against the top of my bare ass.
Gone is the only barrier I had between us, and my pulse quickens at the thought.
Not that I think a dress would stop Jackson from fucking me, but having it made me feel a bit better, nonetheless.
“You are not a very good liar.” His hand slaps my ass, and I almost fall apart right then and there.
“But you are such a good whore with tiny fucking holes. Holes that need my cum.” His arms snake around my waist, with one hand landing on my thigh, while the other travels up.
Taking my nipple between his forefinger and thumb, he flicks it.
I bite my lip to prevent any sounds from escaping my mouth. “Even your tits are perfect.”
“I don’t want to be your whore. I don’t want to be used by you,” I say, while still fighting the dangerous sensations that would suggest otherwise.
His hand lets go of nipple to cascade down my stomach, and beyond, until it hovers over my center.
One finger moves against my clit, and I moan despite my mind telling my body not to.
My heart throbs inside my neck and I just know he can feel how fast it is beating.
“Your wet pussy says otherwise,” he taunts while continuing his movements.
“Fucking bastard,” I mutter.
“Hmmm,” Two more fingers rub against me as he murmurs, “Bastard or not. Murderer or not. You’ll still cum for me.” Jackson slaps my clit and my legs jolt from the impact. A mixture of pain and pleasure spread through me, and I almost cry out for him to do it again. “Nothing to say?”
“Motherfucker,” I whisper, almost breathless.
Another slap finds me, this time a little harder than the last. “Care to continue our serious conversation?” He breathes into the side of my neck. “Or are you just going to keep naming off insults?” The hand on my thigh moves to the small of my back, down to my ass.
My belly rolls as I feel an ache so intense, I am not sure if the source is from pain or pleasure.
I rest my head on the glass and force myself to breathe.
Never in my life did I think I would end up in a situation like this.
Oliver comes from a grotesque type of evil.
One that raises kids just to fuck them. But Jackson…
while a predator too, he is one that will make you wish for just one more orgasm instead of a conversation that might save your life.
“Asshole,” I murmur as the hand teasing my clit doesn’t let up, not even a little.
“That’s for later,” Jackson says gruffly. Suddenly, I’m lifted by the waist and spun so that my back and ass are against the glass. I flail against Jackson’s hold, but he might as well be holding a bug. “What are you?” I ask while still trying to get myself back on the ground.
Without a word, Jackson situates my legs on either side of his shoulders while his hands hold me up by my ass.
My pussy is a straight shot to his mouth.
With my free hands, I reach for his hair and use it as a way of balancing myself.
My legs tremble from the way Jackson is studying me.
His eyes become glazed, his jaw clenches, and he holds on strongly.
Like my body is under a microscope, and Jackson keeps zooming in closer in order to dissect me.
“I just want to hear you scream,” he mutters, eyes locked into mine.
I force myself to take deep, slow breaths.
That’s the last thing I want. I shake my head and pull on his hair, assuming the worst. Screaming means pain.
Pain means death. I squeeze my legs together so that I pin him in a headlock.
I was hoping it would break his concentration just long enough that he would drop me.
It does the opposite of what I intended, and Jackson uses this to his advantage.
His mouth lands on my clit, sucking and licking.
I draw back, causing his mouth to let go, but Jackson is still one step ahead of me.
Gripping my waist, he spins me around and throws me onto the bed.
My back collides with the mattress at the same time he pins my legs down.
Undeterred, his arms go under my back, and he pulls me to the edge of the mattress.
“Playing hard to get? I like it, but you’ll still be screaming my name as you cum,” he orders, face already inches from my pussy.
Oh, how I hate him. How I despise him. This man who captured me.
Jackson loves watching me squirm while playing fucking mind games.
And I can't stand it. But what's worse is how I can't stand myself.
He should be, by all accounts, filling me with absolute terror.
Those feelings do come and go, but most often I find myself wanting more of his deviant attention.
That's how I know something's wrong with me.
Like I'm a moth to a flame. He's mesmerizing.
Confusing. Fascinating and dangerous. Despite alarm bells going off in my head, I still want to take his cock. Just that realization infuriates me.