11. Aliyah
ALIYAH
Iknow Jackson is just attracted to me. And if I can get him to fuck me, he'll let me go. I'm certain of that. I know how men like him work. I just need him to get bored of me, and if I end this little chase, he will.
I ignore the burn in my chest at that thought. I want him to leave me alone, I remind myself. One good night and I'll never have to see him again and I can salvage my life.
But for some reason…he keeps distance between us. I know this isn't all business. It can't be. I don't need to fucking live with him to fulfill his deals.
I just can't figure him out. But I will.
Once I break him.
I pad down the stairs in my new silk pajamas, a whisper of fabric against my skin. The shorts barely cover what they need to, and the thin camisole leaves little to the imagination. Jackson's credit card came in handy for this little purchase.
He sits at the kitchen table in his usual spot, reading something on his phone. His dress shirt's sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, exposing the corded muscles of his forearms. The sight makes my mouth go dry, but I push that reaction aside. This is about control, not attraction.
"Morning, tough guy." I keep my voice honey-sweet as I move to the coffee maker. "Thought I'd make us breakfast."
His eyes flick up, then immediately back down to his phone. But that millisecond of attention tells me everything I need to know - I've got him.
I take my time preparing everything, making sure to stretch and bend in ways that show off the silk clinging to my curves. The silence in the kitchen grows thick with tension.
"Sugar?" I ask, though I know exactly where it is - on his side of the table.
Jackson's jaw tightens. "Top shelf."
I reach across him, letting my camisole slip off one shoulder. His sharp intake of breath sends a thrill through me. Got you.
"Oops." I adjust the strap with deliberate slowness, my fingers trailing along my collarbone. "These straps just won't stay put."
"Put some clothes on." His voice comes out rough, strained.
"But these are clothes. Ones you bought." I settle into the chair beside him, crossing my legs so the silk rides up my thighs. His eyes flick to the outfit again, and I know it does something to him to know he paid for them. He's easy to rile. "And you did say to make myself at home."
His knuckles go white around his phone. "That's not what I meant."
"No?" I lean closer, letting my breath fan across his neck. "Then maybe you should be more specific about what you want."
The muscle in his jaw jumps. He's fighting for control, and I'm winning.
I spend the morning finding new ways to drive him crazy. Every time he tries to work at his laptop, I'm there with another cup of coffee, my fingers brushing his as I set it down. His jaw clenches tighter with each "accidental" touch.
"Need anything else?" I trail my fingertips along his shoulder.
He shrugs me off. "What I need is for you to stop whatever game you're playing."
"No game." I perch on the edge of his desk, letting my leg dangle near his. "Just being helpful."
When he moves to the living room, I follow. He's reviewing weapons shipment manifests on his phone, all business in his crisp white shirt and dark slacks. I drop onto the couch beside him, closer than necessary, and pull out my own phone.
"Hey, look at this." I lean in, pressing my shoulder against his solid frame as I hold up my screen. "Found this great restaurant. Maybe you could take me out there and let me out of the house for once."
His whole body goes rigid. "Angel, back off."
"Why?" I let my hand rest on his forearm, feeling the tension in his muscles. "Am I making you uncomfortable?"
He yanks his arm away. "You know exactly what you're doing."
"Do I?" I stand and stretch, making sure my shirt rides up. His dark eyes track the movement before snapping away.
In the kitchen later, I reach past him for a glass, pressing against his back. He spins around, trapping me between his body and the counter. His hands grip the edge on either side of me, face inches from mine.
"Enough," he growls.
I tilt my head, letting my lips nearly brush his jaw. "Make me."
His breath comes faster, but he doesn't move. The heat of him surrounds me, and for a moment I forget this is supposed to be about gaining the upper hand. I want to close that final distance between us.
Instead, he pushes away from me and heads for his office. I follow after him, and he ignores me as sits down in his chair and pushes back from his desk.
I settle on the edge while he takes a call about an upcoming weapons shipment. His dark eyes narrow as I slowly cross my legs, the silk of these tiny shorts sliding higher up my thigh.
"The merchandise arrives Thursday." His voice stays steady even as I uncross and recross my legs, letting my foot graze his thigh. "Yes, everything's arranged."
He turns his chair away, but not before I catch the flex of his jaw. His knuckles go white around the phone as he discusses security protocols and payment terms. I slide closer, trailing my fingers along the polished wood of his desk.
"We'll handle any complications." The words come out clipped, controlled. Too controlled.
I lean forward, knowing exactly how the silk camisole will dip. His breath catches mid-sentence as he glances toward me. Got you.
"Let me call you back." He ends the call abruptly.
Before I can process what's happening, his hand wraps around my wrist and yanks me into his lap. The move knocks the breath from my lungs. His thighs are hard muscle beneath me, his chest a wall of heat against my back.
And he is fucking hard beneath my ass. God, I might be doing this to get my life back, but I know that I will enjoy it.
"You want to play games, angel?" His voice rasps against my ear. "You sure about that?"
I meant to feel victorious in this moment. This was the plan - push until he breaks, fuck him, make him lose interest. But his touch brands my skin, and my body betrays me with a shiver.
"I don't play games." The words come out breathier than I intended.
His grip tightens on my wrist. "Liar."
I try to focus on my goal - freedom, getting away from him, salvaging my life. But his other hand slides up my thigh, and coherent thought scatters. The rough pad of his thumb traces circles on my inner wrist, and I have to bite back a whimper.
This isn't supposed to affect me like this. He's just another mark, another man to manipulate. So why does every point of contact between us feel like fire?
"Tell me what you're really after." His words ghost across my neck.
I can't answer. Can't admit that I don't know anymore.
"The same thing you are," I finally force out. I need to fuck him out of my system as much as I need him to finally lose interest in me.
A dark chuckle rumbles through his chest. "Oh, I doubt that."
His fingers dig into my hip, and I'm about to throw my plan out the window when three sharp knocks crack through the heated silence.
Jackson's grip tightens for a heartbeat before releasing me. The loss of contact leaves me cold, but I scramble off his lap, my legs unsteady. His dark eyes track my movement as I try to compose myself.
Another knock. Harder this time.
"Jackson, you in there?" A gravelly voice carries through the door.
I pull at my camisole, suddenly aware of how exposed I am. Jackson's gaze burns into me as he adjusts himself in his slacks, and the sight sends a fresh wave of heat through my body.
"Coming," Jackson calls out, his voice still rough.
I reach the door first, yanking it open before Jackson can stop me. A broad-shouldered man with wavy brown hair fills the doorframe. His hazel eyes harden as he takes in my appearance, his eyes lingering on my bare legs before snapping to Jackson.
"Didn't know you had company." The man's thick Italian accent turns almost teasing as he raises a brow and looks past me. At least he's not a creep.
I cross my arms over my chest, heat crawling up my neck. This isn't embarrassment - I don't get embarrassed. This is... something else. Something that feels dangerously close to shame.
What am I doing? I'm supposed to be manipulating Jackson, not melting under his touch like some lovesick fool. I need to get my head straight.
"I'll leave you to it." I slip past the man, careful not to brush against him. His cologne - heavy and expensive - fills my nose.
As I hurry down the hallway, my silk pajamas feel less like a weapon and more like a confession. My skin still tingles where Jackson touched me. I need to regain control - of the situation, of myself. But the memory of his hands on me, the heat of his body against mine...
I shake my head. No. I can't let him get to me like this. I'm the one who's supposed to be breaking him, not the other way around.