20. Jackson
JACKSON
Islam my laptop shut, unable to focus on weapons manifests when my mind keeps drifting. Three days since Antonio's little stunt, and I've barely left the house. I tell myself it's about protecting my investment - can't have anyone else getting ideas about touching what's mine.
Mostly, I hate anyone around Aliyah and I haven't decided what I want to do about it. She has absolutely scrambled my mind.
"You're doing it again." Aliyah's voice cuts through my thoughts. She appears in the door of my office, moving to perch on the arm of my leather office chair, close enough that her perfume fills my senses. "That whole brooding, possessive thing."
"I don't brood." My jaw clenches. "And you're supposed to be in your room."
"Boring." She trails a finger along my shoulder. "Besides, watching you pretend you're not watching me is much more entertaining."
I catch her wrist. "This isn't a game, angel."
"No?" Her eyes spark with challenge. "Then why haven't you left this house since Antonio? Why do you tense every time I move out of your sight?"
"Because you're a flight risk."
"Please." She leans closer, her breath ghosting across my ear. "You're jealous. One guy shows interest and suddenly you can't stay away."
"I can have you back in that room in seconds." The threat lacks its usual edge. She's not wrong - the thought of another man's hands on her makes violence curl in my gut.
"But you won't." Her smile holds secrets. "Because then you couldn't watch me. Couldn't make sure I'm safe."
I stand, crowding her space until she has to tilt her head back to maintain eye contact. "I'm not some mark you can manipulate."
"No." Her fingers find the key tattoo behind her ear - a tell I've started to recognize. "You're much more dangerous than that."
The air between us crackles with tension. I should step back, maintain distance. Instead, I find myself cataloging the flecks of gold in her eyes, the curve of her throat, the way her pulse jumps when I lean closer.
"If you're trying to push my buttons, angel, you're succeeding."
"Good." She slides past me, deliberately brushing against my chest. "At least now you're honest about it."
Her lips brush against my neck, and every muscle in my body goes rigid. The sensation shoots straight through me, dangerous and addictive. I should push her away. I should maintain control. Instead, my hands grip her waist harder.
"I'm not trying to run." Her words ghost across my skin. "I haven't even tried."
The truth of that statement hits me. She's had opportunities - I'm not actually keeping her locked up anymore.
And that blackmail material? Worthless since I paid Alex a visit, made it crystal clear what would happen if he ever contacted her again.
The memory of his gaudy silk shirt stained with blood still brings a smile to my face. She'll never work those parties again.
But why is she telling me this? My mind races through possibilities, searching for the angle, the con, the hidden motivation. There's always an agenda. Always.
Her fingers thread through my hair, and coherent thought becomes harder to grasp. "Stop overthinking, tough guy."
"I don't trust easily." The words scrape out of my throat.
"I noticed." She pulls back enough to meet my eyes. "Neither do I. But here we are."
Here we are indeed. With her working her way under my skin, past defenses I spent years building. The smart move would be to end this now, before she becomes a weakness I can't afford. Before she finds the cracks in my armor and tears me apart.
But I can't seem to let her go.
"This is a bad idea." My voice comes out rougher than intended.
Once was a mistake. Repeating it… I don't know where that will leave us. I'm already certain I won't ever let her go, and while I have never claimed to live by any morals, I don't want to cage Aliyah when she would hate it.
When I stop wanting to be something she hated? Why do I fucking care?
"Probably." Her smile holds an edge of darkness that matches my own. "Most good things are."
The last of my restraint snaps. I crush her against me, one hand tangling in her hair as I claim her mouth. She tastes like danger and possibility, and I'm already addicted.
Her lips collide with mine, and I’m done pretending this isn’t exactly where I’ve wanted to be since the moment she walked into my life.
Her hands slide up my chest, fingers gripping the fabric of my shirt like she’s holding on for dear life.
I break the kiss, breathing hard, my hands already moving over her body like I’m trying to memorize her through touch.
"Is this what you want?" My voice is rough, raw, barely holding onto any semblance of control. I don’t know if I’m asking her or myself.
Her eyes lock onto mine, that sharp, calculating gaze softening just enough to make my chest tighten. "You tell me, tough guy. You’re the one who can’t stay away."
I don’t answer. Instead, I grab her by the waist and lift her onto the desk, sweeping everything off it with a crash that echoes in the room.
Papers scatter, pens clatter to the floor, and the sound of breaking glass barely registers.
Her legs wrap around me instinctively, pulling me closer, and I go willingly, my hands gripping her thighs like I’m afraid she’ll disappear if I let go.
I drop to my knees in front of her, my hands sliding up her hips, under her dress.
Her breath hitches, and I can feel her trembling under my touch.
My fingers hook into the edge of her panties, and I yank them down, throwing them aside without a second thought.
Her fingers tangle in my hair, and she gasps when I press my mouth to her, hungry and insistent.
I don’t know how to let her in. I don’t know how to trust her. But this? This I can do. My tongue flicks over her, and she jerks, a low moan escaping her lips. I don’t let up, my hands gripping her thighs to keep her in place. She tastes like sin and temptation, and I’m already addicted.
Her fingers tighten in my hair, and she arches against me, her breath coming in short, desperate gasps.
I growl against her, the sound vibrating through her, and she cries out, her hips bucking against my mouth.
I don’t stop, not until she’s trembling, not until her voice breaks and she’s pulling at my hair like she’s trying to drag me closer.
When she finally collapses back onto the desk, her chest heaving, I lean back on my heels, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. Her eyes are heavy-lidded, but there’s something in them that makes my gut twist. Satisfaction? Triumph? I can’t tell, and I hate that it matters.
"Still want to push me away?" Her voice is soft, teasing, but there’s an edge to it that makes me narrow my eyes.
I stand, my hands gripping the edge of the desk on either side of her, caging her in. "I don’t know what you’re doing, angel. And that’s the problem." My voice is low, dangerous, but she doesn’t flinch.
"Maybe I’m just as lost as you are." Her fingers trail down my chest, and I catch her wrist before she can go any further.
"Don’t play games with me, Aliyah. I’m not like the men you’re used to manipulating."
Her eyes flash, and for a second, I think she’s going to pull away. Instead, she leans in, her lips brushing against mine. "Maybe that’s why I’m still here."
My mind whirls with those implications, and I can't make sense of any of it. So, I give up trying. At least for now.
Her hands are on my belt before I can stop her, fingers working with a practiced ease that makes my jaw tighten. I catch her wrist, but she doesn’t pull away. Instead, she looks up at me, those gold-flecked eyes daring me to stop her. I don’t. I can’t.
She undoes my pants, her touch deliberate, and I’m already hard for her, my body betraying every ounce of control I’ve ever prided myself on. Her fingers wrap around me, stroking, and I hiss through my teeth, my hands gripping the edge of the desk so hard the wood creaks.
“Aliyah,” I growl, a warning, a plea, I don’t even know anymore. I'm not even sure what I want.
She doesn’t stop. Instead, she pulls me closer, her breath warm against my neck. “I know you want me," she murmurs. "Please don't stop this."
I don’t want this. I don’t want her to use me, to twist this into something I can’t control. But she’s already under my skin, in my head, and I’m so fucking tired of fighting it.
I jerk her forward, my hands gripping her hips, and slide into her in one sharp motion. She gasps, her nails digging into my shoulders, and I freeze, my breath ragged, my chest tight.
She’s warm, tight, and I can’t think, can’t breathe. I don’t know how to let her in, how to trust her, but my body knows what it wants, and it’s her. Always her.
I move, slow and deep, and she clings to me, her legs wrapping around my waist, pulling me closer. Her breath hitches, and I bury my face in her neck, inhaling the scent of her, trying to ground myself.
It’s too much. She’s too much. Every thrust feels like I’m unraveling, like she’s pulling apart every wall I’ve ever built. I don’t know how to do this, how to let someone in without losing myself.
But I can’t stop.
My hands slide up her back, pulling her closer, and she moans, her fingers tangling in my hair. I can feel her trembling, her body tightening around me, and I grit my teeth, trying to hold on, trying to keep some semblance of control.
But it’s slipping.
I fuck her deeper, harder, and she cries out, her nails raking down my back. It’s raw, desperate, and I can’t tell where I end and she begins.
“Jackson,” she breathes, her voice breaking, and I can’t take it anymore.
I kiss her, hard and possessive, and she kisses me back, her lips soft and demanding. It’s too much, too intense, and I’m drowning in her, in this, in us.
I don’t know how to let her in. I don’t know how to trust her. But right now, with her wrapped around me, with her body trembling against mine, I don’t care.
I just want her.