Chapter Six #3
She wraps her fingers around my cock and fists me gently, spreading the slick of precum down my length, and I'm still so sensitive that my whole body jerks. If I thought I was close before, fucking hell. There's no coming down from this now. She's not going to let me.
Then she grazes her teeth along my length, right on the edge of painful, and my vision whites out at the corners.
"Color."
Green, goddamnit. Fucking green.
"Green, ma'am."
I barely get the words out before she takes me into her mouth, and my eyes slam shut as my head falls back, a string of curses tearing out of me that doesn't resemble any language I know.
She moans around me, the vibration traveling straight up my spine, and when I finally manage to look down again, she's watching me, her eyes locked on my face.
"May I fuck your mouth, ma'am?"
Her eyes flutter closed, and she nods. I gather her ponytail into my fist, and when I rock into her mouth, she takes me without flinching, like she's been waiting for this every bit as long as I have.
"Fuck yes." The groan tears out of me. "Thank you, ma'am."
“Harder,” she whispers around me.
I give her what she asks for, and the next flick of her tongue nearly takes my legs out from under me.
I'm so fucking close, but I don't want this to end.
I don't want any of it to end. One of her hands slides beneath my shirt and flattens against my stomach while the other grips my hip, her nails dragging lines into my skin, marking me.
By tomorrow I'll be covered in evidence of her, and I'll wear every mark beneath my suit like a medal.
Then her nails scrape lower and whatever control I have left disappears.
My release rips through me with a roar I have to strangle into my own fist, remembering far too late that we're thirty thousand feet in the air with a flight attendant sitting on the other side of the door.
The force of it runs through my entire body, leaving me shaking, my fist still tangled in her hair while she stays with me through the last of it.
When she finally releases me, I stagger backward and catch myself against the dressing counter, chest heaving while I try to remember how breathing works.
My whole body is humming, wrung out and weightless, and Rose is still there on her knees looking entirely too pleased with what she's done to me.
I'm smiling. I can feel it on my face, stupid and enormous, as I open my eyes and reach for her.
Rose is staring up at me in panic.
She's still on her knees, but everything else about her has changed. The confidence is gone. Her eyes are wide and glassy, and I watch the reality of what we just did settle over her in real time. She shakes her head once, then again, like she's trying to physically undo the last twenty minutes.
"Rose—" I tuck myself back into my shorts and drop to my knees in front of her, pulling her into my arms. "Don't. Don't do that. We didn't do anything wrong. We're fine. Don't shut me out."
"How can you say that, Jackson?" She pulls out of my arms and gets to her feet, putting the whole width of the room between us in three quick steps. "You're married! God, what was I thinking? My brother. Oh. Oh god." Her hand presses against her mouth. "I'm so sorry. This was my fault."
"Rose, please. Let me explain."
"No," she won't look at me. "Please, just go back to your seat, Jackson. This never happened."
This never happened.
Yeah. This shit again.
Five minutes ago, she had my tie around my neck and my name in her mouth, and now she's putting us right back into that fucking box while my skin is still humming with the evidence that we were here.
No.
Fuck.
Not again.
I run a hand through my hair, trying to find the words that'll stop her from doing this, but my brain has abandoned the building. All I've got is the wreckage of what might've been the best twenty minutes of my life and Rose standing six feet away trying to make it disappear.
"Rose—"
"Please."
Her voice cracks around the word.
She's pleading now, arms wrapped tightly around herself, and that does what the guilt couldn't. Rose doesn't plead.
She commands. She negotiates. She argues until everybody else in the room forgets they ever had a position of their own.
But she doesn't stand in front of me looking this scared and ask me to please leave her alone.
I can't make her carry my feelings on top of whatever is happening inside her right now.
So I hold her gaze for another second, hoping she'll take it back and already knowing she won't.
Then I nod.
And I leave.
The door clicks shut behind me, and it sounds nothing like it did when I locked it.
I spend the rest of the flight to New York in my seat with a drink I never touch, her panties still balled in my pocket like proof that the thing she's already decided never happened absolutely fucking did.
Rose stays behind the closed door, and no matter how badly I want to go back there, I know I don't have the right to knock after she asked me not to.
Jessica doesn't ask.
I don't offer.
Somewhere over Tennessee, I finally stop checking every thirty seconds to see if the door has opened.
It never does.