I shrugged one shoulder and played tough, eyeing him for all of a second before returning to myself. Arching my back, I reached between my legs with my other hand, sliding one, then two fingers between my wet folds. “Oh… God…” A sigh drifted from my swelling lips. Stroke by stroke, I quickened my pace, my breasts bouncing between my arms as I pleasured myself to the fullest. All the while, I watched Jackson. Vague envy curled his lip as he jerked himself off, his roving eyes watching my hands as they rubbed, thrust, did all the things that he wanted to do.
When he finally caved and stepped toward me, I kicked him away with a pedicured foot on his chest.
“Lara.”
“Keep watching.”
“You’re going to let me fuck you right now.”
I smirked. “Fuck off.”
His jaw flexed. “You’re gonna get it.”
“I hope so.”
He looked angry but I only grinned. Angry Jackson was wildly sexy anyway so stroking, pumping into myself, I moaned, continuing to kick him away from me for as long as I could get away with, knowing well that his cock got harder with every spurned advance. He knew he’d have me eventually. We were us again. Now, his sexual frustration was back to being a game – a delicious, exciting and torturous game.
With my fifth kick, Jackson caught my leg and mounted me, grabbing both my wrists with one hand and pinning them hard above my head. His free hand between my thighs, he stroked me, reveling in my wetness before spreading my legs and entering me.
“Ah… fuck, Lara.” He grunted when I let him enter me halfway before tightening my muscles around him.
“That’s what you get,” I smirked breathlessly, savoring the deliciously tormented frown on Jackson’s gorgeous face.
“Baby,” he pleaded, his lip twitching as I let him in another inch. I grinned, taking too much pleasure in rendering all six feet and three inches of his muscle helpless between my legs. “Oh fuck, yes, thank you, baby,” Jackson groaned when I let him plunge back in me, his jaw dropping as he resumed pumping in and out of me, filling and un-filling me, bringing me closer and closer to the edge. “Christ, babe, you feel so fucking good,” he rasped, on his elbows, his eyes lost in mine. “You make me feel like the luckiest man on fucking Earth, Lara. I love you so fucking much.”
“I love you,” I breathed, thrusting my fingers in his dark blonde hair and pulling his lips against mine. Our mouths crushed against each other, he rocked deeper, harder, sliding his hands beneath my ass and forcing me to cry out as he pulled me so tight I could feel every last hot inch of him inside of me.
As usual, the sound of my orgasm forced his. A savage, guttural moan ripped from his throat as he came, spasms rippling his hard body before he let its weight collapse onto me, once again the security
blanket I had loved for so many years.
Chapter Seven
On our last day in Ibiza, my lips woke Jackson with a warm good morning wrapped around his cock. I reveled in the sound of him rumbling awake and immediately groaning with pleasure. “Oh… fuck, babe.” His blue eyes were electric as he lifted his head to get a visual on the sensation enveloping his morning wood. “Christ, babe, yes…” His fingers raked through my hair, grabbing fistfuls that grew tighter and tighter as I took him deeper and deeper in my mouth. I had woken up hot, eager to please him. I wanted to give my fiancé every last bit of pleasure I could offer. Gripping his shaft, I stroked, my mouth pumping up and down with my hands.
“Fuck, yes. Keep sucking. Just like that,” Jackson grunted, his six-pack flexed as he watched me. When he came, I slid him out and pressed a kiss onto his pulsing helmet, relishing the sensation of his rich warmth pumping in thick ribbons onto my lips. “Holy fucking shit, baby.” Jackson watched with unblinking awe as I licked them clean. “Fuck, baby,” he grinned, catching his breath. “I can’t fucking wait to make you Lara Kinsley.”
When we finally emerged from our bedroom around 2PM, we were greeted with smug, knowing looks from our friends. Caleb laughed at the lazy satisfaction still spread across Jackson’s face. He and Sloane raised their drinks at us while the others loudly clapped. I rolled my eyes and laughed but felt a quick frown pinch my brows when I caught Sawyer’s reaction. He was usually the leader of this kind of mischief but today he simply sat back, stoic, expressionless. When I caught his eye, he looked away and took a long swig of his beer. Where’s my happy Sawyer? What’s going on? I wanted desperately to ask him and prayed that we’d get at least a minute alone at some point in the day, but we didn’t, and I forced myself to brush it off. He’s just in an odd place since he broke up with his girlfriend. It has nothing to do with me.
~
On our first full day back in New York, Sloane organized a dinner in celebration of my engagement. “Wives and girlfriends only, because we need to be able to talk at length about your future wedding dress,” she said.
I was all for it. But I hadn’t mentally prepared to see Sofie Winter. She hadn’t attended any of our functions since the night that I had broken into Gabrielle’s apartment – the night that Gabrielle had gone missing. My stomach went instantly cold when I caught sight of her, polished as usual and wearing her million-dollar smile despite looking visibly thinner, aged. Guilt weighed in my stomach as I opened my arms to welcome her embrace.
“Don’t laugh, Lara, but I actually cried when Sloane told me about the news!” she giggled girlishly. “I’ve always loved you and Jackson together. You were made for him. We all thought he was perfect already but when you came along, he was complete.”
“Sofie,” I exhaled with a trembling smile. My eyes welled and I told myself it was because of her kind words, not because of my nagging fear that it had been me. That in my wild, blind rage that night, I had somehow led to her daughter’s death. No, no, no. That thought existed only in the dark place that I’d managed to escape for the entirety of Ibiza. I wanted to stay out of that place. Forever. Pulling away from Sofie, I forced myself to smile wide. “This calls for some drinks, doesn’t it?”
I was on an empty stomach so thankfully, the first round of champagne cured my nerves. Over Moët and carpaccio, we spent the evening talking about Jackson instead of my dress. After two rounds, we were all rosy-cheeked and laughing. Emily Rocha asked for the story of how Jackson and I met and squealing with delight, Sloane told its censored version.
She had brought me to one of Sofie’s big galas and had gotten quickly too drunk, leaving me to fend for myself, which proved difficult once Dane McNulty found me. He had introduced himself and immediately begun talking about a new building he’d purchased in SoHo, asking me if I wanted to see it. It had been an upscale clothing store beforehand and several nice pieces were left behind. He had a feeling I’d look great in them with “that incredible body.” Needless to say, the way he spoke to my breasts made me uncomfortable, so I wound up recoiling and excusing myself, wandering out into the hall of the posh restaurant and up a winding marble staircase.
I found a half-naked Jackson in an empty room up there.
I froze and stared, unable to tear my eyes off of the strange man with the perfect face and perfect body. It felt like a daydream. I barely processed his stammer about why he was changing into a different tux. It felt as if I was actually blushing to death so I wound up running out. He chased after me, apologized, and then insisted he get me a drink downstairs – as if seeing his ripped body in grey boxer briefs was some sort of traumatizing experience for me.
“Whew. I don’t know how I would’ve reacted if I met Jackson like that, but I definitely wouldn’t have run away,” Emily fanned herself. “I can say that because I love Erik with all my heart,” she added hastily.