Anna and Jackson Page 6

  “Yes, I know who they are.” I say, taking a sip of my now watered-down drink.

  “Well, you may have heard of us, Miss Macon,” Markus grabs my left hand, no doubt happy there isn’t a ring there. “But I’ve never had the pleasure of knowing you.”

  And you never will.

  His lips graze my knuckles, and his eyes never break contact. Trying not to make a scene, I gently extract my hand from his grasp.

  “Let’s get to know each other,” he purrs. My stomach rolls, as do my eyes. Do women really fall for their flattery? Yes, and you would have too if not for Jackson.

  I smile politely, but inside I’m seething. Talia knows I’m seeing Jackson. I live with him when I’m not in New York.

  Colby interrupts my inner rage by suggesting we leave.

  “How about we go somewhere more private? I know this great after-hours spot.”

  Yeah. Not going to happen.

  “I can’t, I’m sorry. I have an early shoot in the morning. You three go on without me.”

  “Sounds good to me,” Talia pipes in. She’s eager to hang with the brothers. Why she bothered to invite me out is anyone’s guess.

  “We have a car waiting. Let us at least give you a ride home, Anna.”

  So you could show up unannounced.

  Damn, Markus thinks he’s slick. He isn’t.

  Warning bells are sounding off in my head. Not the ‘my body would be found in Central Park’ kind, but the kind where I know Markus just wants some ass. Something he isn’t going to get from me.

  “All the same to you, I’ll take a cab.” I turn and glare at Talia, giving her the ‘what the fuck’ look and stand, grabbing my purse. Both men rise as well. Always the gentlemen in public, but a snakes in the grass none the less. “Great meeting you, thanks for the drinks and conversation. Talia, call me tomorrow.”

  Nodding, she turns her attention back to the Graham brothers. I make my way out to the curb and hail a cab. The night is wasted. I could have been on the phone talking to Jackson. Relationships last longer without drama— and the Graham brothers are drama with a capitol D.

  Give and Take: Chapter 2

  The next couple of days go by in a blur. Jared was behaving himself, which was surprising. There were a few hiccups. Other than that, he stayed on his side of the lens, and I stayed on mine. I was unsuccessful in my attempts to reach Jackson. It was like we were playing phone tag. My texts were even going unanswered. Which wasn’t abnormal, but it wasn’t normal either. The only time we were dark in communication was when he was pulling double or triple shifts. Usually, I would text him an update and then he’d reply with a simple, “Phone me, woman.”

  Now, I got nothing. My shoulder is aching from carrying my camera equipment when I walk up the three flights of stairs to my apartment. The hallway light is out again. Welcome home! I’m in no mood to fumble with my keys, nor do I want to deal with nosy ass neighbors. But it seems fate is against me today.

  “Hey, Anna,” Kent calls from his door. He’s the neighbor that would not go away.

  “Kent, I’m busy, will have to talk another time okay.”

  “Sure thing, Anna. If you need anything, I’m right across the hall.”

  “Nope, all under control.”

  Finally, the key engages the lock and I shoulder my way in.

  I smell Jackson before I see him standing in the entryway. I would have dropped my bags and run to him, but because my equipment cost a fortune, I sit my stuff down, turn, lock the door, and toe off my shoes. The lights are out, but I can feel his eyes on me. My breathing’s erratic before I even start making my way toward him. I’m already out of breath.

  “Annabelle.” He says my name in his deep southern drawl, propelling me forward and straight into his arms. His hands go to my ass, lifting me, and I immediately wind myself around his neck and waist as our mouths crash into each other. The warmth of his lips and deep strokes of his tongue have me moaning into the kiss. Jackson pulls back slightly, his voice harsh and deep as he whispers.

  “Missed you, baby.”

  Those three words settle over my skin and saturate my soul. He missed me. Jackson Storme couldn’t wait to see me. This was a first. Normally when we’re apart, we phone one another. This time he’d come to me.

  “Missed you more.” I breathe into the side of his neck where I nuzzle.

  “Doubtful. Kiss me.”

  I love it when Jackson is bossy. I slant my head and fuse our lips together, enjoying the feel of his tongue against mine. He grabs hold of my neck, taking over. His touch is hard, but his lips are soft and warm. This is different. This kiss is more. My entire body ignites under his onslaught. From the tips of my toes to the top of my head, I pulse with sexual need. I crave his ravenous touch. My insides are melting. An aggressive storm is brewing inside my body, and there is nothing I can do to stop the assault that is Jackson. My back hits the wall and pictures fall. An end table rattles while he eats at my mouth. A tornado of movements leads us to the bedroom. Jackson takes my top off. I squeal as he lifts me and tosses me on the bed. He covers my body with his and I savor the feel of his weight bearing down on me.

  My arms wrap around Jackson’s shoulders, bringing him back to my mouth. He goes willingly. Jackson is voracious in his attack on my lips, as he tastes me with long strokes of his tongue. We taste and touch each other on my bed for what feels like forever before he lowers the straps of my bra while kissing my shoulders and releasing the clasp on my back. He makes quick work of his own clothes, and even though I can’t see him, I feel him. Ropes of corded muscle flex beneath his taut skin. Everywhere our we touch is a conflict in textures. His hard to my soft, his masculine to my feminine, everything about us, the opposite of the other. But like this we thrive, we’re ravenous.

  I want to eat him.

  Devour.

  Taste.

  Succumb.

  I want with an ache so strong that my body begins to shake.

  “Hurry, baby. Please.” I beg.

  He doesn’t make me wait. Grabbing my hands, he places my arms above my head, handcuffing me to the headboard. I didn’t even see them.

  The sheriff wants to play.

  His hands whisper across my face. Jackson places a soft kiss on my nose as his hands move to my sides, his thumbs skimming the edges of my breasts. He moves his way down to my legs, spreading my thighs wide. I feel the blunt tip of Jackson’s erection parting my folds as his lips latch on to one of my nipples, tugging gently with his teeth, while biting down. Blind ecstasy has me careening quickly toward orgasm. We’d just started. It’s been a few days, but the time apart is enough to send my body into withdrawals. Having Jackson deep inside, relaxes my limbs and I long to pull him close. Restraining me is one of his things. Something he enjoys. But it drives me bat-shit crazy. Especially when we go days without being with each another. I suspect he handcuffs me on the days he has little control. Jackson is dominant, not only in the bedroom, but in our relationship as well.

  “Fuck, You’re tight. Love how your pussy grabs hold of my dick.” Jackson groans against the underside of my breast. I open my legs wider, allowing him to go deeper. He curses into my flesh and begins moving in earnest. Sliding in and out of me with such force the bed rattles.

  Jackson is touching the part of me that skates the edge of pain, but ultimately gives me pleasure. It is moments like these I realize just how much I crave the connection. Us coming together is more than two bodies colliding. It’s the merging of two souls. Communication made simple by a series of kisses, strokes, and touches. It’s a different kind of language, and a huge part of me argues this is Jackson Storme’s way of telling me his loves me. His way of telling me I’m his. Another part of me feels I’m thinking with my body, and not with my mind. Love is more than just sex and a series of gestures. I know that, but maybe Jackson doesn’t. Whenever we make love this way all my doubts clear, and my anxiety lifts. But deep down inside, I know it takes more than phenomenal sex to cement wh
at we have.

  The headboard strikes the wall in a steady tempo that mirrors the power of Jackson’s thrusts. He buries his head in the crook of my neck and expels a series of harsh breaths. His mouth is hot and moist against my skin as he pumps in and out of my body, his hands roaming over my skin. I raise my hips to meet each drag and pull of his cock. Each time, it pushes him deeper and deeper, until I can no longer hold back the cries trapped in my throat. My thighs start to ache. Jackson is so in tune with my body, I don’t have to tell him to move my legs. He makes the minor adjustment, allowing my body to relax further.

  Our bodies are slick with sweat and our breaths labored. It doesn’t slow Jackson down as he continues to make love to me harshly. I scream my release as jolts of pleasure crash through my body in rapid succession, until my lower back aches, and my heart threatens to break free of my rib cage.

  “God… God… God!” I chant.

  Jackson isn’t done.

  He pulls pulse after pulse of my orgasm from me, until my arms go slack in the cuffs and my body is limp from overuse.

  “Damn, you’re so beautiful when you sing for me.”

  His lips are against the hollow of my throat. I can’t move. I can barely draw breath. He gives me his lower weight as his back bows and the muscles in his neck bulge. His body tightens as he begins to brutally pound between my legs. Jackson doesn’t slow when his release finally comes. Instead, he lets out a triumphant roar before sinking his teeth into my neck. The sound that leaves my mouth is indescribable, its part pleasure, part pain, and all good. His hands tangle in my hair as he flexes his fingers, tugging the strands in the best way possible.

  Our chests are sticky with sweat when he pulls himself up, slowly dislodging from my body. He rolls to the side, then sits up and massages my arms before releasing my hands from the headboard allowing the blood to flow unrestricted.

  “Mmmm,” I moan as circulation returns.

  Hauling me up his body, Jackson moves my damp hair from my face and kisses each eye before nuzzling the side of my neck, hugging me close.

  “I couldn’t wait seven days.” His voice is dark, enticing.

  Laughing, I bury my head in his chest. “I missed you, too.”

  “Sure you did. That’s why we keep missing each other’s call,” he grumbles. I knew at some point he was going to try to rile me.

  “Jackson,” I sigh. “We’ve both been busy.”

  “No, I’ve been keeping the parish free of criminals. You’ve been sharing meals with bachelors known to chase skirts.”

  What the?

  “I’ve been working, Jackson. I have no reason to lie.”

  “Did I question your honesty?”

  “Sounds like it.”

  His arms squeeze me, pulling me further into his chest. I try turning to glare up at him over my shoulder.

  “Stop trying to get away, woman.”

  “Then stop being a punk, Jackson.”

  Jackson bites my ear playfully, making me shiver. He’s good at distracting me when I’m about to lay into him. We’ve just finished doing the deed, and yet again, he’s trying my patience. The man makes me crazy.

  “Anna, don’t test me. I know you’re working. That doesn’t bother me. What bothers me is having dinner at Ma’s house and seeing my girl on page six of some fucking tabloid with a man’s paw holding her hand, grinning ear to ear, as if he were seconds away from sampling your pussy.”

  Now I understand why he showed up. It wasn’t because he missed me. It was so he could remind me whom I belonged to. Secretly, I love it. But I can’t let him know that.

  “Don’t ever let another man touch you like that, Anna.”

  I’m two seconds from going off on him until a picture of him and Viola holding hands forms in my head. It would never happen, but I can see where he’s coming from. I’d be a seething hot cauldron of pissed off woman if I were to see something like that. Calm down. Nothing happened.

  “Yeah, I see my girl gets it,” Jackson whispers along my jaw.

  “Yeah. I get it.”

  “Good. I’m tired as fuck. I drove straight through.”

  “Straight through? Damn, you were on a mission, huh?”

  Jackson squeezes me again and gently sits me up so we can get ready for bed.

  “With me or without me, Anna?” He asks. The first time he asked me that, I thought he was giving me an ultimatum. What he’s really asking is if I want to sleep with his seed still inside me.

  “Always with you, baby.”

  He grins and tugs me into his arms. The light from the moon highlights his features. It makes him look more beast than man. When the strong possessive side of Jackson emerges, my insides go soft. There is an undeniable attraction when a man wants to protect his woman from everything.

  “Good girl.”

  “Night, Jackson.”

  “Night, Annabelle.”

  Jackson is out the moment his head hits the pillow. Me, I lay awake a few moments more before I snuggle deep into his embrace. Exhausted I fall asleep. My last words were of love. I’ve been making a habit of whispering to him at night when he’s asleep. I know he can’t hear me, but somehow, I feel it’s doing some good.

  Give and Take: Chapter 3

  Jackson’s wrapped around me, his entire body cocoons me in his embrace. Stretching, I sigh. My arms ache, and my legs are heavy. And God bless America, but my lower body feels deliciously stretched. It’s the kind that lets you know, you were two thrusts away from throwing your back out. My back is to his front; his face is in my neck. I want to go to bed in his arms and wake up this way every day for forever. We’re still in the new phase of our relationship. Blissful days are abundant, and still not enough. When we do argue, the make-up sex is fantastic.

  I know the floor is cold, as is the rest of the apartment. If I move just a little, pockets of cold air will sneak into the warmth Jackson and I created beneath the blanket.

  “Don’t you dare,” a groggy Jackson grumbles against my skin. He pulls me tighter against his body, and his erection digs into my lower back. It’s hot against my skin.

  “Jackson,” I groan.

  “Yeah, baby?”

  “I gotta get out of bed, which means it’s about to be cold as hell.”

  “Nu unh.” His arm bands tighter around my waist, making my stomach flutter. I know he doesn’t want the cold air disturbing our warmth, neither do I. My body goes liquid against his at the thought of staying in bed with him wrapped around me.

  “You know, just because you’re beautiful doesn’t mean I’m going to let you wrap me around your finger.”

  What an odd comment to make. And why now of all times?

  “And…you’re telling me this because?”

  I turn to face him, curious to hear his reply. He’s full of opinions as of late and none of them made a lick of sense to me. Serious brown eyes focus on mine. His lips are still swollen from my kisses last night and his five o’clock shadow is thicker now and tickles my neck. Jackson’s gaze is intense, and he doesn’t hide the need darkening his eyes.

  “You live in my home. Wear my clothes; lay your head next to mine and still you don’t get it.”

  Get what! Maddening man!

  I don’t respond because I’m not catching on to his meaning.

  “I don’t do romance and gushy feelings, Annabelle.”

  No shit. As if I didn’t know. Jackson Storme is a man’s man. His idea of romance is grocery shopping without me asking and keeping the gas tank full so I don’t have to fill it up.

  “Do you need me to say it?”

  Queue the confused female look. I know that’s exactly how I’m looking at him now. I roll my eyes. Clearly, I’m the only one speaking English in the conversation.

  “Jackson, you’re not making any sense.”

  I get out of bed, quickly sucking in air as the cold attacks me full on. Running to my closet, I grab my robe and push my feet into my slippers. Out in the hall I turn on the heater and g
roan when I can feel the first hot blast of air come through the vents. The table in the hall is on its side. Pictures I’ve taken are either on the floor or askew against the walls. Last night we’d gone at it like two starved lovers craving their next fix. Something is different this morning. I can’t put my finger on it, but somewhere between our phone call a few days ago and our lovemaking last night we’ve crossed over into new territory.

  We are living together, yet Jackson hasn’t given me a key. He does, however, have a key to my place. To a man like him, that says commitment. At least I hope it does.

  Stop stressing. It’s all good. Don’t rock the boat.

  “Baby?”

  “Coming.”

  The heater starts to kick in as I hurry back to the room. Jackson’s sitting against the headboard, the comforter around his waist. All man. That is the only way to describe him. Broad shoulders, firm chest, corded arms packed with strength that surrounds me in the gentlest of ways when he holds me. He isn’t just some passing fancy for me. This is the real deal. Jackson’s hair is mussed and his two-day growth is sexy as hell. There is something dangerously appealing about Jackson’s facial hair. It’s the complete package with him. He swears he doesn’t do romance, but in his own way he does.

  Warm brown eyes dim as we look each other over. Jackson’s eyes dance with mischief as he stretches his hands above his head, leaning against the headboard. His muscles flex as he sits back and gets comfortable.

  “Anna, Anna, Anna. You’re so beautiful in the morning.” His voice rolls over my chilled skin, heating me from the inside out. I step forward, compelled to be near him. “I’m going to possess you, own your body.” His voice deepens as his eyes slide over my form in appreciation.

  You already do.

  I grin. Jackson owns me. Every single inch of my body is his for the taking.

  “Sounds like I’m talking to the devil.” I half laugh.

  His smile widens and his eyes are at half-mast. If I were still the little girl I had been when I first met Jackson Storme, I’d be swooning. All right, I am swooning. Internally. But he can’t know that. His lashes are thick and cast shadows against his cheeks. All this glorious man is mine.