Say My Name (31 page)

In other words, time for the evening’s fun.

“I like seeing you in my robe.” He leans against the doorjamb. “I like it a lot.”

“You might like it even better when I’m out of the robe.”

“I might at that.” The room is small, so he is at my side in only three long strides. “Why don’t you take it off and get under the covers?”

“I could do that,” I agree.

I start to undo the tie, when his words still my hands: “We should get some sleep.”

I cinch the robe tight again and look up at him. “Sleep?”

He brushes my lips with a butterfly soft kiss. “After everything you told me—”

I grab his hand. “After everything I told you, I need this. Please, Jackson, don’t make me sleep with those memories in my head. I want you. I want what you promised me.”

He studies me for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then he points to the bed. “Take off the robe.”

“Jackson—”

“No.” He holds up a finger in a gesture of silence. “No argument. No objection. Are we clear?”

We are. Very. And I have to fight my smile of victory. Instead, I look up at him, my face bland, as I take the robe off and let it drop to the floor. I don’t move, waiting for him to tell me what to do next.

He says nothing, though. He simply stands there, right beside me, the heat he is emitting so intense I fear it will burn us. His eyes rake over me, and I see the bulge of his erection beneath the denim of his jeans. “Christ, you’re beautiful. I could spend the rest of my life looking at you and still not have my fill.”

He moves closer, then traces my lip with his fingertip before ordering me to suck. I do, and with every tug I feel the heat between my legs grow more and more demanding.

“That’s right, baby.” He uses his free hand to take one of mine, then slides it between my legs. He guides me, so that I am touching myself, my fingers sliding over my slick heat, and that would be erotic enough, but the combination of his hand, mine, the sucking, is all building up inside of me, growing and growing until I am so close that all I want to do is thrust our joint hands inside myself as I come.

But just as I am on the verge of doing exactly that, he tugs his finger free of my mouth, then gently pulls my hand away from my sex. I breathe hard, mourning the loss, but I don’t protest. I know enough to know that would be against the rules.

“On the bed. Spread your legs.”

I do, albeit with more than a little shyness. But I am rewarded with a look of pure passion, and that emboldens me. I bite my lower lip and spread them even wider. And then, with my eyes on his, I reach down and slide my fingers into my sex, then arch up at the unexpected intensity of this touch, all the more powerful now that he is watching.

“Good girl,” he says. “Touch yourself. Stroke yourself. I need a minute, and when I get back, I want you hot and ready for me, so don’t stop. But don’t come. If you do, we’re done for the night, sweetheart.”

Games.
But I like them, and I do what he asks, stroking and teasing, and letting the pleasure build. And then, because I am determined to make him just as wild as he is making me, I bring my other hand up and play with my breast, teasing my nipple, and knowing that I cannot get too carried away because Jackson is a man who means what he says—and I am not ready for this night to be over any more than I want it to end without him inside of me.

He said nothing about being quiet, and so I call to him. He is in the small closet area just inside the bedroom, and he is on the floor in front of the open closet door. There is a trunk open in front of him, but I cannot see what is in it. Not until he stands and I see a length of rope and something black and silky. He hesitates, then drops the rope.

I don’t have to ask to understand why. I’d run that first night in the hotel. He’d bound me and blindfolded me, and now Jackson fears that combination is too much.

It’s not, though. I am certain of it. Even if the nightmares come, I’m not going to run again. Not unless I’m running to Jackson.

“Will you tell me what’s in the trunk?”

He smiles as he comes toward me with the length of black silk. “I’ll do better than that. I’ll show you. But not tonight. Tonight, I don’t intend to let you see anything.” He motions for me to sit up. “Kneel,” he says, “but keep your knees apart, your hands behind you.”

“You’re going easy on me,” I say as he puts the blindfold around my eyes and secures it. I try to keep my tone teasing, but some accusation comes through.

“Easy?” he retorts. “Or starting slow? Giving us something to build to? But if you have complaints, be sure to tell me.” As he speaks, his finger slides inside me, and I arch up, reacting to this unexpected pleasure.

He had touched me nowhere before, and the penetration surprises me, sending shocks of awareness through me, and heightening my senses. It is as if I am a spring waiting to pop, and as he withdraws his finger, I moan in protest, because now there is no contact at all, and I am left to the mercy of awareness and anticipation.

It’s a state I’ve never been in before, and I am more aroused than I have ever been. So no. I’m definitely not complaining.

“You’re so beautiful,” he says. “Your breasts,” he whispers as he touches my lips. “Your cunt,” he murmurs as he flicks my nipple. “Your lips,” he says, as he strokes my clit. Every touch is in contrast to his words, and I bite down on my lip trying to keep a grip on the sensual symphony that he is playing across my body.

“This is how I want you,” he says. “Open to me. Trusting me. So aroused and beautiful. You fit me, Sylvia. We fit each other. Every time I touch you it’s a gift. Every time I kiss you, I find myself just a little bit more.”

“Jackson …” His words are melting me, squeezing tight around my heart.

“Lean forward,” he orders. “Knees and forearms.”

I do, and I feel the bed shift as he gets on beside me. I try to judge where he will touch me from the shift of the mattress, but it’s no use. I feel his lips on the back of my neck, then traveling down my spine. Then his hands cup the curve of my rear.

“You have the most perfect ass,” he says, and then kisses each cheek as if paying homage before silently urging me to spread my legs.

I hesitate, but not because I do not want to comply. On the contrary, I’m astounded by how much I want to do exactly that. By how easily and perfectly Jackson pegged me. The control I’d been grabbing with the men I’d claimed at places like Avalon was only an illusion. A bandage over pain and memory. But this—this is what I want. What makes me
feel.
And I trust Jackson enough to let go and do exactly that.

“Now,” he urges, and I comply, then quiver with delight as he cups my sex, then strokes me all the way up, over my perineum, my ass, then along my spine, moving his own body in closer as he leans over me. The feeling is delicious, as if he is tracing a cord across my body, and with one quick tug he will light me up.

At some point, he stripped off his clothes, and the new sensation of skin upon skin makes sparks skitter all over me. “I should draw this out,” he says. “I should tease you until you’re close to breaking. But dammit, Sylvia, I’ve wanted you all day. Imagined you at that damn party with your cunt slick and hot and waiting for me. Had my mouth on your cunt. Held you naked in my lap on the deck. I’ve imagined fucking you so many times today, that I can’t wait any longer.”

“Then don’t,” I say, bending my arms so that I’m right there, open for him. Wet for him.

“Oh, Christ, Syl. You’re going to destroy me.”

I feel him move. Feel his hands grip my hips. And then the sweet pressure of his fingers teasing me, opening and stretching me before he takes me. His cock is thick, but I’m so ready for him, and when he thrusts into me, at first slowly, and then with increasing wildness, I cry out in welcome and abandon.

I am bent over as he pounds into me, from this position unable to match his thrusts, and so I am at his mercy, letting him hold me still and use me to find his rhythm, letting his fingers reach around to stroke my clit in time with his thrusts. I’ve never been fucked like this before, and I like it. It makes me feel open and wild. It makes me feel like I’m his.

And when he explodes inside me—when he continues to tease my clit and urges me to “let go, baby, just let go”—I find my release, too, and explode so violently that my body goes limp and I collapse onto the bed, still blind, but thoroughly and completely sated.

I feel him withdraw, soft now, then use a tissue to clean me up before spooning against me. He gently removes my blindfold and I roll over to face him. I start to speak, but he cuts me off with a kiss that is so wild and deep and passionate that it fills me as much as his cock had before, and is at least as sensual.

“Now,” he says softly when he breaks the kiss. “This time you really do have to get under the covers and sleep.”

“Only if you’re with me.”

“Sweetheart, you couldn’t kick me out if you tried.”

He pulls the covers down, but I’m so wasted and limp that he has to help me under. And then, when he gets in beside me, I curl up against him, our legs twined together, then fall asleep content in his arms.

I wake hours later to the scent of coffee and cinnamon. “I could get used to this,” I say as I sit up against the pillows and accept the tray that has coffee, cream, and a warmed up cinnamon roll.

“I could, too,” he says, then kisses me softly.

I take a sip of my coffee, enjoying it, but enjoying more the view of Jackson changing into a pair of khaki slacks and a casual linen shirt.

“Shall I hurry?”

“Take your time. I’ve got some work to do on the computer, and the island’s not going anywhere.”

He squeezes my hand, then heads out. I lean back against the pillows again, relishing this sense of belonging. Of being part of this space.
His
space.

Once I’m done with breakfast, I shower and change into the same yoga pants and shirt I’d borrowed last night. Then I head up top to find him in his office. He has three huge computer monitors and there is drafting software open on one, a topographical map of the island on another, and a word processor open on the third.

I glance at the map and see that it’s one of the naval maps that Nigel sent over upon acquisition. “How’d you get that?”

“Aiden,” he says. “I called while you were in the shower and he sent it over. He also said it should be in your area on the Stark directory, but that I would understand that he couldn’t give me access to your files.”

“You’re very efficient,” I say, squeezing in beside him so that I can access the company website and then the private, secure area. I’ve got my files open in under five minutes, and I transfer all the various maps and surveys and photographs of the island to a folder on Jackson’s computer.

“And now you know what I know.”

“This is good information,” he says, opening files and sending them to the printer. “Let me just pull this stuff together and we can get going. I packed some snacks already, but if you’d grab some water bottles, that would be great.”

Since that’s a good idea, I do that. I consider taking a bottle of chilled wine, but decide against it. This may be a romantic, secluded island, but it’s also work. And probably best if we keep the line from getting blurred.

We leave the boat and walk down the floating dock to the helipad and the section of the island that’s been earmarked for storage and staging.

I point to the same path I’d followed to find Nikki and Damien just a few days before. “So I figure we can head that way and follow the island’s perimeter. It’s not huge, but it’s not tiny. It takes about three hours to make the full circle, more if we’re stopping to take notes or photos.”

I wish I had my camera, but Jackson has brought a pocket-sized one that has a decent zoom lens, so at least we’ll be able to document areas to accompany his notes.

I’m thinking about that—and wondering if I need to run back for an extra notepad—when Jackson takes my hand and tugs me to him, then draws me into a long, intense, bone-melting kiss. One hand is twined in my hair, the other sliding down the waistband of my pants. He cups my ass, then squeezes as his tongue teases me, and I know that I am already desperately wet.

I break away, breathing hard. “Not exactly workplace behavior, Mr. Steele.”

“And there won’t be a repeat performance, Ms. Brooks. But I thought a long kiss to tide us over was in order. After all, if I’m not going to get my
From Here to Eternity
moment in the cold Pacific, I at least wanted a kiss under the hot sun.”

I can’t help but laugh. I’d told him we need to focus on work, especially since we have to be back in the office tomorrow. Apparently he took my admonition to heart.

“Then again, I’m not sure it’s worth trying to keep a professional demeanor,” I say. I point to the security camera that has surely captured that moment.

“Never fear. Your reputation is safe with me.” He goes to the pole, finds the control that raises and lowers the camera, then opens the weatherproof housing and pulls out a memory disk.

“Jackson!”

“Problem?” He flashes me an innocent look, and I do my best to appear stern.

“You realize that’s just a backup? The feed goes live back to the security office at Stark Tower.”

He just shrugs and grins and tucks the disk in his pocket. “Souvenir,” he says. “I think I’ll pull that image and make it my screen saver.”

I laugh, but point to the pole and the camera. “You must have been a handful when you were a kid.”

“You have no idea,” he says. “Hang on.”

And then he jogs back to the boat while I’m left waiting, and wondering what the hell he’s doing.

When he doesn’t come back immediately I consider following, then decide to spend the time checking the equipment stored here. I’m just about to open the shed when he returns. I cross my arms and tap my foot.

“Just following directions,” he says, then pops the disk back in place before returning the camera to its original position.

“Let me guess. You have a new screen saver.”

“You,” he says as he taps the tip of my nose, “are a very smart woman.”