Stark International: Under My Skin Part 24

He's making sure that I understand it's real.

Well, f.u.c.k that.

Nikki's right. If I want him back, I have to fight.

And I think it's appropriate that Jackson is a fan of bare knuckles fighting. Because right now, the gloves are coming off.

It takes me no time to get dressed, but my problem is that I don't know where I'm going. I try the boat first, but he's not there. Then I try the office, because maybe he's trying to get as much done on the resort as possible before he surrenders himself.

But there's no Jackson there, either.

I drive by the lot in the Palisades, thinking that perhaps he's simply melancholy. Again, nothing.

I'm still baffled and stymied when I swing by Ca.s.s's house. She, at least, is at home.

"He's probably beating the s.h.i.t out of someone," Ca.s.s says.

I make a face, because I'm afraid that Ca.s.s is right. "I hope not," I say. "If the press gets a picture of that, it's not exactly going to help his case."

"Have you called Harriet?"

I haven't, and it's a good idea. I call, but get only voice mail. I'm about to b.i.t.c.h to Ca.s.s some more, when the phone rings, and I can't help but be impressed by Harriet's promptness.

"Are you okay?" she says, and I'm touched that she's asking. I'm not the one who is her client, after all.

"Not really. I want to find him, Harriet. Do you know where he is?"

I'm afraid that she's going to tell me that she's not allowed to say. Or worse, that she's certain he's made the right decision and she thinks it would be better not to tell me.

But she surprises me by saying, "He's got a room at the Biltmore."

"Thank you." The words are thick with relief. My next, however, are tentative. "Is heI mean, how is he doing?"

"Let's just say that I wouldn't have told you where he is if I didn't think that seeing you would do him good."

I release a breath I hadn't realized I was holding.

"Thank you," I say again, then end the call.

I look at Ca.s.s.

"Don't waste time talking to me," she says. "Go."

I do. And I'm pretty sure I break every speed record known to man getting from Venice Beach to downtown LA. I leave my car with the valet then burst into the hotel, only to lose steam when the front desk clerk absolutely refuses to tell me Jackson's number. Some bulls.h.i.t song and dance about privacy. And he digs his heels in even more when I decline his suggestion that I call up to Jackson's room.

d.a.m.n.

It's not even three in the afternoon yet, but I figure I can stake out the lobby if I have to, and for as long as I have to. But before I do that, I step into the Gallery Bar, just because it's Jackson's favorite place and being in there will make me feel closer to him.

And the moment I do, I see him.

I wasn't expecting it, not this early. But he's at the bar, and Phil is in front of him, chatting as he refills Jackson's gla.s.s.

I straighten my shoulders, strengthen my resolve, and march in that direction.

He knows I am there before I say anything. I can tell from the tightening of his posture. The way his drink stills on the way to his mouth. "Sylvia," he says, then turns in his stool to face me.

I take the seat next to him. "Fancy meeting you here."

He looks at me, and the flicker of pleasure I see in his eyes gives me hope. "You shouldn't be here."

"Free country," I counter.

"Dammit, Syl." Frustration spikes his voice, and Phil slips quietly away, letting us talk.

"Don't. I saw it in your eyes. You were happy to see me."

"Always," he says. "That's why it was so hard to let you go."

"You shouldn't have."

He doesn't argue. "How did you find me?"

"I looked for you at the boat. At the office. I ended up calling Harriet. Don't be mad at her."

"I'm not," he says, and that flutter of hope inside me blooms wider.

I take the scotch that Jackson still holds, then drink deeply, my eyes never leaving his. Then I put the gla.s.s down defiantly on the bar. "I need you to hear me out. If nothing else, you owe me that much, okay?"

He's silent for a moment, then he nods, his acquiescence surprising me. "All right."

"You're an idiot," I begin. "An idiot if you think you can push me away so easily. You can't, and you and I both know it."

He doesn't say anything, and once again, I take that as encouragement.

"Do you remember when Damien made me fire you and I felt guilty for not quitting my job, too?"

"Of course."

"Do you remember what you told me?" I don't wait for his answer. Instead, I hurry on. "You said you'd never ask me to walk away from something I love. But dammit, Jackson, there's nothing in this world I love more than you."

"Syl"

"No. This is my time to talk. You told me once I need to trust this thing between us. I did. And Jackson, you were right. I trust it now, too. And you need to as well. Jail or not, daughter or not, this is real. It's right. Dammit, Jackson, you have to believe in us."

He closes his eyes. "I do."

My heart stutters in my chest. "Do you? Because I'm not walking out of here without you. Without Ronnie. I don't give a f.u.c.k if Damien is her uncle. I want to be her guardian, Jackson. More than that, I want to be her mom."

He c.o.c.ks his head, his expression wary. "What are you saying?"

"I'm saying I want to marry you, Jackson." The words spill out of me, feeling so right, so perfect. "I'm saying that I don't want to go another day without knowing that I will be your wife."

Marriage.

Jackson's heart felt like it was going to burst.

He'd thought he'd lost her. That he'd pushed her away. And now here she was, back and determined to be his wife.

What the h.e.l.l had he ever done to deserve her? He didn't know, but he was d.a.m.n sure he wasn't going to deny her. He'd been brooding about how to get her back for too long now, ever since he talked to Damien. Ever since he realized that pushing her away was only a Band-Aid.

Now he knew that the only way to make things right between him and Sylvia was to be together. Because being apart wrecked them both.

"Jackson?" Her voice was soft, her expression tentative.

He turned to her, knowing that his smile said it all. "d.a.m.n right you're going to be my wife."

He watched as she closed her eyes, her face going soft with relief, and he wanted to kick himself all over again for the way he'd hurt her.

"I'm sorry," he said, though those words could hardly convey all of his emotions.

"I get it. I do." She lifted a shoulder. "You're scared."

"I'm f.u.c.king petrified," he admitted. "Of leaving you. Of prison. Of the way everything is about to shift."

"Me, too." Her voice was barely a whisper. "But we're in it together now, right?"

Instead of answering, he slid off his stool, then held out a hand to help her down. "I need you, Syl. I need you right now." He could feel the need growing in him. A hole that had to be filled. A demand that had to be satisfied.

"I need to burn the feel of you into me. I want the heat of you to singe me. To mark me. Because even in prison, I don't ever want to be without you. And Syl," he adds roughly, "I need to have all of you. My wife? You're so much more than that. You're my life, Syl. You're my blood. You're the only person who can break me, and the only one who can save me. And right now, I need you more than I need to breathe."

His mouth is on mine the moment the door to his room closes behind us, and the kiss is wild and pa.s.sion-filled, as if we are both making up for lost time and marking our future.

"Off," he says, plucking at my shirt, and we are both naked in a heartbeat, stripping off our clothes so fast it's a wonder that we don't topple over in our hurry.

I move to press against him, wanting the feel of his skin against mine, but he surprises me by lifting me up, then carrying me to the bed. The maid's been in, and it's neatly made, and we tumble onto it together.

Jackson rolls onto his back and looks up at me. "Kiss me," he demands, and I don't hesitate. I straddle him, positioning myself so that the tip of his c.o.c.k is at my core. And as I lean forward to crush my mouth hard against his, I lower myself. I'm already wet, my body fired with arousal, and I take him hard and deep.

He moans against my mouth, his fingers dipping low to tease my c.u.n.t before he withdraws and slides his hand around, then slips his fingertip in my a.s.s, making me gasp, because the sensation of being filled like this is both incredible and undeniably erotic.

"Yes," I whisper. "G.o.d, yes." I meet his eyes. "You can have me like that."

"I'll have you however I want you," he says, and the potent heat combined with these words of possessionof powermake my mouth go dry and my c.u.n.t throb all over again. "But I need you to go get my wallet."

I raise a brow, but don't argue. Instead, I get off him carefully, then return with the wallet I fished from his back pocket. As I kneel on the bed, he removes a small packet that looks like a condom.

I raise my brows, because we are way past that, but he just grins. "Lube," he says. "I thought it might come in handy."

I swallow and nod, wanting this, and yet uncertain. We've never done this before, and though the sensation of his finger inside me was undeniable enticing, I can't help but be just a little nervous. But Jackson erases my worries, or at least buries them. Because he's pulling me close to take my breast in his mouth. He's teasing me, his teeth sc.r.a.ping my nipple, then biting. There is pain, but the kind that spreads out into heated threads of pleasure, and I straddle him again, then arch back and moan. And as I do, I feel the cool brush of the lube against my rear, teasing my entrance where his finger was just moments before as he readies me for an even deeper invasion.

With his other hand, he teases my c.l.i.t, so that I am being sensually a.s.saulted in all directions, my body opening to him, craving him.

"That's it, baby. Relax. Let me take you there. Let me show you how good you can feel."

"Yes," I say, because tonight I will give him whatever he wants, however he wants it. And, yes, I want it, too. My breath is coming in gasps and my c.u.n.t is throbbing. I need so desperately to be f.u.c.ked, and as if he is bending to my will, he slips fingers into both my v.a.g.i.n.a and my a.s.s. I rise up, then lower myself back down, wanting even more than he is giving me.

I keep my eyes on Jackson and I see the answering heat in his eyesthe pleasure my response gives him. I feel it, too, in the way his c.o.c.k twitches against my thigh, as if waiting not-so-patiently for its turn.

"Now," I beg. "Please, Jackson, now."

Even as I speak, I'm moving to get off him so that I can bend over facedown on the bed, but he holds me still. "No," he says. "Like this. I want to look at you."

"Butbut I mean, I've never"

"I want to look at you," he repeats. "And," he adds as he brushes a kiss over my lips, "you have more control." He grins a bit, as if telling me that he's giving something up. But that's not true. I am completely under his spell, fallen to mercy, and he knows it.

"I want you now. Like this." There is heat and demand in his voice, and the sound just makes me wetter. "Come here."

I lean forward and let him capture me in a kiss, then moan when his tongue thrusts hard into my mouth even as his lubed fingers tease my rear, entering me, spreading me.

I hear Jackson's soft chuckle of understanding, and feel him add another finger, widening me, playing me.

"Now, baby. Because I really will just turn you over and take you if I can't have you right now."

I rise up and let him guide me over his c.o.c.k, and he's right, I do have more control. I feel the press of his shaft against my rear, and I pivot my hips, rising and falling as he teases my c.l.i.t, relaxing me, making me bolder. Making me needier.

Jackson closes his eyes and groans, the sound one of both pleasure and frustration, and that turns me on even more. I thrust down, taking the tip in, biting my lower lip against a burn that feels remarkably, wonderfully good. And when my throaty sound of pleasure merges with his whisper of my name, I know that I can't take it any longer, and I thrust down hard, swallowing the pain and welcoming the incredible, awesome pleasure of being filled by this man.

The burn fades, and I rise up, then lower myself, letting the sensations grow. Letting the pleasure fill me as my body adjusts to accommodate him.

"That's it," he says as he slips two fingers into my v.a.g.i.n.a, but keeps the pressure of his thumb against my c.l.i.t. "Come on, baby. f.u.c.k me hard."

"This isn't how I expected we'd do this," I admit, and when he laughs in response, I feel even closer to him.

"But you like it."

"Yes," I say earnestly. "I do."

As we speak, I'm doing what he'd said and riding him, and I'm already so close that the pressure against my c.l.i.t combined with the new, incredibly erotic sensation of being penetrated both ways sends me over the top far too quickly.

It doesn't matter, though, because Jackson is not ready to stop, and he takes control of my body. He grabs my hips and pistons me, thrusting deep inside, and I'm tight around him, my body clenching hard, wanting him deeper, wanting more.

And though he is no longer teasing my c.l.i.t, the building pressure is enough that it leaves that first o.r.g.a.s.m behind as a wilder, more powerful release rips through me even as Jackson explodes inside me.

I go limp against his chest, our bodies still entwined as he gently strokes my back while we both let the universe shift back to normal.

When we both have recovered, he presses his lips to my head. I know we should clean up, but I'm not ready to move yet. I like the sensation of my a.s.s pressed up against his now-soft c.o.c.k. We form a circle, I think, and there is something about the thought that soothes me. As if no matter where I amno matter how far we might push away from each otherin the end we are connected. And I only have to go a little bit further in order to come around to Jackson again.