He doesn’t disappoint. He slams into me, and I am so wet and aroused that he enters me fully in one deep, amazing thrust. Over and over, his body pounds into mine, and the friction on my still sensitive clit sends me spiraling up over and over—one, two, twelve, a million—I have no idea how many times I come, but I seem to be nothing more than an explosion of light and sparks. No longer myself, but simply pure pleasure.
And when I finally do drift back to earth—when he unties me and pulls me close—I realize that he did exactly what he promised. He took me somewhere I have never been. And in doing it, gave me the most profound sexual experience of my life.
“That was wonderful,” I say, though the word sounds weak. “Profound. Life-changing. A religious experience.”
He laughs. “That is very good to know.” The vibrator necklace is on the mattress beside us and now he picks it up and puts it back over my head. “And I have to say, I very much like you wearing this.”
I raise a brow as I trail my finger over the delicate chain and down to the pendant. “Like a slave collar.”
His eyes widen just a bit. “And what would you know about that?”
“I read. I watch movies. I surf the internet.”
“Do you?”
“And what do you know?” I counter, thinking about his trunk, the contents of which I still haven’t inspected. But leather cuffs are rather telling, as far as I’m concerned. And, yes, I am intrigued.
“I think there are some very interesting things that can be adopted from the BDSM repertoire,” he says as his finger strokes my collarbone, then my breasts. He flicks his thumb over my nipple, and I can almost see him thinking about the possibilities.
After a moment, he looks up at me again. “As for the collar, that’s a symbol of ownership. Do I need to mark you as mine?”
I lean forward to kiss him. “You already have.”
His expression hardens. “Your tattoo. On your back.”
I cringe and shake my head. “No. God, no.” My words are vehement, and he relaxes. “I was lost when I had Cass do that tat. It was a way to keep you without keeping you. And that wouldn’t satisfy me now. Not even close.
“No,” I continue, taking his hand and pressing it to my chest. “You’ve marked me here. You’ve marked my heart, Jackson. And we both know that I belong to you.”
He is not beside me when I wake in the middle of the night, and though I try to drift back to sleep, I can’t seem to manage it without Jackson beside me.
I find his T-shirt on the floor and put it on, wanting the scent of him more than I want the warmth of a robe. Of course, as I climb topside, I begin to regret that. California is mild, but in October by the ocean, there is a definite chill.
Fortunately, he is not outside, so I am not too cold when I find him in his office, which is made from the converted entertainment and living area on this exceptional floating home.
He is sitting at his desk, facing the blackness of the ocean and a few sparkling lights from Catalina Island in the distance. He is flipping through a folder, and from where I stand at the top of the stairs, I can see that the documents inside are photographs and sketches.
“Fucking ridiculous,” he mutters, and I take a step toward him, curious.
“Jackson?”
He looks up, and I’m grateful that he looks happy to see me and not irritated that I’m intruding. “Hey. Couldn’t sleep?”
“Not without you beside me.”
He holds out his hand for me, his smile tender. “Then I apologize for leaving. Come here.”
I do, and he slides his arm around my waist as I look down at the documents he’s studying. They are his sketches. And I can see that his reaction is identical to mine—no matter who follows him, the resort will suffer for it.
“It’s not going to be as good,” he says, though I’m not sure if he’s talking to himself, to me, or to the universe at large.
I sigh. “No, it’s not.” I lick my lips, and then voice the thing that has been troubling me. “I’m sorry.”
“We’ve had this discussion. Stark is the asshole who fired me. You were just the messenger.”
“Not for that. For staying.”
“What?” He looks genuinely baffled.
“I could have walked out, too. I probably should have.”
“No.” He shakes his head vehemently. “Good god, Sylvia, did you think that I would want you to?”