I shifted a little so that I was looking straight at him, but I said nothing.
“I imagined you in your apartment, in your bed. I imagined you naked, Sylvia. Your legs spread, one hand on your breast, the other sliding down until your fingers found your clit, so hot. So sensitive. Did you tease yourself, baby? Did you play with your clit, then slide your fingers down? Were you hot and wet and tight? Did you fuck yourself last night, Sylvia? Did you thrust your fingers deep inside? Did you imagine it was my cock inside you? Tell me, baby. I want to know.”
“Yes,” I murmured, both because it was true and because I wanted him to know.
“Then do it now. Why deny yourself a pleasure you so clearly want?”
“I—Jackson, no.” I dragged my teeth over my lower lip. I expected a flood of horrible memories and clenching anxiety so intense that I’d end up closing myself off and letting the world turn gray just so I could find a space inside myself where I could breathe.
Except the flood didn’t come. On the contrary, little by little the panic faded, subsumed by the power of my desire.
“Close your eyes,” he said. “Nothing more. Just close your eyes.”
Since that was easy, I did.
“You’re beautiful.” He reached over and stroked my cheek, then ran his fingers through my short-cropped hair. “So goddamn beautiful. And even more so with the sun on your skin. Can you feel it, low in the sky, bursting through that window? Touching your skin? Firing your senses? Making you soft and warm and languid?”
“Yes.” My voice came out a whisper, and I hadn’t even noticed how relaxed I’d become in the few short moments when his words washed over me, seducing me with as much precision and technique as the hands I knew would certainly follow.
“Put your hands on your knees, Sylvia.”
I did, then drew in a calming breath. My skin felt too tight and my body too hot. I had no word to describe the way I felt other than need.
And what I needed was Jackson.
“Unbutton your dress, Sylvia,” he demanded. “But don’t open your eyes.”
I swallowed, then reached down and found the last button. It slid easily through the hole. The next was about four inches higher, and I unbuttoned it as well. Then higher and higher until I reached my crotch.
“Jacks—”
“No.” His fingertip pressed softly on my lips. “You don’t talk. You don’t think. You only do and feel. Nod if you understand.”
I nodded.
“Now finish the buttons.”
I complied, my hands shaking slightly as I reached my waist and then unfastened the buttons that rose up the bodice to end at my breasts.
“Now spread your legs, and open the dress as you do.”
I was breathing hard by then, imagining what he saw. The yellow material thrust aside, and me in black lace and stockings, my breasts plump in the lacy bra with the minuscule cups. With my eyes closed, I was lost in a sensual cloud, attuned to the movement of the car and the sound of his voice, but I didn’t expect the brush of his fingertip over my nipple, and I couldn’t withhold my gasp of pleasure as his touch sent a shock of sensation through me from breast to sex.
I arched up, letting the glorious feeling rush through me, and I didn’t even hide my smile when Jackson murmured, “Yes, oh, baby, the way you respond, it’s fucking incredible.”
Incredible.
I swallowed a sigh. If being incredible meant that I could feel that way, then I was absolutely beyond thrilled.
“Now tilt your seat back,” he said. “Just a little. That’s good. Now can you still reach your knees? Not quite, but that’s okay. I want one hand on your thigh. Good girl. Now take the other and move it up to your breast. No,” he corrected, “not like that. Trail it up,” he said, placing his right hand over my left, and moving our joined hands slowly and gently up my thigh.
The sensation was amazing, and as our fingers continued their journey over hips and torso, I tilted my head back, lost in a heated and erotic assault upon my senses. Our movement stopped just under my left breast so that I could feel the soft lace against my fingertips, and as Jackson eased my index finger up higher, I dragged my teeth over my lower lip, then bit down when my hand found my nipple, hard and erect over the cup of the bra.
“That’s it, baby,” he said. “Play with it. Touch it. You feel it, I know. That tightness in your nipple. You want to pinch it. To feel it hard between your fingers. Do that, baby,” he said, and I heard his low moan when I did as he asked, then arched up in surprised pleasure as the electricity jolted through me all the way to my sex.
“Oh, yes,” he said, his voice so low and tight that I knew his arousal came close to my own. “Slide your right hand up,” he said, and I was astounded by how eagerly I complied. I trailed my fingertips along the inside of my thighs, then found the edge of my now-soaked thong.
“There you go, baby. Spread your legs wider and pull the material aside. I want to see your cunt. I want to see just how wet you are. I want to watch as you slide your fingertip inside. And I want to watch your body tremble as you go right to the edge. But not over, baby. You don’t go over until I’m deep inside you. I’m going to fuck you hard, baby. So deep and so hard that you’re going to scream my name when you come, and I’m going to capture the sound with my mouth.”
His words shocked me. Not because they were so coarse and bold and unexpected, but because instead of feeling used by the things he suggested, I felt special. Instead of feeling dirty, I felt powerful. As if I was somehow the one in control and not this man who was demanding such supplication and submission.
“Jesus, that’s hot,” he said, as I stroked my fingers over my own slick heat. A tremor rocked me, making me moan. I was close—so very close, and all I wanted was to explode in his arms. I wanted more, deeper, harder. And with the low command of his voice in my head, I did as he asked, touching my clit, thrusting my fingers deep inside myself, and fighting the urge to beg him to stop the car and just please, please, please fuck me.
“Jackson,” I moaned, as I felt the tingling begin along my inner thighs. The precursor to the explosion I so desperately craved.
“Not just yet, baby,” he said, then closed his hand over mine, the mere brush of his hand over my inner thigh was almost enough to make me come anyway. “Not until I tell you to.”
“Please,” I murmured, more wild, more needful than I’d ever felt in my life.
“Please, what?”
“Please fuck me.”
“Oh, baby. Believe me, I’m very much looking forward to that. But right now, I think, it’s time.”
“Time?”
“To go inside,” he said. “And so much more.”