Jackson sits back down in his chair and I realize the moment is over. I want more but at least I’ll leave tonight having had the most passionate kiss of my life.
Jackson’s eyes never leave mine, and his gaze is so penetrating that it still has me grounded to my seat. My breaths come in deep in slow as I try to gather my thoughts, bring myself back to reality.
“Emily,” Jackson says, “come here.” Without thought I somehow stand up and move closer to him. “Sit down.” I look to his lap—buzzing in my stomach flutters up knowing what’s happening in those tailored pants—and begin to sit, legs together and one arm around his back. But he stops me with his hand on my hip. “No. Face me.”
He wants me to straddle him? In here? I look toward the door, knowing he locked it but still. What if Rocco or Chef Barton try to come back in to clear our plates or offer us dessert?
“Don’t worry about that,” he says, watching me. “No one will bother us. Now sit.”
My face is heating up like I’m standing in front of the sun and frankly my knees may not be able to hold me much longer. But still…
“My skirt,” I say, tugging it down like an awkward schoolgirl. “It’s…it won’t…” I don’t know what I’m trying to say. If I were wearing a flowing skirt or pants it would be different, but to straddle him, in a restaurant, in this skirt, it’s like the skirt is the one thing holding me back. Like it’s one thing too many, one extra thing I’ve never done.
“Emily,” Jackson says again, and every time he says my name it’s a soft but firm command. His hands slid up the side of my thighs to my hips. There at the top, he tugs up the fabric ever so slightly. “I’m not going to tell you again.”
The truth is, it gives and stretches easily. And I want him. I want to do whatever he asks, without thought, without care of who he is or what kind of person he is. So I place one leg on the side of him then drape the other on the opposite side, all the while his hands are resting on my hips, not pressing, not guiding, just letting me feel him on me.
“Down,” he says, his eyes watching mine.
I lower myself onto his lap, spreading my leg out as I push my hips forward. Jackson’s hands move toward the back, cupping my ass as he pulls me up on him. I gasp, not only at how hard he is but how big, so big, more than I can probably handle but so tantalizing and right under my soaking panties.
“You don’t even know,” he says, his hand touching my face, “how sexy you are.” His lips softly touch mine. “You don’t know what you’re doing to me.”
“I think I have an idea,” I say, and I grind my hips down on his big hard dick as he lets out a groan, burying his face in my neck. His kisses my neck, softly at first and then quickly, with urgency. My head falls back as his tongue teases my skin, the eager sensations coming at me all over my body. I move my hips into him, feeling his dick like titanium beneath me, and each time I move he uses his hand on my waist to jerk me into him, harder and harder each time. I wrap my arms around his neck to hold on, my fingers gathering his thick hair above the base of his neck.
His hand moves up to my back and he pulls my chest into him, our bodies still thrusting into each other, the slickness of my pussy riding him through all that fabric. My breasts are pushed up to the top of his chest, just below his chin, and it doesn’t take him long to see the proximity of that.
He pulls down the shoulder of my dress just so it’s hanging on the side of my arm. He looks down at my breasts, rising and falling with my intense breathing from so much touching, so fast. “You are unbelievable,” he mutters as he runs his hand across the top of my chest, an inch from my breast. I arch my back, eager for the touch that’s so close I can feel his breath on me. I want him to pull down the fabric of my dress, free my breasts so that he can take them up in his hands and, God, his mouth. But he won’t give me more. Instead he lets his fingertips drift back and forth, one finger barely drifting into my cleavage. I arch up into him again, desperate.
“Please,” I say, the word coming out of me in a breath. “Jackson, please touch me.” I grind my hips down into him again to show him how much my body needs him. I press my hands into the back of his neck, showing him, guiding him. But Jackson doesn’t take orders. He moves his hand away from my chest and down onto my bare thigh.
He runs his hand up my burning skin, his thick fingers pressing into me as we continue to grind into each other, desperate to find some relief. Apparently he’s unwilling to give it, at least not yet. I don’t know how far he intends to take this, but my body is acting out of its own need and I have no desire to slow it down, especially when Jackson’s hand slides up under my dress and squeezes my ass. Our breathing is heavy, mixed with one another and I so desperately want to cry out but am fully aware that there’s a restaurant full of people just outside that door. As we push into each other harder, Jackson puts both hands on my ass, under my dress, on my bare skin and yanks me up on him, grunting softly as he does. His hands pull my butt cheeks apart, the lips of my pussy throbbing even more as they too widen over his steel-hard cock. I bite down on my lip to keep from screaming out from the pleasure that’s all over my body, and the intense ache that it needs more. I need more. And apparently Jackson does too.
His hands stay where they are and he stretches his lips up to mine and our mouths crash together, tongues desperately deepening into one another’s mouth to get more out of each other. No man has ever made me feel more passionate and full of need than Jackson Croft, right in this moment.
My arms pull him into me, my breasts still frantic for him to take hold of my breasts. Finally he can’t wait anymore and, with our mouths still melded together, he yanks the dangling sleeve down further until my nipple is just exposed.
He takes me in his hand, holding and pressing into me, so good that I want to cry his name. A little weep escapes my throat and goes into his mouth where are tongues are slipping every which way, feeling everything.
When he pulls away from me I want to yank him back, but that capable mouth of his is finally on my tit, covering my exposed nipple. He sucks and pulls on it as I hug his head to my chest, rocking into him and still trying not scream out. His teeth tug on my hard nipple before his tongue quickly laps over it again. I can’t believe it’s possible to make me any wetter but he manages, taunting and teasing me until I feel like I can’t take it anymore.
And then he goes even further.
With his mouth still on me, his hand moves down my stomach, over my hip and across my thigh. He moves up my inner thigh while working his tongue over my nipple, and runs his hand over my crotch.
“God I can feel through you,” he says, slowly rubbing his fingers back and forth. “I can feel how wet you are. You’re fucking soaking.”
I’m already flush from the heat of him, from the burning he makes me feel, but those words of his make me blush in a way that has nothing to do his touch. It’s crazy that I’m not at all shy about grinding down on his dick, but knowing he knows how wet he’s made me suddenly makes me feel timid.
“I’ve made you this wet,” he says, rubbing his fingers across the thin fabric. He pauses to circle my hard nub with the tip of his middle finger. “Didn’t I?”