"So what did you think about that?"
"Wow," was all I could say. "Just wow." I gazed at him, my body shivering in pleasure. He really was teaching me things about myself and sex that I'd never even imagined could be possible.
"So Rosie," he said, as he led me over to the couch, his hand rubbing my ass.
"Yes, Jackson?" I murmured, suddenly feeling tired. I just wanted to lie against him. I just wanted him to hold me close. You know that feeling when you've had amazing sex with someone. You feel like that's the closest person to you in the world. That intimacy, no matter your relationship, in that moment feels like the closest connection you'll ever have. We sat down on the couch and he laid back. I lay down in front of him and he spooned me, his hands covering my breasts, as he kissed the side of my neck. It felt nice; I'm not going to lie. For a few seconds, it felt like we were actually in a relationship. I let my shoulders relax a little bit as I pressed my bottom back into him. He groaned as his cock stirred next to my ass.
"Rosie. I want to ask you something," he said as he nibbled on my shoulder, his fingers playing with my nipples before going down to my stomach.
"Yes," I said lightly. "Yes, I'll let you fuck me again." I thought to myself as his fingers slid between my legs and he started playing with my clit.
"So why did you go to that bar tonight?" He whispered softly, almost as if it didn't mean anything to him.
"What do you mean?"
"I said, why did you go to the bar tonight?" My pussy was getting wet again and I could barely think as he rubbed one nipple with one finger and my clit with another.
"What? I can't even think right now, Jackson."
"Why did you go to the bar tonight? You don't strike me as someone that just goes to the bar for no reason in the middle of the night."
"I didn't just go for no reason," I mumbled, "I went to see Patrick."
"I see," he chewed on my shoulder again and I gasped as he suddenly pulled me back into him, his cock rubbing my ass. "And you saw Patrick when he left?"
"Yes," I said, "I did."
"And you saw him with that guy?"
"Yes."
"And did you know the guy he was with?" He said softly, the tip of his cock teasing me, his fingers driving me crazy.
"No," I lied. "Why?"
"Just wondering if I can trust you," he said.
"You can trust me, Jackson." I said softly, "You can trust me as much as I can trust you."
Chapter 7
It was four o'clock in the morning as I made my way back to the house. Jackson and I had tried a couple more positions in the swing, and then he'd asked me to spend the night with him. I'd been surprised. We weren't the sort of people that stayed over. For a few moments I had wanted to stay. I had wanted to see what it would feel like to wake up in his arms, but that was dangerous. Far, far too dangerous for many reasons, so I'd asked him to take me back to my car. We hadn't spoken much on the ride. I still felt slightly guilty about the fact that I'd lied. I had wanted to ask him who he thought my stalker could be. I'd wanted to tell him that, yes; I'd recognize the man with Patrick, that it had been James, my fiancé.
But how did you tell the guy you were sleeping with that? How did you tell him that you were engaged to be married and explain everything that doesn’t make you seem like a cheating bitch? It wasn't like I was cheating on James. We weren't in love. He was a horrible bastard of a man, but still what I was doing was wrong in a way. Everything was so confusing and so complex and I just wanted to be able to share it with someone. I wanted to be able to share it with Jackson, but although I trusted him with almost everything, there was still a part of me that didn't trust him. There was still a part of me that wondered just what he knew. Everything seemed so convenient. My mom had gone to visit him to pay him off and he'd said no. Why hadn't he told me that weeks ago? Why wait until tonight?
There were just so many things that didn't add up. I drove home and I prayed to God that my father was still in bed, and my mom too, though, I knew I wouldn't be in as much trouble if it was my mother. She'd be disappointed, tell me off. But there wasn't much else she would do. She wouldn't harm me. Not like my dad. Not that he ever touched me physically or hurt me in that sort of way. He was just emotionally cruel, wicked, manipulative, and hateful. You'd think he was some sort of demigod or perfect person, but he wasn't. Not by a long shot.
I pulled into the driveway of the house and said a quick pray to the Lord before I got out of the car and walked in the front door. I just needed to make it up to the room. I hated the fact that I lived at the top of the stairs. It was so risky. I felt like a teenager as I crept in. I was thirsty, wanted to go to the fridge, but I didn't dare risk my mom being in there waiting for me again. I couldn't risk having a conversation with her. Not now. Not now that I knew that she knew about Jackson and not now that I knew she'd offered him money to stay away. Did she really not care about my happiness?
I felt sorry for myself as I crept up the stairs. I felt sorry for the fact that I was born into a family that didn't love me, that didn't care about me, that didn't see me as a part of them. I didn't warrant my own happiness in their eyes. I was just a cog in the machine of my father's success and, by God; they weren't going to let me ruin his chances of greater success. Not by any shot. I thought about my brother for a few seconds, wanted to call him, but there was no point. He'd changed. He wasn't the man that I once knew. I knew he'd been broken, but I didn't think our relationship would have gone to this deteriorated level.
I stopped my thoughts from going down that sad, crazy road. I knew if I thought about my brother too much, I'd get angry, and the last thing I could afford was to be angry right now. I was nearly to the top of the stairs when I heard the creak behind me. I paused, frozen. I didn't dare look, but I couldn't stop myself. I turned and I was shocked. It was my mother. Her eyes were wide. She gazed at me disapprovingly and I stared at her. Her hair was messed up. I don't think I'd ever seen her hair messed up before. She also had on a dress. She’d been out?
"Rosie."
"Mom."
"Good night," she said softly.
"Night," I said and hurried up the rest of the stairs to my bedroom, my heart racing. What had that been about? Was my mom waiting for me in the kitchen? Had she gotten up and realized I wasn't there? Or was she sneaking back into the house herself? It didn't make sense. Unless maybe she'd been to a bar to go drinking. Maybe my dad had gone out with some woman. Maybe she'd had enough. I didn't know. I couldn't ask. I hurried to my room and closed the door, collapsed onto the bed with a sigh of relief. I looked over at my nightstand and saw the photos of me and Jackson in the hotel room. I needed to get to the bottom of this. I needed to find out who was following me and why they were sending the photos. It just didn't make sense. They hadn't asked for money. They hadn't asked for anything yet. And perhaps that was the scariest thing of all. They hadn't asked.
Why hadn't they asked yet? Normally when someone was stalking you, normally when someone was sending photos of you, there was a reason. They wanted something, but I had no idea what they wanted. They were playing some sort of long game and that was the worst because when someone was patient like that, when they were playing a long game, it meant they were serious and it meant they were calculated and it meant they wanted to bring you down. They were plotting for my ultimate demise. That's what it felt like.