First Surrender (Chance Encounters #3)

Chapter Thirteen

Natalie

“ W hy did you talk to his teachers?” A million scenarios play in my mind, none of which tell me why Jackson would be talking to Dec’s teachers. I’m doing my best to ignore his first comment, the one making my jaw quiver.

I don’t cry in front of anyone. The last time I cried was at my mom’s funeral service. She wasn’t even there unless you count her ashes in an urn as being present. I didn’t cry for my mom, I cried for Dec.

“I spent a lot of the day at his school. I wanted to make sure the security was operating to standard. I asked all his teachers and the staff to call me if anything strange happens. I wanted to ensure everything was locked tight before I told you what was going on. One less thing for you to worry about,” he admits.

He’s so casual about it. He has no idea how bizarre this is for me. He has done more for me than anyone ever has and we can’t stand to be in the same room with each other. I don’t know whether to laugh or cry. I really don’t want to cry but my eyes are burning. I turn to face the door so he can’t see my face. Damn, this man.

“That goes for you, too. I don’t care what time of day or night, if something feels off, call me. Even if you can’t stand the thought of me, call me, please.”

The desperation in his voice puts the nail in it for me. He is a decent human being. He wants Dec to be safe almost as much as I do and he hardly knows him.

“Still in the ceasefire?” I ask, my body still facing the door.

“Yeah.”

As soon as the word is out of his mouth I take the leap, ignoring his confused expression as I close the gap between us and wrap my arms around his waist. I bury my head in his chest and breathe in his scent. This is the only time I’ll ever do this, I want it to count.

“Thank you for caring about Dec.”

He doesn’t react at first, but after a few seconds his arms lift hesitantly and wrap themselves around my body, squeezing me into him.

I’ll go back to ruining his life tomorrow, but for now, I can admit that he feels good. His arms are strong, his body is firm, and he towers over me, making me feel protected for the first time in a long time.

My body against his is enough to distract me from the tears that I almost shed. It’s enough for me to regain my composure but I haven’t moved away. Neither has he. This little bubble will burst soon enough.

When I breathe him in again, memorizing the fresh, masculine scent, I feel his lips atop my head. He kisses my hair and then smooths a hand down my back, over my grown-out locks.

When I raise my head to look at him, he’s already looking at me. His eyes filled with questions. None of which I’ll be able to answer. I’ll never be able to explain this or why I need it.

My eyes drop to his mouth and I can’t will them away.

Would it be so bad?

“Nat.” My nickname on his lips doesn’t sting like it has in the past and I hate it.

“Jackson,” I whisper in response.

He puts his finger under my chin, raising my gaze to meet his eyes again. “You’re upset. There is a lot to process after everything that we’ve discussed. You should leave.”

“What if just this once, I didn’t?” My question shocks me, forcing me to swallow thickly. None of this makes sense.

“Are you asking for permission?” His words are soft, but his eyes are fiery, gravitating back to my mouth.

Pushing up on my tiptoes, I barely have time to whisper “no” as I seal my lips to his. I immediately feel his breath catch where my hands rest on his waist and the stillness that follows.

I think he’s going to stop me or pull away, until his mouth suddenly moves against mine, delivering unrestrained tenderness that nearly knocks me back.

My heels sink slowly back to the ground, my legs turning to jelly until we’re nose to nose. His head is bowed to accommodate my height as we wait for this to blow up in our faces, intimately breathing each other’s oxygen.

It’s pure frustration built up until I can’t keep it in.

There is nothing more to this than getting it out of my system and burning off some energy.

My nerves are shot after hearing that Declan wants to hurt my brother and I need a distraction. That’s it.

I need to feel something other than sadness, and fear.

“You don’t have to be a good guy. Not right now,” I plead after he doesn’t move to take this further. I’m used to guys taking before I’m willing to give, but I’ve never been with a nice guy before.

His eyes widen slightly at my words and I watch the rest of his restraint snap. His lips fuse to mine as he hauls me off my feet, backing me into the door with a bang. My hands thread around his neck, into his hair, clinging to him automatically, but there’s no need. Our bodies are pressed together so tightly that I can feel every hard line of his body. The hardest part digging firmly against my stomach.

My tongue snakes into his mouth, tasting him, and battling his. We kiss like we fight. Both of us wanting control. Both of us wanting to leave bruises behind. His tongue brushes my bottom lip and I suck it into my mouth before he can retreat.

His whole body tenses, pulling his head back suddenly to look at me. “Nat…” His voice is strained, his eyes begging for more.

“Just this once?” I breathe out.

His answer is another brutal kiss, owning my mouth entirely with his. His hands grasp my thighs roughly, wrapping them around his waist, and shoving the bottom of my skirt up to my hips. It positions my lace-covered core directly against his length. “Oh, fuck,” I utter when he grinds himself against me, using his hands on my ass for leverage.

He doesn’t speak, he doesn’t need to. He’s doing all of his talking with his body. Biting, sucking, and licking every inch of the exposed skin of my neck and collarbones while he desperately thrusts against my pussy, lighting up my nerve endings.

He’s not struggling to hold me up against the door, but it still surprises me when he removes one of his hands from my ass to tug the v of my shirt down. The dermal piercings in the shallow valley of my cleavage are exposed with that extra couple of inches and he attacks.

His flattened tongue licks over them, up my chest, across my collarbone, and ends with a bite to the sensitive flesh between my neck and shoulder causing me to whimper. A full-fledged, embarrassing, whimper.

His head rears back and if possible, his pupils dilate to the point of totality, erasing his honey-colored irises. Dark is an understatement, he looks like a man possessed. We stare at each other for one full breath before it turns to utter chaos.

His free hand fumbles to get between my legs while I grasp for his zipper, roughly shoving the fabric until I can grab him through his underwear. There’s so much of him.

Two of his fingers enter me the instant he gets my thong pushed aside making me gasp. He’s inside of me and he feels so fucking good. I can’t stand that it feels so good.

“Christ, sweetheart.” The appreciation in his voice makes me whimper, again.

“Shut up,” I tell him or myself, I’m not sure.

I’m losing all sense of control in this. Everything is happening so fast and even though I’m enjoying it, I don’t want to give him all the power. I barely manage, but I’m able to get a hand inside his underwear, working his impressive length. I need him to be as fucked up by this as I’m going to be.

“Fuck me, Jackson.” His eyes flash to mine, but he doesn’t protest. His fingers leave me, shoving down his pants enough to let his cock loose and fall into my waiting palm. It’s thick and heavy. It will probably hurt like hell but I deserve it.

He holds my hips open wide, still firmly pressing my back into the door to hold me up as I line the head of his cock up to my entrance. The tip is barely notched inside of me but he hesitates. I can feel his arms trembling and it has nothing to do with muscle fatigue.

This is too much, it’s all too much but I can’t stop. I don’t want to.

“Say, please,” I goad him, needing a sense of control before he fucks the living daylights out of me. His darkened honey eyes find mine and I see the challenge just as he shoves himself to the hilt inside of me. All the way home.

“Please,” he grits out while the head of his cock is already crushing my cervix.

I’m too stunned to speak. It’s like I can feel him in my stomach, stretching me uncomfortably tight. “Fuck, Jackson,” I cry out. He did this on purpose and despite hating him for it, I fucking love it.

I’ve never been so consumed. I didn’t even think dicks like this existed outside of porn and now I’m going to be ruined forever. Fuck him for doing this to me.

I think he mistakes my cry of pleasure as distress because after filling me, he hasn’t moved. Our chests rise and fall quickly against each other, our breathing ragged and unsteady until he suddenly shifts us off the door and lays me down on his desk.

Of course, nothing to shove off in a flurry of passion because of how meticulously organized he is. If I wasn’t so preoccupied, I’d make fun of him for it.

When he grabs the back of his shirt with an arm stretched behind his head and rips it off, throwing it across the room, my swollen lips hang open. He looks like fucking Hercules. Abs, pecs, all smooth skin. Sculpted from perfection.

I can’t stand him.

His eyes are trained on my body, too. I’m laid out in front of him, impaled and at his mercy. My cleavage is spilling out of my bra, my top is still stretched low below the cups. My skirt is bunched at my waist and I watch as his eyes zero in on where we’re joined.

I wasn’t expecting this to happen with him or anyone. I haven’t shaved and refuse to be self-conscious about it, but he also does not look like a man who cares. He’s looking at me with nothing but obvious appreciation.

I try to ignore it. If this is only for tonight he can’t keep looking at me like that, but he does more than look. He swipes the pad of his thumb over his tongue and draws it through my folds, reaching the peak and circling my clit. The sensation unleashes another whimper from me and I let my head fall back against the wooden desk. I need a muzzle.

When I look at him again because I can’t not watch him, he’s already watching me with fascination. It’s analytical, the way he’s touching me, toying with me. I make a sound and he documents it in his head for ways to use it against me later, I’m sure.

His thumb circles my clit again and I bite my lip, refusing to give him any more satisfaction, but he doesn’t relent. He rubs me firmly, meticulously, and until my legs start twitching against his hips. He takes that queue to start moving inside of me.

He thrusts his cock in me slowly, only a few inches at a time, working my pussy like he owns it. I don’t want that. I don’t want him to figure out what makes me tick.

No man has ever made me cum. They either never cared to or weren’t smart enough to figure it out. I don’t want Jackson to have the satisfaction of being the first.

He would never know, but I would and I can’t let that happen. I grab his hips and make him fuck me harder. I want brutal and rough, I don’t want soft. He moves with me, letting me control the pace, his jaw slack with pleasure. It’s going exactly how I want until his hand starts slipping off my clit with the momentum that I’m forcing.

His gaze flicks to mine and it’s as if he realizes I’m taking control for the wrong reason. He takes my arms from his hips and yanks me up until our chests meet, kissing me senseless and stealing every bit of conscious thought from my mind.

The way he kisses me makes me tingle down to my toes.

No one has ever been able to read me so intimately, make me feel things so entirely.

“Don’t fight me, not now,” he whispers against my lips.

Before I can respond he flips me over like a rag doll, knocking the air from my lungs as I land in position on my stomach.

He doesn’t hesitate to drive into me from behind, fucking me, ruthlessly. The grip of his hands on my ass is forcing my hips back as his move forward. It’s too much, I can’t catch my breath. The length of his cock is hitting my back wall without mercy, over and over. I can’t stop the sounds coming out of me and with every thrust, I’m sure I’m going to split in half.

Tears are streaming down my face and my thighs are digging into the edge of the desk repeatedly, with biting pain. I’m going to be bruised and sore tomorrow. The last thing I want is to have something to remember this by.

His hand reaches under my hip and he starts working my sensitive nub again, never letting up his rhythm. It only takes me a second to realize that it’s over for me. The build-up of pressure is too strong, it feels too good. I’m not going to be able to stop myself from climaxing and I’ve never been more pissed.

Batting his hand away is my last ditch effort to regain my bearings to stop the inevitable, but my hand is wrenched away before I can and both of my arms are pinned behind my back while he fucks me.

My core tightens as my thighs shake, and all I can utter is “no, no, no,” as I have the most explosive orgasm of my entire life.