Jackson: A Sexy Bastard Novel (9 page)

“I’m not trying to date your brother—we’re just having fun. He’s a fun guy and I like spending time with him.”

“My brother, a fun guy.” Shelby shakes her head, catching the straw wrapper Ruby shoots back at her. “Who would have thought? Well, okay, I’ll agree to the whole ‘not dating’ status, as long as he knows and is cool with it.” She smiles. “Protective younger sister mode—off.”

We all stand and toss our cups in the trash. As we walk toward the door, Shelby throws one arm around Ruby’s shoulders and the other casually around mine.

“This is gonna be great,” she declares. “No matter what happens with my brother—and don’t think I’m not hoping something happens, because you seem good for him—we can now say we have officially welcomed our newest member of the Sexy Bastard family.”

“The what?”

“That’s what we call the guys . . . Ryder, Cash, Jackson, Knox and Parker . . . the Sexy Bastards of Atlanta’s nightlife. You haven’t met Parker yet, he lives in New York but comes down like every few months.”

“The Sexy Bastards,” I repeat. My lip curls. “I like it.”

Ruby raises an imaginary glass in the air. “To Skylar, our new Sexy Bastard sister.”

We all raise imaginary glasses.

Sisters would be nice. And there’s no avoiding these girls now; they know everywhere I work. But I need to be careful. The closer I get to them, the deeper they’ll pull me into this thing with Jackson. And as I well know, the deeper I sink, the harder it’ll be to crawl out when the roof caves in.

Because, let’s face it.

The fucking roof always caves in.

“
Y
ou’re really not going
to tell me where we’re going?”

“Nope.” Jackson shakes his head. “You said to invite you to do something fun and exciting. The mystery is part of the excitement.”

Well, he’s got the mystery part of it down. When Jackson called me to invite me on this mystery date, he gave me absolutely no information whatsoever. I asked what I should wear; he said to wear whatever I wanted. I asked if I needed to bring anything; he said just bring myself.

So now here we are, seated side-by-side in his car, with him at the wheel and me with no idea where we’re headed.

“Are you sure I’m dressed okay?”

“You’re dressed perfectly.” He reaches down and puts a hand on my thigh, right below the hem of my flowery sundress. Heat from his palm seeps into my skin, and I feel something between my legs clench. I want this man. Right here. Right now. I shift so that his fingers slide beneath the hem, up my thigh, and then watch his jaw constrict as he realizes what I’m doing.

“Skylar,” he says slowly, “I’ve never been very good at multitasking.”

Carefully, he withdraws his hand. I press my legs together.

“Well, you know Jackson, they say that practice makes perfect.”

“They do. And I’m more than ready to practice, just not when I’m driving a three-thousand-pound vehicle at breakneck speed.”

“Okay, fine. I guess that means you won’t want me to distract you, either.” I push my tongue into the pocket of my cheek suggestively.

“You’re a constant distraction,” he says, his voice rough. “Which is why I had to call you and plan this date. So I could see you and get you out of my brain.”

“And into your pants?”

“That’s
not
what I meant.” He reaches over and brushes my waist. I twitch involuntarily, and a gleam comes into his eye. “I see someone is ticklish.”

“Don’t you dare.” I fold my arms tightly across my stomach. “I will lose all bladder control, and then your poor car will be ruined.”

“Oh, don’t worry. You’re safe while we’re in motion. But once we get to the park—”

“Aha, we’re going to a park!” I crow triumphantly.

Jackson doesn’t react, but I know he just wants me to be surprised. Why else would we be going all the way up there?

When we finally pull into the park Jackson stops his car at the crest of a grassy hill, pulling alongside rows and rows of other cars.

As soon as the car has stopped, I hop out and hurry ahead to see what is beyond. The grassy hill slopes gently downward, opening into a broad field. Toward the bottom, a giant white screen has been set up, flanked by two huge amps balanced atop five-foot tripods.

It’s the setup for an outdoor movie.

I turn to find Jackson coming up behind me, a red-and-white striped blanket under one arm and a picnic basket dangling from the other.

“Surprised?” He tosses the blanket over a shoulder and slips his free arm around my waist. “I figured that since you don’t have a car, you probably don’t get up here much. They have movies like this every week.”

“I am totally surprised,” I assure him, leaning into his body. “This is really great—and I’m totally surprised.”

Together, we make our way down the slope. Eventually he stops at an empty plot of grass, set slightly apart from the other couples and families scattered across the lawn.

“How’s this?”

“Fine with me.” I grab the blanket and flick it out, letting it flutter to the ground in a misshapen rectangle. As I crawl across to fix the far corner, I am acutely aware of Jackson’s gaze following me. Good. Let him look. Maybe that will inspire him to spice up the night.

I take my time getting the edge of the blanket good and straight, and when I turn back, he has set the basket down and is opening the lid. Suddenly, he jerks the basket off of the blanket.

“Shit.”

The spot where it had been resting looks darker, wet.

“Goddamn it.” Taking a few steps back from the blanket, Jackson sets the dripping basket in the grass and begins to unload it. Out come wax paper-wrapped sandwiches, wedges of cheese, a bag of grapes, all sodden and dripping. Finally, he pulls out a clear plastic canister, which is empty save for about an inch of Chardonnay sloshing at the bottom. Jackson peers at it and then tosses it to the ground in defeat.

“Well, there goes our dinner.”

“Don’t worry.” I scoot across the blanket and inspect the food items strewn on the ground. The sandwiches are definitely goners, but some of the other stuff looks salvageable. “I think these grapes will be okay,” I tell him, pulling one off of the stem and popping it into my mouth. “A little lemony, but it’s kind of nice.”

“Yeah? Grapes for dinner?” Sighing, he sinks back onto the blanket. “Fuck, I’m really sorry, Sky. We can grab dinner on the way home.”

Despite his mournful look, my heart lifts. He really was trying to be unique and exciting. For me. And sure, a picnic in the park might not be the most exhilarating date, but the effort matters.

“Look.” I point down the hill. Slightly beyond the white rectangle of movie screen, I can make out a perky yellow umbrella. Standing up, I can see that that umbrella is attached to a cart. “It’s a hot dog vendor.”

Jackson shades his eyes against the setting sun and follows my finger.

“Yep, looks like it.”

“Well isn’t that convenient,” I say, cocking an eyebrow, “because I suddenly have an intense craving for a good old Oscar Meyer. Don’t you?”

* * *

T
hree hot dogs
and countless grapes later, I lean back on the blanket and pat my stomach. Not the most nutritious dinner I’ve ever eaten, but nothing sticks to your ribs like a good old fashioned Oscar Meyer with ketchup. Or two. Or three.

With a groan, Jackson leans back beside me on the blanket.

“Where the hell did you
put
three of those?” Jackson rolls on his side to face me, groaning softly. “I had three, and I’m twice your size.”

“Right here.” I pat my belly contentedly.

“Doesn’t look like it.” He flutters his fingers along the flat plane of my stomach, and I twitch so hard, I kick him in his shin.

“Don’t,” I warn him. “I will throw up.”

“Sorry, I forgot how ticklish you are. So tough, and yet so sensitive.” Propping himself up, he pulls me to him so that I end up between his legs, my back resting against his broad chest. His body rises and falls beneath me, and I can feel the steady pulse of his heartbeat against my shoulder blade. The position is perfect.

Suddenly, the sounds from the speakers stop. The screen blinks and then goes black, leaving the hillside in darkness. For a moment, all we hear are the whispers of the leaves in the trees and the faint echo of far-off traffic. Then, the low hum of discontented murmurs creeps up the hill.

“Seriously?” Jackson sits up, voice piqued with annoyance. “Is this really happening?”

“Excuse me, ladies and gentlemen.” There is an electronic squeal and then a woman’s voice returns through the megaphone. “We seem to be having technical difficulties with the projector. Please bear with us. We apologize for the inconvenience.”

Jackson lets out a groan that resonates up my spine.

“Unbelievable.”

“Don’t sweat it.” I turn in his lap to face him. “Tom Hanks and his weird face were ruining that movie for me anyway.”

“Oh no. So you didn’t even like the movie?” He sighs. “What a colossal fuck-up this night has been.”

“What are you talking about? We just ate some delicious hot dogs, for one thing.”

That quip earns me a smile and I’m leaning in before I even realize I’ve decided to kiss him. His lips yield immediately, parting easily as I slip my tongue into his mouth. He tastes acidic: lemon and tomato, with a faint earthy undertone that I smell more than taste.

“I was going to ask if you wanted to leave,” he says between kisses, “but now that we have this distraction, I think we’ll wait.” He pulls me forward on his lap so that I end up straddling him, the short skirt of my dress splayed across our laps. Murmuring my assent, I run a hand up his thigh and slide it over his erection. He’s already hard, like I knew he would be. When I circle the shaft of his cock with my fingers, he gasps and jerks away.

“Sky, there are . . . people around.”

“So?” I rub my thumb up to the tip and press down. He breathes in sharply. “It’s dark out. And we have this.” With my other hand, I pull the picnic basket closer, blocking the view of our laps from anyone downhill.

“Sky—”

I flick the head of his penis, gently, and that shuts him up. He bites down to suppress another groan.

“But I want to touch
you
,” he says through gritted teeth, staring hard at my bare shoulders. Then, his gaze slides down to where the top of my dress gaps, revealing the slightest hint of cleavage, and he grips my hips more firmly.

“You’re touching me now,” I whisper, tugging his lower lip with my teeth as I wrap my fingers more tightly around his cock.

“Your skin,” he manages. “I want to touch your soft, wet—”

“Shhhh.” I unzip his fly and inch his pants down around his hips. He is so hard in my palm, so thick and warm, pulsing. The thought of tilting forward, sliding my panties aside, and slipping him into me . . . .

My core clenches. But no. We
are
in public. And watching his eyes roll back as I cup his balls in my free hand is almost as good.

Suddenly, I feel a spot of cold on the back of my neck. Then another, on my bare calf. What the . . . ?

“It’s raining.” His eyes pop open and stare up at the sky. A drop hits him on one cheek, and then another hits him in his eye. “Motherfucker.”

U
nbelievable
. First, the entire picnic is ruined by my inability to screw the lid onto a to-go container. Then the movie we came to see isn’t even playing, and the movie they do show breaks. Plus, Skylar was hating it the whole time, anyway.

And finally, because all of that somehow doesn’t manage to ruin the night, it starts raining. Awesome. Fucking awesome.

“Let’s get up.” I fumble with my pants while trying to stand, causing me to nearly topple over onto the grass. The rain feels like we are being pelted with rocks.

When I finally get my feet under me and my jeans zipped, I lift the blanket and hold it out to Skylar.

“Here, cover yourself with this.”

“Do you think I’m made of sugar?”

She bats the blanket out of my hand. Her hair, dark with rain, is plastered against her cheeks and her shoulders. The thin material of her dress has pasted itself to her body so that she looks like she’s wrapped in flowery tissue paper. Every outline is visible: the contours of her waist, her nipples little pinpricks protruding through the flowers. That means she’s not wearing a bra. Fuck.

“A little rain never hurt anyone,” she scoffs, shielding her eyes with one hand and watching as the other moviegoers scramble to gather their belongings. Then, she points down the hill.

“There.” About fifty meters past the dark screen, I make out a small playground lit by a single milky streetlamp. “Let’s go check that out.”

I look into her eyes, bright with adventure, and I know I am powerless to say no. Together, we start down the hill.

“Wanna race?” She glances at me with a sly grin.

“It won’t be fair.” I hold up the basket and blanket. “I’m . . . encumbered.”

“Oh, please,” she says and darts forward, kicking up mud and grass behind her. “You’re a guy. I need the advantage.”

“Hey!” I glance one more time at the items in my arms and then toss them aside and take off after her. We sprint across the field, and when I come close enough to touch her back, she shrieks and sprints harder.

Ultimately, I pass her and make it to the playground first. Shoes squishing, I charge across the grass and woodchips and tag the edge of the swing set. Seconds later, Skylar sprints straight past me, her dress plastered to her body, hair whipping around her shoulders. She reaches the slide and she smacks the metal chute.

“I win.” She lifts her arms in victory.

“What? No way. I got to the park first.”

“Yes, but you stopped just shy of the finish line.” She rubs her palm along the wet metal curve of the slide, biting her lip suggestively.

“I never stop short.” Abandoning the swing set, I approach her and grip the slide on either side of her body, pressing her back against the metal.

“Oh really?” Her voice is breathless, yet defiant. “Always finish what you start?”

“Always.” I lower my mouth to hers, and the heat is like a roaring inferno. Her lip balm is sugary, waxy, and I glide my tongue across her lip.

“Stop.” Her voice is hoarse when she breaks away from the kiss, mouth swollen. I blink away raindrops and touch her bare back.

“What’s wrong?”

“We came down here to play.” With visible effort, she slips out of my arms and skips around to the back of the slide.

“Isn’t that what we were doing?” I follow her, stopping when she places a foot on the first rung of the ladder. Her dress is drenched and has hiked up far enough to reveal one long, lean, shimmering leg. She runs a hand up her thigh, inching the wet material higher at the top, and then looks back at me.

“The best things come to those who wait. Let’s live a little, first.” With that, she shimmies up the ladder and goes flying down the other side.

“It’s like a waterslide,” she squeals, coming back around to meet me. “You have to try it.”

We take turns: two, three, four rides down the slick metal surface, before we head over to the swings.

“I bet you can’t swing as high as I can,” she challenges, pushing off of the soggy ground and then kicking her sandals off one by one. They sail into the air and land somewhere in the dark, beyond the reach of the streetlight.

“The straps were giving me blisters,” she replies as she propels herself higher. “Good riddance.”

“You say that now, but you’re going to regret having ditched your shoes when we race back to the car.”

“You think I can’t beat you barefoot? I just got rid of extra baggage, buddy.”

The rain has let up, and a light mist settles around us, making everything shimmer. Together, we swing higher and higher, rocketing out into space.

“Are you ready?” Skylar is still pumping her legs furiously, soaring as high as the swing will let her go.

“Ready for what?”

Catching my eye, she winks. Then, she lets go of the swing and sails through the air, executing a perfect flip before landing on the woodchips below. She stumbles once but then plants her feet and raises her arms in a V over her head.

“Touchdown!”

“Holy shit.” I drag my toes through the woodchips to stop my swing. Then, I leap off and run over to her, grabbing her by the waist and twirling her around. “You’re fucking amazing,”

“I win,” she laughs, the sound like tinkling bells. “I went higher.”

Then she slips out of my arms and sprints away toward the monkey bars.

“Come back here,” I shout.

“Come and get me,” she calls over her shoulder.

By the time I reach her, she has made it to the middle of the bars, legs swinging as she jerks one arm forward and then the other. I follow her on the ground, and when she reaches the end, I grasp her around the hips and lower her gently.

“I’m done playing,” I say, cradling her head between my palms. Letting my thumb slip below her jaw, I feel her pulse jerking a frenetic rhythm.

In the next instant, our mouths crash together, tongues searching hungrily for each other. With both hands, I push the thin straps of her dress off of her shoulders and peel down the fabric until her breasts are exposed. So creamy and white, they are nearly luminescent in the darkness, and I bend to suck each delicate, pink nipple. Her hands clench in my hair and I feel her body shudder, but then she grips harder and yanks my head back.

“No.”

“No?” I peer at her. Rivulets of water streak across her temples and down her cheeks. Her green eyes glitter ferociously as she pushes me back until I’m against the ladder of the monkey bars, cold metal shocking me through my jeans.

“No. It’s my turn to finish what I started.”

Without looking away, she reaches down and unzips my jeans. Carefully, she peels my briefs down my thighs, exposing my throbbing dick. Biting her lower lip, she slowly kneels and runs her hands over my thighs. My muscles clench involuntarily and I reach for the cold, hard metal rail behind me. Slowly, she trails her warm tongue up the inside of my right thigh and down my left. I’m nearly lightheaded with need.

Take me.

I grip the bar tighter.

Take me.

And then she does. The wet heat of her mouth nearly makes me come right away, but I clench the metal behind me even tighter. Holy shit, this girl likes to take control.

Through heavy eyelids, I watch her tongue run up and down my shaft. The sensation of hot tongue mixing with chilly rain is too much, and I thrust back into her mouth. She lets me slide in easily, taking me all the way to the hilt and raising her eyes to mine while she does it.

I know what you want
, her look says,
and I’m going to take my sweet time giving it to you
.

As if to reinforce the look, she withdraws her head and swirls her tongue around the head of my penis. The friction causes sparks to shoot straight through me, and I buck against her, forcing my way back into her mouth. In response, she tightens her lips around my cock, sucking gently, and I feel the rush of blood through every vein, muscles contracting. My entire body is poised for climax; I’ve given up any sense of control.

“Fuck, Sky, I am about to come.”

At the moment of release, I let out a groan that I’m sure can be heard all the way up the hill. My body shudders as I empty everything I have into her mouth. When I open my eyes, she’s smiling, her eyes still closed, licking her lips.

Maybe this night didn’t go as planned, but if this is how unplanned nights end, fuck plans, and fuck control. This girl has me at her mercy, and goddamn, it feels amazing.