I stared at the plate of food in front of me, my appetite nonexistent. How did Jackson expect me to eat after what he’d told me, after how he’d touched me? I fell so easily to his soft whispers, his hard body against mine. Even now I could still feel his hard cock pressed against my stomach, a testament to what would come, to what he would have deep inside of me.

“You should eat something.” He stared at me from across the table, his gaze seeming so dark, so intense.

I felt like he was touching me just by the way he looked at me. This shiver raced along my body and although I was chilled, I also felt flushed, overheated. This was like nothing I’d ever experienced, and I knew being with Jackson would only make it ten times worse… or maybe better.

“I'm not all that hungry.” I was being honest, but it didn't have to do with the fact I was full from earlier, but from the fact that my emotions were so turbulent, so consuming that they filled me.

He’d already finished his meal and pushed the plate away. Someone came and took the dishes, walked over to me, and removed mine as well. The glass of wine beside me sat untouched. I was thirsty, so damn thirsty, but I was afraid that drinking alcohol would only intensify my emotions, my arousal.

“Maybe you'd have an appetite for something sweeter?”

His voice was so dark and commanding that all I wanted to do was melt into it, let it consume every single part of me. It was the way he said those words, the way he asked me, that told me he wasn't just thinking about dessert.

Or maybe he was and I was said dessert.

I reached for my glass of wine, not caring if the alcohol did make my arousal worse. I took several long drinks from it, the red wine sliding down my throat, the sweetness covering my tongue, the flavors exploding over my palate.

When I set it down I glanced up at Jackson. He watched me with that commanding expression, that dominating persona. I felt the alcohol move through my veins swiftly and I knew intoxication was inevitable if I kept this up.

A second later another tray was brought out to the table. A plate was set in front of me with strawberries, chocolate, and whipped cream all arranged in this delicate, fantastical way.

“You always did have a sweet tooth,” Jackson said and my heart started beating faster.

I thought back to three years ago, to that first time I’d met Jackson, that first time he’d seen me. I’d been an eighteen-year-old girl, so vulnerable and innocent, so naïve. I’d let the world around me consume me.

The party that my father had taken me to was unlike anything I'd ever experienced or seen before. I was swept away in the Cinderellaesque moment, taking in the wealth and beauty that surrounded me.

I remembered trying all the delicate little sweets. The treats had been set up on silver trays, the colors vibrant, beautiful. Was that the moment Jackson was referring to right now? Was that the sweet tooth he was speaking about?

“Come here, Megan.” The way he said that was so dominant, so commanding that I actually found myself standing on instinct.

I wanted to obey him, to do what he said. Not just because he wanted me to and probably derived pleasure from it, but because I wanted to go to him.

I walked over to him and when I stood right before him, my heart beating faster, I couldn't help but look down and see the stiffness of the erection that pushed against his slacks. He was huge, thick and long, but then again I’d felt that pressed against my stomach earlier. What would that feel like thrusting into me, taking my virginity, claiming it as his own?

He pushed the chair back, spread his legs, and gestured me forward. I stumbled slightly, my nerves taking over, this experience totally new for me. I wanted to be with him desperately though, wanted to be his in every way possible. I should hate this man, loathe him and everything he represented. He was using me because of my father... making me the payment.

And the truth—my dirty little secret—was the fact I was soaking wet for him at that knowledge. The fact he wanted me, had for the last three years, and would clearly do anything to make that possible. It made me drunk from it all.

Before I knew it was happening Jackson had his hand on my knee, his thumb slowly moving in circles around my skin. I was tense, I could feel it in every part of me, but I didn't want this to stop. In fact, I wanted it to go further.

I was breathing so hard, my breasts pressing against my dress, my nipples so tight I wouldn’t be surprised if they tore right through the material. And then he started moving his hand up, curling his fingers along my inner thigh, making me shiver from the inside out.

He had his hand so close to my pussy, so close to the part that I wanted him to touch the most. But he didn't. Instead he leaned in close, our mouths only inches apart. I stared into his eyes for long seconds, wondering if I should be the one to make the move, to kiss him.

But before I could act on that, he had his mouth on mine—this brutal, possessive intensity coming from him. I braced my hands behind me, the table the only support I had at the moment.

While he continued to kiss me, I felt him move his fingers underneath the minuscule panties I wore. I found them under the dress after I'd fully pulled it out of the box. The scrap of lace and silk barely covered me, but made me feel so sexy, so desirable.

He was mouth fucking me. There was no other way for me to describe what he was doing. He pulled away far too soon, gripped my chin with his forefinger and thumb, and looked into my eyes. He didn't speak as he pushed the edge of my panties aside and stroked my soaked folds.

He started kissing me again as he teased his finger over my clit. I gasped against his mouth, the pleasure rising inside of me. I was wet, embarrassingly so, but the grunts he made and the way he kept teasing my pussy told me he liked it.

When he pulled back, I couldn't breathe. My lips felt bruised but in a good way. He pulled his hand out from under my dress, brought the glistening fingers up to show me, and started sucking the cream off. He hummed low in his throat, and I watched as his pupils dilated.

“I knew you'd taste so fucking good.” He gripped my chin again, tilted my head back, and claimed my mouth once more. He shoved his tongue into my mouth and made me taste myself on him, a sweet and musky flavor that invaded my senses. “Tell me how you feel,” he said against my lips.

“Breathless,” I responded honestly.

He tipped my head to the side and ran his tongue up the column of my neck, stopping at the pulse point beneath my ear and licking the skin roughly. “When I’m done with you, breathing will be the least of your problems.” He moved his mouth to my ear, his warm breath tickling the shell. “When I’m done with you, Megan, you won’t be able to walk straight or sit comfortably, and all you’ll be able to think about is how my big cock claimed your virgin pussy.”

I gasped at the brutality of his words, the crass nature in which he spoke.

“But most of all,” he whispered, “you’ll be mine irrevocably because I’m not letting you fucking go.”