Jackson

 

I couldn’t hold it back, the laughter.

It felt alien to laugh so freely, so openly.

Her face was a picture, her eyes wide as she stared down at the furry intruder on her lap.

“He’s not yours?! But he came in… he came when I called him…”

I looked at the huge ginger cat with the biggest smile. I recognised him vaguely, a pampered thing from a few doors down.

The admission came more easily than I anticipated.

“I don’t have a cat,” I told her. “I’ve never had a cat.”

Her confusion was palpable.

“But you said… about the cat-sitting…”

She was divine. Beautiful. Innocent and wholesome and shining with good intentions.

It made the dirty little minx under the surface all the more irresistible.

I gestured to the box on the counter, all dressed up with its silly bow.

“Open your present,” I told her. “It’s after midnight, technically Christmas Day.”

I didn’t think she could look any more confused, but her brows creased like cuteness personified as she struggled to keep up with my revelations.

“It’s for me?!” she asked. “The present is for me?”

“For you,” I confirmed and slid it closer. “I thought the Jenny on the gift tag would have been sufficient enough to let you know.”

“But I… you didn’t need to…”

All my laughter dried up. “I wanted to. Happy Christmas, sweetheart.”

Her irises tightened, lashes fluttering for the quickest little beat.

Sweetheart.

She liked it, and so did I.

Her fingers danced across the wrapping, so hesitant. “This is really for me?”

“Really. Please open it.”

She gave the sweetest little shrug and took a sip of wine, checking out my expression for sincerity before tugging the bow free and tearing into the wrapping.

I stared intently at her as the laptop box came into view. Her hands were shaking, mouth open wide.

“For me?!”

And there was my moment. The moment I’d been dreaming about.

“You do need one, yes? A personal laptop?”

I waited eagerly for the crimson flush and her cheeks didn’t disappoint me. “Well, I… I don’t have one… mine died… at university…”

I leaned across the counter, chin balanced on my palm as I let my eyes slam full force into hers.

“How do you think I know you don’t have a personal laptop, Miss Morris?”

She wouldn’t meet my stare. “I, um… I don’t know, sir…”

I let out another laugh, but this one was harder. Calculated.

“Oh, I think you do. I had some time with your work machine after Richard fixed the driver issue. I thought I’d make doubly sure it was fit for purpose.”

She knew. Her whole body was humming with embarrassment. It was a pleasure to observe.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “Whatever you clicked on… if you clicked on anything… I’m sorry. I’m really sorry, Mr Hart.” Finally her eyes chanced a meeting with mine. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean it, I promise. I get carried away sometimes… with my imagination… and I just…”

I kept quiet.

“And I just… write things sometimes… stupid stories…”

“Stupid stories?”

She nodded. “Silly things.”

I tipped my head. “That’s what they are, are they? Silly things?”

Another nod, and I raised an eyebrow.

“Well, that really is a shame considering I’ve just abandoned my family Christmas to drive back across country on the back of these silly stories.”

She couldn’t gulp a breath quick enough.

“I made the cat up,” I continued. “A silly story of my own under the circumstances, so I think that puts us on a par with the falsities, don’t you?”

I took another sip of wine as she weighed up my words.

“You made the cat up?”

“To get you here,” I told her. “I didn’t even have a tree a few days ago. Your silly stories have had quite an impact, Miss Morris. As have you.”

Her eyes were wide and her lips were parted, her breaths coming in shallow little rasps as the situation tumbled through her senses.

I got to my feet and closed the distance slowly, purposefully, towering over her with a strain in my suit trousers that wasn’t hanging to the fucking right anymore, not even close.

The cat jumped down from her lap and skulked through to the living room, and her eyes followed him to the doorway, avoiding mine. I could see the shiver in her shoulders.

“Tell me, Jenny, about these silly stories. Did you mean them? Do you want them?”

Her nod was almost unperceivable.

“Say it,” I instructed, and my usual gruffness was back in full force.

“I meant them,” she whispered. “I meant them all, Mr Hart.”

“It’s Jackson,” I told her, and her eyes flashed up at mine. “My name is Jackson.”

“Jackson.”

It was just a ghost of a word, and it was the most intoxicating utterance I’d ever been blessed enough to hear.

Her skin was soft against my fingers as I tipped her chin up.

“Were you telling the truth?” I asked. “You’ve never been fucked?”

“No,” she admitted, and I felt it in my cock. “I was waiting…”

“So I gathered. Waiting for a man who appreciates the gift he’s taking. Waiting for a man who knows what he’s doing with it. Who’ll give it the respect it deserves.”

“I’m sorry,” she whispered again, but I pressed a thumb to her lips before she could say another word.

“Waiting for me, Jenny. And here I am, in the flesh, and considerably more satisfying than some words on a laptop screen, I assure you.” My eyes could have burned her alive. “Stretching your tight little pussy around my cock is going to be the best Christmas present of my life.”

And there she was, the little minx behind the sweetness. I saw a flash of her in Jenny’s pretty eyes.

“And mine,” she breathed. “Please, Mr Hart… it’ll be the best Christmas present of mine too…”

We moved in unison, her scrabbling to her feet as I pulled her close, my mouth landing on hers as her fingers found my chest and pressed tight. My tongue was fierce and hers was nervous, the perfect combination.

She tasted like red wine and Christmas wishes. She tasted like my soul coming to life after years of bondage.

Her PJ top lifted easily over her head and her perky little tits were everything I’d imagined. And more.

Her nipples were tight little bullets in dusky pink, her skin was milky pale and peppered with goosebumps as my thumbs brushed a path from her collarbone to her ribs.

“Tell me you want this,” I barked and she nodded. “Gentleness doesn’t come easily to me. I want to be sure you’re ready.”

“Don’t be gentle,” she breathed. “Please, Mr Hart, don’t be gentle… I want…”

It was so easy to smile. “I know what you want, sweetheart. I’ve read it in glorious detail several times over.”

I hooked my fingers in her PJ bottoms and they slid down in one fluid drop. She was wearing nothing underneath, and the sight made a groan catch in my throat.

Her waist curved in so daintily, her stomach just the softest slope above that sweet untouched little cunt of hers.

She was wet.

Soft.

Needy against my fingers as I slipped them between her thighs.

“I’ve never…” she began, but I silenced her with my mouth on hers.

I knew.

I knew everything.

Everything she’d never done, everything she’d dreamed of. Everything she wanted.

I hitched her onto my thigh and she squirmed like a siren from the deep. “Please,” she hissed. “Please, Mr Hart…”

“I’m gonna fuck that tight little pussy all night long,” I told her. “And then I’m gonna fuck that sweet little asshole right on after.”

I walked us backward, keeping her tight to my thigh every step of the way.

“I’m gonna fuck your throat so hard your eyes will water, and make you come so hard you’ll scream my name.”

“Please…”

“And do you know what’s going to happen then, dirty little Miss Morris?”

She shook her head.

“And then I’m going to do it all over again.”

I hoisted her into my arms as we crossed the threshold into the hallway, and her legs folded around my waist like they were made to be there.

“Happy Christmas to me,” she giggled as I carried her upstairs.