Bella
He’s late. He’s never been late before.
I check my phone for the fourth time in the past minute, then remind myself: you’ve only met him two times before, and the first wasn’t planned. You’re being stupid, there is no “always” with someone you barely know.
Still, with everything that’s gone down these past few hours, I’d be stupid not to be worried.
I had to block Emilio’ number on my phone, he’s been calling me so much. I already got his and Gerrard’s twenty other panicked messages: that our office was found, that none other than Jax Forester and his men came knocking, guns in hand. That Emilio and the others barely escaped at all.
It took all I had to respond merely with: Do what you have to. Get out of there. Will discuss tomorrow, after Emilio basically ordered me home. I’m not his puppet, and I didn’t ask for this. And if I need a night off to get away from all this insanity, then I’ll take it.
I check my phone again and sigh. Is sleeping with the enemy really getting away from it though? And, more than that, how can I think that Jax’s coming here is anything other than the Grand Finalé to his retaliation stunt?
You better be there by 11:30 was the text he sent me half an hour ago.
And I am here. Waiting. Terrified. Alone.
Hands snake around my waist, and I freeze. What if he feels the gun?
“An on-time kind of girl, I like that,” he whispers in my ear, his hands shoving my pelvis to him, “I’ve got some big plans for you tonight.”
A shiver of excitement goes through me. I want to find out these big plans and yet, finding out may be the death of me.
###
His hand in mine leads me up the stairs, through the door on the side marked: CN TOWER. Funny, you almost miss it beside the big overblown restaurant and souvenir signs. Maybe that’s the point: misleading unwary tourists into purchases instead of experiences.
Then again, it’s easy to spot others being misled; it’s not always so easy when it’s yourself. What would others see when they looked at my life? A frightened fool, walking straight into the trap? A clueless idiot, not asking questions when her enemy opens the door easily, even though it should be locked, even though the whole place should be closed? Walking, no questions asked, toward her doom.
“So, you own the CN Tower, basically?” I finally ask. We’re weaving through the lobby, which is basically a sea of shop stands, everything indistinct and similar in the dark.
“Even better,” Jax says with a smirk, “I own everything.”
“Oh really?” I raise my eyebrows.
He shoves me to a sunglass stand, his hand right between my breasts. “Really.”
Several frames rattle to the floor. We stare at each other for a minute, then he removes his hand.
As I lean over to pick the fallen frames up, he chuckles, pats my butt. “You’re so… good.”
After I’ve returned them to their spots, I turn to him and envelop him in a kiss. Then, breaking away, smirking myself, I say, “You have no idea.”
Jax pauses and cocks his head at me, but says nothing. His hand grasps mine once more, then he leads me on further, past more stands toward the elevator. With everything so perfectly preserved and empty, it’s like we’re in a ghost town, in the aftermath of an apocalypse.
“Fascinating, isn’t it?” Jax says. “Sometimes I pay people to go in their buildings when no one’s around, just to walk, think. There is something bittersweet about being alone in so much space.”
He falls silent as if remembering I’m here.
When he stops, his hand slides to my leg, then freezes. “You didn’t,” he says, a smile playing on his lips. His hand slides up further, feels the top part of my stockings, then the strap of my garter and snaps it.
“I did,” I say, my gaze locked on him as I roll up my skirt to reveal both garter belt straps. His hand locks on my skirt, and mine locks on his shirt. “Not yet,” I add, backing away.
His grip on my skirt doesn’t budge. “Now,” he says, letting go, striding over to the elevator and jamming the button.
The doors open and he shoves me through. Coming in himself, he presses another button, then goes to the back and sits down. His gaze flicks to me, he pats the ground beside him.
“What are you doing?” I ask him. What if this is it? What if he’s going to kill me, here in this high-speed elevator, then throw my body off the CN Tower? What if this is it?
He pats the ground beside him again, while I stare at him. His hand isn’t in his jacket, which is where I know he keeps his Glock. Hopefully, the dark is obscuring the fear on my face.
Suddenly, he throws himself upright, hits a button on the elevator. The elevator shrieks to a noisy halt. Gaze locked on me, he goes and sits down in the same place as before, then pats beside him again. “Don’t make me ask you again.”
I sit down beside him. My legs spread are out in front of me, over the clear panel on the floor, where I can see fifty feet down. He runs his hand over my stockinged thigh. Over the thin gauzy black material, then under it.
He runs his hand back down, all the way to my feet. My shoes slip off, one after the other, and on his latest stroke, he runs his hand up further this time, over my knee to my uppermost thigh. It enlaces itself over the strap, then slides up further, reaches the garter strap. Snaps it.
“What’s the occasion?” he asks.
“You,” I purr out, pressing my lips to his neck. He slips his hand up further and feeling the silk edge of my panties, grabs, and pulls. “Jax…” I protest.
But it’s too late. By now, my teal silk G-string is halfway to my feet. Slipping it over my toes and away, Jax tucks it into his pocket, says, “Don’t worry, you won’t be needing this.” Then both hands slide back up my legs, over my velvet skirt this time, teal too, and grab the waistband to slide it down. “Or this.”
“Jax,” I breathe out, my whole lower body exposed now. I want to tell him to stop and hurry up and take me, here now. But he’s in a trance; it’s as if I haven’t spoken at all. His hands are moving in a leisurely rhythm, sliding up and down; his only acknowledgment of me is a vague smile as my body shudders with enjoyment.
God, I’m really wet already. With each stroke, his hand travels up a bit farther, presses down a bit deeper… until his fingers are rippling over my breasts, at my ruffle sleeves, pulling down one than the other off my shoulders, over my upper arms, elbows, lower arms, hands.
“Or this.”
Sleeves now off, the whole shirt leaves the same way as my other clothes, his hands sliding it oh-so-slowly down, over my chest, my waist, my hips, down over my still-stockinged legs, over my feet.
The hands toss it aside and pick up where they left off: stroking, feeling every inch of me, my toes to my heel to my calves, my knees, my thighs, my pelvis, my now bare belly, my bra. They go everywhere but where I want them to – need them to, my dripping wet pussy.
But as I grab at them, the hands taunt me and won’t even let me touch myself. They stop at my shoulders, slide along the lacy bra straps to the back, and undo the clasp. Then, grasping one bra cup, they drag it down the same way, the same moan-inducing path, down my belly, over my pussy, over my legs. He tucks my bra into his other pocket. Then rises.
Looking down on my now fully naked form, the stockings the only clothing left, a smile forms on his lips. He takes a few steps back, half-lidded gaze still on me. “Get up,” he says.
I do.
“Don’t move.”
I freeze. His gaze envelops me lazily, starts at my stockinged feet, sliding up and up, pausing on the garters, then on my pussy, sliding up further, pausing on my tits. It stops on my lips.
He strides forward, takes me in his arms, and murmurs, “I just want to enjoy you. Won’t you let me just enjoy you?” He kisses me, a soft wet breath of a kiss.
I pull away and murmur back, “I want you.”
“Do you?” he asks, then shoves his hand between my thighs, a finger between the lips. “Or does she?”
We freeze, both of our faces registering confusion at his words.
“Both,” I say softly.
He nods, face still puzzled. I clench myself around his finger, and he smiles. He takes one of my breasts and starts playing with it, shaking it, then stroking it, then kneading it, all the while his finger jerking in and out, lazily, unhurriedly, torturously.
Then he slides the wetness to my clit, starts rubbing it in soft, slick circles, the same circles his other fingers are drawing around the nub of my nipple. Moans bubble out of my lips.
“I’m going to make you come, and you’re going to like it,” he hisses out in my ear. He hoists me up and to the floor, his fingers pressing into my clit deeper now, moving faster, while his other hand grabs at my breast, squeezes it, slides over my nipple until it’s hard again.
Jesus, he knows just what to say, just what to do. It all feels so... good.
I lose myself in the feeling, the building, surging storm in my pussy, and the husky tones of my moans that seem louder than ever before. My half-closed eyes see flicker-slivers of sight; all I can see is that satisfied smile of his as he ratchets up the pace more and more.
His finger is nearly digging into me, and my whole body is quivering with it. He tugs at my tit and digs into my clit at the same time, and I’m over the brink, in the stream of pleasure, immersed in it. My vision is exploding colors, and all the while, he doesn’t stop, doesn’t let up his circling, grabbing, pulsing in the slightest.
My body thrashes with it. “Yes! Yes! Yes!”
And then I’m a crumpled-up ball, cold, except for the hands that never left. A button’s pressed. I’m lifted. I open my eyes.
“You don’t get this on the tour,” Jax says, carrying me into a room with a long line of harnesses attached to the ceiling.
We must be at the top now. Where they do the Edge Walk. Where there are no barriers between you and the open air… and falling.
Jax puts me down and, as if reading my thoughts, gestures to the harnesses. “Feel free if you’re afraid.”
And that’s when I remember that I don’t have my gun on me anymore. Or any clothes, for that matter.
Jax drops my clothes with a clatter. Clothes that shouldn’t clatter.
He glances at me, cocks his head. “What do you have here?”
I’m mute with fear as he crouches down, lifts my jacket, and shakes it. He flips it over and slips his hand in – finds it. My little Colt pistol. The gun I shouldn’t have. The gun that will give me away.
Jax raises it and points it at me, his face expressionless.
This is it.
But then he laughs. “What, you’re a cop?” His voice is suddenly cold.
“No-no,” I’m sputtering, stepping back.
Jax tosses the gun back onto the pile of clothes, laughing again. “Don’t worry. If you were a cop, you would’ve been dead already.” He walks up to me, eyes glittering. “I don’t take well to being betrayed.” His hand slides over my side. “Or not getting what I want.”
My body trembles, but with what I’m not sure.
He strides to the clear glass door and presses the button beside it. As it slides aside, a cool breeze beckons us out.
In the doorway, Jax turns to me. “You coming?”
I look from the harnesses to Jax’s easy smile. He’s right. He already could have killed me a hundred times. Why do it now?
I walk up to him, take his hand and let him lead me out. One foot out the door, the sight stops me in my tracks.
Spread out before us is a symphony of light and color, little speckles of luminescence spread as far as the eye can see. It’s beautiful. It’s more than beautiful. It is heartbreakingly gorgeous. It’s… there are no words.
“Bella,” Jax says.
He’s gone, sitting down on the edge. His legs are dangling down over the city 350 or so feet down.
I stand there. I stare at this carefree, trusting, strong, vulnerable man, and I think: One push.
Yes, one push. That’s all it would take. For me to end this fight, end all the Russo business problems, end this man. But I look at the brilliant white-blonde head, smiling at me with an ease that can’t be faked, and I know. I can’t push him when I want to kiss him.
He pats his lap and, carefully, I make my way over to the edge and sit down beside him.
He lifts me onto him and spreads his legs, so I’m in between them. “It’s unbelievable, isn’t it?” his murmur asks my ear.
“Thank you,” I say, my voice hoarse with emotion. I still can’t take my eyes off of the view. It’s so staggering. The immensity of the city, the play of the light and the reflection, this tableau of little life extending so far and wide. And us up here, so small and insignificant and yet, lucky – undeniably, incredibly lucky.
“Bella,” Jax says, gesturing down, “You see down there – further down the tower? That’s the revolving restaurant. 360, I think it’s called.”
I nod.
“Next time I’m going to take you there,” he says. As he scans my face for the answer, I try not to let how I really feel show. But he sees it immediately. The easy smile on his face slides off.
I look away, back to the city. To my wonderful home. Toronto. Where I grew up. Then I look back to Jax, who’s looking less and less pleased the longer I take to respond. He doesn’t understand. This can’t last, and it’ll last even briefer if I start taking risks. Going out places with him… Being seen in public… No, no there’s no way.
“I’m sorry,” I say, and anger ripples over his face. “That won’t be good for either of us.” His arms lock around my waist. My heartbeat becomes a hammer. What if that was a test – what if that was my last chance to save myself?
Mashing his lips onto my ear, he says, “Well, I guess we better get to what we’re here for then.”
Then, in one smooth motion, he lifts me. Too shocked to scream, all I can think is: Now, this is it. But he only carries me closer to the main building, lays me down, and gets on top of me.
“Feeling your ass against me was driving me crazy,” he growls out, pressing his erection into me. His hand sweeps across my tits. “Seeing those hard nips of yours didn’t help.”
I undo his belt. My pussy doesn’t feel much like waiting, now that he mentions it. Next is his black pants, and I wonder if he shot at my brother in these pants, and how many times he’s thought of fucking me in these pants.
Then it’s the boxers: as pink as my pussy must be flushed now. His hand’s there already, twirling one finger between my wet lips than another.
“You make it so easy for me,” he growls out.
He squeezes my ass, and I take out his cock. We roll, so I’m on top of him, pulling his pants down further, giving his dick a smacking kiss on the way. Then his pants are at his feet, off, and I’m crawling up him, over his ivory thighs, the hairs as fine and white as spider webs, his dick tall and wide, waiting.
When I’m in front of his dick, he lifts me by the waist, then moves me over it, so just the tip’s nestling against my pussy lips. Still lifted, I spread my legs further, my bare feet sliding on the metal grate floor. Then Jax slams me down, a cry ripping out from deep within me. He grins, the falcon on his pec rippling, smirking itself at the painful pleasure ripping through me.
This time he lowers me gently, like I’m a porcelain doll, eases his rod into me, a bit further then further. I’m bent over, my eyes boring into his, my hands clawing at his chest, begging for more.
He ups the pace a bit, shoves me down a bit faster, a bit further, each time he brings me down a bit faster, a bit deeper, teasing me so that my pussy sends out more and more desperate fingers of pleasure up my legs.
Until I rip his hands away and slam my pelvis down myself, so hard that while I moan my satisfaction at the change, he grunts his.
Now left to her own devices, my pussy goes full-throttle. I claim his rod as my own, fuck myself on it, back and forth, up and down, then harder and deeper, over and over again. And amidst this syllable-grunting, pussy groaning, quivering fuck, it occurs to me that now – this very second, as I’m about to come – this would be the perfect time to do it, for him to kill me, to shove me over the edge, about to come, bound to die, unsatisfied forever.
On my most intense shove yet, I pause, his cock deep in my pussy, both of us quivering with our pent-up orgasms ready to burst. His eyes flutter open, his mouth contorts into a snarl.
His hand strikes my buttocks, and I’m thrown back into shaking, gripping, a shoving motion, lifting myself and slamming down and then again, and amidst it all, as he explodes into me and I him, I welcome death as I die this sweet death of sorts, my whole body convulsing, as he lifts me out of myself and the pleasure is nothing short of divine, the sounds are not mine, and I am free.
We ride wave after wave of orgasm, of shaking, tingling deliverance, until we flop back, slowly unlatch ourselves.
Afterward, the city is the first thing I see: the towers of radiance, the sea of shine. And nothing. There is no grate. I am one shift, one roll away from falling to my death.
I start back, into his arms.
He chuckles. “Pretty lucky, huh? Just noticed myself. Looks like we got too into it, ended up too close to the edge.”
I don’t say anything, still horrified at how close to death I was, still am. I’m literally in the arms of the enemy. My thighs are wet with his pleasure. What am I doing?
“So, about that dinner…” Jax says, “I understand your concern. The place isn’t open now, so why tempt you with tasty things? We’ll have it next time.”
I say nothing while he rises. I take the hand he offers, avoid his insistent look. “I’ll think about it,” I say in a voice we both know is a lie.
We go to the door, where he pounds a button that makes it slide open. As we walk through, my belly gives an angry yowl.
“What about somewhere else? I know some places,” Jax says, leaning over to pick up my clothes.
I keep my gaze on the pile of clothes I’m accepting. “No, I’m not hungry. I want to go home.”
The silence in his scowl grows.
My belly rumbles out its own denial of my claim.
Jax grabs my hand and jams the button. “Then home you’ll go.”
He strides into the elevator without waiting for me. I stumble in. He hits another button and, as the elevator barrels down, I stagger into my skirt and shirt.
Once I’m done, he tosses me my bra, panties and Colt pistol. Without meeting his eye, I tuck them and my gun in my coat.
When I do dare glance at Jax, he gives me a terrible sort of smile.
“Shouldn’t carry around things you don’t really know how to use.”
I say nothing. If he really knew how well I can use that gun, he wouldn’t have given it back to me at all. No, in fact, he would’ve probably used it on me himself.
Going down, the elevator seems to take seven times longer than its trip up. Jax’s anger is electric, filling the wide metal thing, suffocating me, arousing me. I want him to kiss me again, but I’m afraid what he’ll do if I try.
When the elevator finally stops at the bottom, Jax storms off the same way we came, past the empty shop stands. The sunglasses rack Jax shoved me into looks strangely poignant, almost accusing. If I made the right decision rejecting Jax’s offer, then why do I feel so wrong?
As we make our way through the lobby, Jax glides ahead at the same clipped pace until we’re outside. Then, turning to me but not looking at me, he asks, “Where do you want me to drop you off then?”
“Nowhere. I’ll get a cab.”
Now he looks at me, his mouth twisting into a snarl of a smile. “Goodnight, Bella.”
And then he storms off.
I watch him, fear and relief and pain and joy all bashing against each other in my head. And then, once he’s out of sight, another fear arises, the worst fear of all. What if this, all of this – from the first meeting to his anger just now – is an act? What if Jax knows who I am, has always known? What if all this is just an act, a ploy to distract me, to get information out of me, to trick me?
What if Jax Forester knows me and doesn’t care about me in the slightest?