Chapter Eleven
Carina
The lack of sleep had finally caught up with me, and the combination of relief that Jackson didn’t hate me, and the delicious languor that always follows a fabulous orgasm, knocked me out for almost an hour. When I opened my eyes and felt the firm muscles of Jackson’s arm under my head, it was like I’d just moved from one dream to a better one. If I wasn’t already awake, I didn’t want to be.
I slid out of bed without waking him and made a beeline for the bathroom, where I stared at my reflection and gaped, unable to even come up with a suitable pep talk. Nowhere in my real-life estimation of our meeting had the possibility of us having sex before even getting his suitcase out of the car, come up. Was I a slut for having sex within ten minutes of meeting someone, or were we conservative, because we’d talked so long before hooking up?
I felt a little slutty, but worse, I felt like I’d made love to him. I was okay with sex, but I’d never had that “orgasm that made me cry” before. I’d felt so connected in that moment, that tears had stung my eyes and my heart had felt like it would burst out of me any second. I washed my face, reapplied only the bare necessities of foundation and mascara, and snuck back out to the kitchen. I’d already forgotten what meals I had planned, so I rifled through my pantry and fridge again, looking for my best chance at impressing him with my cooking.
I started by uncorking a bottle of wine for myself and, while it breathed, I hopped online to remind my viewers that I was offline until I could find time during the convention, but that I’d upload YouTube videos as I could.
When I stepped out of the bedroom, Jackson was watching me from the bed, with Stiles perched on his chest, staring at him, while he looked at me. I gasped and lunged forward to grab my cat before he started using his claws to get more comfortable and punctured the hunk of man-flesh grinning at me from under my sheets.
“You left.” He pouted at me, the sheet riding lower on his body as he half-sat up in bed.
“I peed, and ditched my stream to make you dinner. Which, will happen as soon as you tell me what you like.”
“I’d like you to get back in bed before we make any decisions about what to do next. I was pretty irritated that you put clothes back on, but watching you walk around in that tank top and panties is so hot I couldn’t stay mad.”
I tried to stop the flush I felt on the back of my neck from moving into my face and coughed lightly as I started toward the refrigerator. “Um. Do you want me to bring a beer with me, or just get back in bed so we can, uh, talk?”
“Beer is fantastic!” He sat up all the way fast, and I almost stumbled as the sheet fell back to reveal the spectacular bits of him I’d felt, but hadn’t taken the time to see, earlier. My eyes moved back to his face and at his grin, my face crimsoned and burned.
I turned too fast and almost stumbled again, but I made it to the fridge and managed to open and get a beer all the way back to Jackson without doing anything else to embarrass myself. I handed him the bottle and he patted the bed next to him, lifting the sheet a little so I could slide under. He paused and held it up so he was in full view again, and glanced at me.
“You seem to be overdressed for the occasion.” He drawled, looking at himself, then back at me. I shut my gaping mouth with a snap and slid in between the sheets still wearing my tank top and panties.
I gave him a sidelong glare. “Last time I checked, I had free will, which means that I don’t have to take my clothes off for you. Also, I plan on taking a little more time when we do that again, so we need to eat something.”
“I love a woman with a plan. But, let’s go out and get an early dinner, then not leave again until the convention. I need to do something to earn my keep.”
“Yeah, that sounds good. Eating, I mean, not earning your keep. I have something else in mind for that.”
He put the beer down and scooted closer. “Oh yeah? I’m all yours, whatever you want… within the boundaries of my pain tolerance.”
I laughed. “Awesome. You’re my new costumer/dressing assistant. I have been waiting so long to show this costume to the world, and now you get to help me get into it, because, honestly, I can’t get this one on by myself.”
Jackson shot up in the bed, completely exposed and oblivious to it. “Can I see it now?”
I shrugged and nodded and he slid off the bed and padded toward the bedroom.
“Your studio is in here too, right?” He casually glanced back over his shoulder before opening the door. I nodded dumbly, staring at his muscular back and tight ass as he stepped into my workshop. Belatedly, I threw myself off the bed and chased him in.
I looked around the room and tried to see it through a stranger’s eyes. Instead of creative use of space and designs, I saw clutter and a headache-inducing array of fabrics and notions. There was a basket of my rejected feathers still in the corner; it looked like a basket filled with boas. There were sequins and glitter on every surface other than the costume, which I covered religiously with plastic to keep it unspoiled by dust, glitter, or the cat hair that I knew floated around despite my best efforts to keep it all under control.
The leatherworking corner, which I had thought was so quaint and industrious-looking, now seemed like just one more hobby stuffed haphazardly into the tiny space.
Jackson stood in the doorway to the studio, and I tried to remember if I’d left a dirty coffee mug or empty water bottles that would embarrass me. He glanced at me and snickered, then walked in all the way. “Hey, Babe, am I the first naked dude in your sound booth?”
“Uh, yeah. Good God, what do you think I do? Make guys strip down before parading through here?” I thought for a moment and continued, “Other than an interviewer from IGN.com, you’re the first other human being to be in the booth, and the first completely naked one.” He fist-pumped and I giggled despite myself. “You want to come out now, and take a gander at this piece I’ve been working on for the past two years?”
“Oh, my God. You mean the War Angel costume?” I nodded and he beat a hasty retreat from the sound booth and stood with his arms folded in front of the plastic shrouded mannequin. I stood and looked at him until he met my stare. “Do you need help with the cover?”
“Nope. You really going to just stand there naked?”
“Not if you don’t want me to.”
I chuckled. “Why am I more nervous about being naked than you are? I mean, you have no reason to be nervous… obviously. But, it was part of my job, and I always hated it.”
He looked down and shrugged. “I guess growing up with all guys, on the edge of a lake, being naked was just par for the course, most summer days. But, since it makes you uncomfortable.”
“Not uncomfortable, just hard to focus on anything that isn’t the yummy-ness of you.” Jackson wiggled his hips and his eyebrows at me and I belly-laughed. “You are so full of yourself!”
He spread his arms and turned in a small circle with his lips pursed. “But, you like it.”
I giggled again. “Yeah, I like it, and I hope you like this.” I opened the fasteners on the makeshift plastic cover and gently peeled it back over the wings, folding it and hanging it over a hanger so it would stay clean on the inside. Jackson was silent, and after a full minute of not looking at him, I finally swallowed past the lump in my throat and glanced at him out of the corner of my eye. His eyes were closed, then he opened them and stared at the mannequin, then at me, then at the mannequin again.
“You are going to blow the convention away.” He gestured at the mannequin, getting so close, but being so careful not to touch it. “I don’t really want you wearing that in front of any other men, because I can already imagine what you look like in that.” I grinned.
“Well, I am testing the boundaries of how little I can wear in public and be comfortable. What you see is what you get with this one.”
He rubbed his hand over the back of his neck, rippling his muscles nicely. “Does that blue glow?” he finally asked, pointing to the boots standing with the shafts folded over.
“Yeah, I put battery packs in the soles, under my heels. They flash when I walk. I don’t know if it will work, I got the idea from my niece. She’s four, and her ‘My Little Pony’ runners light up when she walks. It uses less battery, and the flash effect lasts longer, of course. It runs up and down my leg, from midthigh to the tops of my feet, like blue flames.” He nodded and undid the bodice, whistling softly as he traced the precariously low neckline. He turned with the leather in hand, very careful to avoid the wings.
“Why are you still dressed?” He held up the costume. “I need to practice putting this on you, right?”
“I will take off my clothes as soon as you put some on. No matter how long you stay naked, I am never not going to be distracted by you.” He grinned and gently placed the top of the costume over the mannequin before swaggering out to the living room to collect his shorts.