Chapter 41

Jackson

When I pulled up outside Faith’s house an hour later, I had a strange feeling. It was like déjà vu. Something about the situation felt familiar, as if it was something I’d done before, in a prior life. It was almost as if it was destiny. It just felt right, like it was meant to happen.

Her house was beautiful. However she’d done it, Faith was doing well for herself. I had such respect for the life she’d created in my absence. It was a modern house with beautiful stonework and large windows overlooking the mountainside. You could see down into the vineyard of the valley, and toward the west you could even see the ocean. The mist in the morning must have been stunning.

I grabbed the case of wine bottles from the back of the truck and went to the door.

“Come on in,” Faith called.

I opened the door and stepped inside. The house was nice—high ceilings, panoramic vistas, high quality fixtures. There was a gas fire on, despite the fact that it was eighty degrees outside. I took it as a good sign.

Faith was nowhere to be seen.

I walked across a beautiful white rug to the window and looked down into the valley. I could have seen my own vineyard if the sun was up.

From behind me I heard Faith’s sultry voice. “I just put Sam down.”

“We’ll keep quiet,” I said, turning.

When I turned—boy. That’s all I can say. She looked like something out a dream, or a fantasy. How the hell had I gotten myself into that house with her? It felt too good to be true. She’d let her hair down and it flowed over her shoulders like a river over a waterfall. She’d touched up her make up. Her eyes were definitely smokier than they’d been earlier. The dress she was wearing was like a thin piece of lace, draped over her body perfectly.

She had such style, such fashion. She blew me away. I felt underdressed as I stood there looking at her.

“You just going to stand there?” she said.

“Sorry.” I was falling over my words. “I just, Faith, you look lovely.”

“Thank you,” she said, not quite as shy as she’d been before.

“Really lovely,” I repeated.

She smiled. “You said that already.”

“You’ve got me lost for words.”

She pointed at the couch. “Have a seat,” she said. “I see you brought the wine.”

“There’s some white,” I said, taking a seat. “We should put that in the fridge.”

She went into the kitchen with the crate of wine and came back with a bottle and two glasses. My cock was vibrating in my pants. It was so hungry for her I didn’t know if I’d be able to restrain myself. All I wanted was to jump on her.

She sat on the other end of the couch, about four feet of empty space between us.

All I could do was look at her.

“I’m sorry,” I said, “but I really don’t think I can drink any wine right now.”

“How come?”

“How come? Are you kidding me?” I said, indicating her. “Look at you. You’re like a vision from a dream.”

She giggled. She had such a girlish laugh. It was strange. When I looked at her, I didn’t see a mother, I saw a little girl, and I was desperate to fuck her. I was bigger than her. I was physically stronger. To me she was a delicate angel, waiting to be taken.

I moved across the couch closer to her.

“Jackson Jones,” she said teasingly. “Are you trying to take advantage of me in my own home?”

I smiled. “I do believe I am.”

“Luring me into this with your delicious wine,” she said.

“I can think of something much more delicious.”

“What’s that?”

I looked at her lips. They were like fruit. I’d picked my fair share of grapes. Her lips were like the color your fingers get when they’re covered in crushed grape juice. She was nature’s gift, the fruit of the world. She wasn’t just a woman, she was my fate, my destiny, and it was time for me to devour her.

I leaned in and took hold of her. My lips met hers in a startling moment of intimacy. I swear, there was a ringing in my ears. She reminded me of that painting on the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel in Rome, where God’s reaching out and touching the finger of an angel. That was what it felt like at the moment my lips touched hers. It was more than just a kiss. It was something spiritual.

I slid my tongue into her mouth and tried to drink her up. It was as if I was trying to suck the life from her body. My tongue touched hers, my lips covered her mouth completely, and I devoured her. I drank her up. I savored the taste of her mouth for the exquisite delicacy it was.

She gasped when I broke the embrace.

“Good god,” she sighed.

“Girl, you ain’t felt nothing yet. When I’m done with you, you’re not going to know what happened.”

“Don’t make me wait,” she said mischievously, laying back on the couch.

“You’re going to be in a daze,” I said. “You’re going to know you’re mine for the rest of your life. You won’t even be able to look at another man.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes it is.”

“Those are big words.”

“I’m a big man,” I said, and opened my belt and jeans, letting the full length of my manly cock fall out of my pants.

She took one look at it and shut her eyes.

“Don’t be afraid,” I whispered.

“Oh, I’m not afraid,” she said, and spread her legs open.

I saw that she wasn’t wearing any underwear beneath that dress.

“Naughty girl,” I said as I bent down and put my lips over her exquisite pussy.

She thrust forward, clenched my head in her thighs, and locked me into a tight embrace. She was desperate for me. I could taste it on her. Her pussy was dripping juice the moment my tongue entered it. She couldn’t hide her desire from me even if her life depended on it.

I sucked on the lips of her pussy gently, licking the folds of her clit, thrusting my tongue inside her.

“Jackson,” she moaned.

I broke free of the lock her legs had on me and came up for air. My cock throbbed and for a brief moment, I was afraid it was going to orgasm without me. Without my permission. That’s something that never happened to me before. I can assure you, there’s nothing premature about my cock and its workings.

But there was something about the look on Faith’s face, the mixture of love and desire and understanding, that almost sent me falling into the abyss of my own lust.

She had a hold of my soul in a way no woman ever had or ever would. A passion came over me, a rage, an utter loss of control. I wanted her, but not just for pleasure. I wanted her for domination. I wanted to claim her so completely that the whole universe would know she was mine, not just for the length of our lives, but for all of eternity. I wanted to brand her. I wanted to mark her in some way, as my own.

I don’t know if I can describe the feeling. Other men would understand, I think.

Possession, domination, ownership, mastery.

“You’re going to surrender to me,” I said. I didn’t even know where the words were coming from. It was like my soul was speaking directly to her.

“Yes,” she panted.

“I’m reclaiming you, Faith Shepherd. I’m reclaiming what’s mine. Now and forever.”

“Yes,” she moaned.

I stripped her naked. I had to have her naked. It wasn’t just about having an orgasm any more. It was about one man and one woman becoming something new. I pulled her dress over her head. She didn’t have a bra on. She looked up at me, completely naked, and shivered.

Was that fear? I don’t know. I’ll never know.

All I know is that what I did to her cannot be explained only by our desires. I wanted to fuck her, yes. But like I said, this was something beyond that. She was mine. She was the mother of my child. I felt as if we didn’t belong as two separate people, but as a single embrace of love that would last forever.

I pulled off my shirt and climbed onto her so that I was sitting on her breasts, both of us naked. My fat cock was in front of her face.

“Lick me,” I said.

She blinked, hesitated for just a moment, and then opened her mouth.

Fuck me. Holy hell, fuck me. That tongue. That mouth. I could have died. She took the enormous head of my cock into her mouth and sucked it. I got up to angle myself. I pointed myself at her and then slid into her throat. I went so far I thought she’d choke. She didn’t. She took the full length of me, deeper and deeper into her mouth. I imagined coming in her mouth and the thought almost set me off. But I stopped myself.

For my first orgasm, I knew I wouldn’t come inside her. I would save that for later. First I had to come on her. I had to mark her as my territory. I had to put my scent on her. I had to make the world know she was mine, that she belonged to me. It was something instinctual and I no longer had control over it. I was back to reclaim her.

I felt my cock throb in her throat and I pulled it out. She was naked, innocent, vulnerable. I could do anything I wanted to her. I had her under my full weight. There was no way she’d be able to escape.

I lifted myself up, holding my weight on my legs.

“I’m going to come on you,” I said. The words even sounded strange as they left my mouth, but to my surprise it seemed to turn her on.

She wanted me to.

“Yes,” she gasped, and she took her breasts in her hands and held them together, as if telling me to come there.

I slid the girth of my shaft in the crevice between her succulent breasts. God, those breasts felt like pure gold. I slid in and out of her cleavage and an energy built up inside my cock that I knew I wouldn’t be able to contain for much longer.

It was a rage, a rage at the world, a rage at everything that had happened to me. It was a rage at the twelve years we’d lost, the men I’d been forced to kill, the things they’d done to Faith, and the things they’d forced me to do to them.

I was cursed, but I was a man. And as long as a man has a woman and a child he can love, no curse matters.

That’s what Faith’s body told me. She was my forgiveness.

My deeds were a crime against the laws of man and God, but Faith’s body forgave me for all of it.

That’s what her eyes told me. If she was willing to let me take her, if she was willing to let me lay claim to her like this, then there must be some salvation after all.

The exquisite contraction. The muscular grind. The pleasure of orgasm.

A hot, white stream of sperm flew from the tip of my cock and landed along the valley of Faith’s cleavage. There it was, for God to see. My semen on this woman’s breasts. She was mine. And I was hers.

Whatever else I’d done in the world, I’d come to reclaim my woman. My family.

That had to mean something.

My cock poured, it flowed like a torrent, covering her chest in the sticky white mess of my manhood. There was no doubt. She was mine and there was nothing that could ever undo that. This was permanent. My orgasm rushed through me like a fire in an oil well. I’ve seen those fires up close. All the water of the ocean isn’t cold enough to put out those flames.

That’s what my orgasm was. She was covered in me. She was wet and sticky, and she was mine.

I collapsed onto her, my semen wet between our two chests. I didn’t care. I didn’t care about anything but her.

“Holy hell, Jackson,” she gasped. “Look what you’ve done to me.”