Page 45 of The Sacrifice
“I want you to come so hard I can feel it forty miles away.”
“That’s so hot.” I brace one hand on the washing machine, lean backward as I swipe a finger into the wetness between my lips and moan as I dive inside. He’s taking me places I never knew I wanted to go, and I love every second of it. “Show me.”
“What do you want to see?” His voice is thick and husky, as if he’s nearing his own release.
"I want to see your cock as I fuck myself. I want to see your semen squirt onto your abs.” I repeatedly rub the wetness over my hard nub, drawing closer to orgasm. My thighs shake from holding back.
“You’re dirty, and I love it.” My heart skips a beat. Love. Did he say, love? Okay. Not love, love. But I love how dirty you are. That’s not the same thing. He lifts his shirt, exposing those washboard abs, and pans to his face. “I love everything about you.”
I stop with my finger on my clit and swallow.
“Tell me I’m not alone.” I see worry in his eyes for a second, and I’m a goner. I never want to see worry or fear etched on his face. At least not where I’m concerned.
“You’re not alone.”
“Good.” He winks, and the cocky swagger returns almost as if the uncertainty was never there. “Get back to the video sex. This is the best money I’ve spent in my life.”
I dive into my pussy, gather my juices, and rub my clit. “I don’t remember getting paid.” I cringe.Shit. He does pay me. Does that make this wrong?
“I’ll pay you tonight with my tongue, fingers, and my cock. He’s missing you so much.” His thumb slides over the head of his dick as he works at a steady pace over his erection. Watching a guy jerk off is the hottest thing I’ve ever seen. Hell, everything Jackson does is the hottest thing I’ve ever seen. “I’m going to fuck that tight pussy with my tongue. I want to feel your body reaching for me. Begging for me. Coming for me. Then I’m going to slip my fingers deep inside of you and make you come again. I want you too sated to move and then I’m going to destroy you with my dick.”
“Oh, God, yesssss,” I hiss, and my hips lurch off the washing machine, making the metal pop.
“Fuck,” he grunts, and a spurt of white, sticky liquid lands on his abs.
My heart beats against my rib cage as the thought of doing something forbidden leaves me feeling like a naughty rebel. A fucking lucky naughty rebel. “I wish I could lick that semen off your abs.”
He chuckles and pans the camera back to his face. “I wish you would lick it off my cock instead.”
I hop off the washing machine. “You’re on. That was…” I bite my bottom lip. “That was fun and exciting. Thank you. I feel much better.”
“You’re welcome, doll.” He licks his lips and pauses as his gaze penetrates mine.Holy hell. It’s hot in here.The man is intense. “I’ll see you tonight.”
“Yeah, you, too.” I click off the phone and clutch it to my chest while standing in the middle of the laundry room. I’m in love with Jackson David Rhodes. A smile curves up to my cheeks. I’m in love with Jackson David Rhodes.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Mia
While stirring the homemade spaghetti sauce, I hum and dance to the music piping through the surround sound. I would’ve never considered a full-home speaker system, but that’s one of the perks of money–being able to buy things you didn’t even know you needed.
It’s cool to be able to play the same music throughout the house or different songs in each room if the mood strikes. Can it play off the television? Listening to Jackson’s away games would be awesome via surround sound. I’ll have to ask him. His first one is this weekend.
I switch off the stove and add the sauce to the finished pasta. The room smells like heaven between the Italian seasoning and the garlic bread. Or at least my version of it anyway.
My cellphone vibrates on the counter, and Olivia’s face pops up on the screen.Crap.Pretending I’m not doing anything wrong when it’s just us at home and the outside world can stick it is one thing. Having to explain the situation to Olivia is another. I’m breaking every nanny code rule there is.
You can do this.I swipe the screen open. “Hey, Olivia.”
“Why haven’t I heard from you? I thought maybe he’d murdered you, cut you into tiny pieces, buried you in his massive backyard firepit, and sprinkled your ashes on his rose garden.”
“He doesn’t have a rose garden.” I lean my hip against the stove.
“Funny. You know what I mean. You said the two of you don’t get along, so I was worried he’d do something to you.”
“And you instantly went to murder?”
With fifteen minutes remaining until he gets home, I turn the oven to a low setting to re-warm the bread.