Beloved (Toni Morrison Trilogy #1)(22)
“I don’t know, Ashton. What the hell was I going to say? I tripped over a chair and fell on a ridiculously hot guy? I felt stupid enough. I didn’t need your shit too.” I laugh and gulp my wine.
“Only you! I swear this shit never happens to anyone else I know. So what are you going to do? I mean he’s hot and he’s obviously sexually attracted to you.” She raises her eyebrow and grins.
“I’m not going to do anything. He’s my client.”
“So? Who says you can’t service your boss?” She winks and giggles.
“I can’t believe you. You would never sleep with the doctors in the lab, would you?”
“Who says I haven’t? Plus, they’re all ugly as shit. If there was a hot one, I’d totally play doctor and let him cure me.” She lays her hand across her head in mockery.
“You have issues.” I groan at the sheer ridiculousness of my situation. “What the hell am I going to do?”
“You’re going to do what you always do—you’ll go in there and fight all of your emotions and kick some corporate ass. Then you’ll come home and wallow in your Ben & Jerry’s, be miserable, and cry yourself to sleep. Eventually, you’ll waste all your chances for a real connection and sabotage your own happiness.” She shrugs and refuses to break eye contact.
I gasp at the cruelty—and accuracy—of her statement. “What the hell, Ashton?”
“Sorry, Cat, but it’s true. You knew things were wrong with Neil, but instead of leaving him, you got engaged. Before him there was Eli. You stayed with him for years because he was safe and you thought you deserved the sheer hell he put you through. I’m not trying to hurt you.” She scoots over and puts her arm around me, pulling me into a hug. “I’m just telling you that whether this guy was your client or not, you’d find a reason to destroy yourself over him.”
My heart clenches at her words. It hurts so much coming from Ashton. I know she loves me, but I hate what she’s saying. “I don’t understand why every guy I meet or date lets me down.”
“You need to stop looking for this perfect guy. You need to get out of your own head and start having fun. Once the product is released, who knows where you and this Jackson guy will be? Maybe you’ll like him. Maybe he’ll be the world’s biggest piece of shit. Either way, you need to figure you out before you fret about all this. Monday morning, go to your meeting, be the kick-ass girl I know you are, and blow them all away.” She smiles reassuringly before picking up the empty wine glasses and bottles and heading into the kitchen.
I grab a pillow and clutch it to my chest. She’s right. It’s not like I even know Jackson or have any connection to him, other than this crazy feeling I get when I’m around him. I need to focus on my life for once. I don’t have to take anyone else into account. The realization is liberating. Now I need to figure out a way to make my body stop reacting to Jackson and all his sexiness.
For the third night in a row, I’ve slept like complete shit. I tossed and turned all night, tormented by images of Jackson and me rolling around in my bed. It was pure heaven. Then I woke up and realized none of the amazing things he just did to me were real. Now I’m all keyed up and have to go to a meeting where I’ll spend the majority of my time trying not to stare at his gorgeous face. I groan and roll over, punching my pillow, wishing that I could call in sick today. But I’m no chicken shit, so I throw my covers off and head into the bathroom.
I strip out of my clothes and enter the waterfall shower, turning on the side jets. The hot water relaxes my muscles as my mind wanders to—who else?—Jackson. I need a plan on how to handle him—he makes me feel too much. He’s even taken over my subconscious while I sleep. Last night’s vivid dream of Jackson touching me, licking me, and claiming me rushes back, rekindling my need for relief. I close my eyes, letting the steam envelop me as I start to remember the way he played with my body, as if he’d been doing it for years.
The warm scent of my vanilla body wash relaxes me as I gently rub the soap over my curves. I lean back against the cold shower tiles and slowly move my hands to my breasts, circling the soap, imagining it’s his mouth on me. My nipples harden as I tease myself. I start to gasp and moan, fantasizing that his hands and voice are coaxing me on, telling me how much he wants me. The demand to release becomes stronger as I get lost in the sensations. My hand slides down my slick skin until it finds my clit, circling the bundle of nerves, pushing me further and further into ecstasy. My muscles clench as I envision Jackson’s fingers, his body covering mine and entering me. I insert one finger, climbing higher, higher, moaning and quivering. My release comes fast and hard as I increase the friction, finally erupting. I’m panting as bursts of light blur my vision.
Eventually, I come down from my euphoric state, finish my shower, and manage to dress myself without any major catastrophe. Hopefully the release will alleviate some of the tension in my body and make it easier to deal with Jackson. I make it to the train without a minute to spare, but at least it’s nice and quiet. I’m hoping I can hold on to this blissful feeling all day.
Once I arrive in Manhattan, a new set of emotions overcomes me. Raw strength and determination flow through me. There’s something about working in New York City. You can almost feel the power in the streets. It’s a breeding ground for success. Being here, working here, living here—it’s invigorating.