More Than Physical (The Physical Series Book Book 2) (15 page)

He sucked and savored, as delicious sensations rippled through her. Her legs shook as she white knuckled the table’s edge, her rapid breathing slowly returning to normal as the orgasm subsided, leaving her sated and blissed out.

That moment quickly dissipated, as the waitress stopped in front of their table, a tray of food in her hands and a sweet smile on her face. Jax withdrew his fingers, leaving her empty and bereft, as he leaned back in the booth in an upright position, allowing room for the waitress to lean in with their plates.

She turned to see him smile at the waitress, just before he slipped his fingers into his mouth, licking them off.

Hottest. Thing. Ever
.

And when he spoke to the waitress, his voice pure sex, yet completely composed, his words held a meaning that only he and Sasha were privy to.

“Mmm. That smells delicious. I can taste it already.” He winked and then dug in.

How on earth was she going to get through this meal without jumping his bones?

Time was of the essence. If he didn’t get inside Sasha within the next twenty minutes, it was very possible he might perish. And right now, she was doing her very best to kill him.

Trying to keep his eyes on the road and his hands on the steering wheel felt like a task as difficult as dismantling an atomic bomb under water. Jackson drove as fast as he could, being careful to avoid breaking any speed laws (or very few, at least), as they made their way to her place.

In the small confining space of his car, Sasha’s sweet floral scent pervaded his senses, and did nothing to slow down his insatiable need to have his way with her. And then, of course, there was her hand that suddenly appeared out of nowhere and landed on his crotch. Now did he not only have to keep his eyes on the road, but he also had to avoid having a heart attack.

A quick glance down at his lap confirmed a pair of small hands working at his belt buckle.

“Uh…what are you doing, Sash? I’m kind of in the middle of driving right now.”

She snickered, as if he’d made a joke. But this wasn’t funny. This was serious business and although he didn’t really need an answer to point out the obvious, he did want to know what she had in mind.

“We’re still a few miles from my house,” she confirmed, her hands now working at his zipper and button. “And I want to give you road head. It’s only fair to reciprocate.”

She’d said it so matter-of-factly, and with such conviction, as if she was simply stating that she voted Democrat or only ate green grapes.

Jackson swallowed the lump in his throat, the need so sharp that his mouth had gone as dry as the Sahara. His cock strained against his briefs, fighting to be freed. Which she did with the flick of her hands. One minute he’s concentrating on the road and the next all he could focus on was the feel of her fingers wrapping around him, stroking him into submission.

“Fuck, Sash…what are you doing to me?”

Her only response was the moan she uttered when she wrapped her lips around his dick. Her tongue swirled around the head, placing just the right amount of suction to nearly make him lose his mind. How the hell was he supposed to concentrate on getting them home while she was using her mouth as a singular form of torture? How could he endure the pain and pleasure she clearly enjoyed doling out?

And to make matters worse, he knew that Sasha knew that he was at her mercy. She was controlling the shots at that moment – 100 percent. No doubt about it. She could stop or continue and there was nothing that he could do about it. Which made him her puppet, and she held on to the strings. Or in this case, her mouth held on to his very eager member.

“Don’t get me wrong…because what you’re doing right now is the hottest thing ever. But I’m a little worried I may get a little, uh, sidetracked if you continue to do that with your…
aaaah
….mouth.”

Her teeth had scraped over his flesh, causing an interruption of his words and a complete loss of rational thought. In fact, he thought he might have blacked out for a moment. The muscles in his legs and thighs tightened, his hands white-knuckling the steering wheel. Honestly, he wasn’t sure if he could maintain his focus on the road any longer if he were to let go and allow for her to overtake him with her seductive ministrations.

“Ah, fuck it.”

Flipping on his right blinker, he maneuvered the car onto a side road down a quiet, tree-lined street, and pulled over to the curb. Sasha popped her head up and looked around just as he placed the car in park.

“This isn’t my street.”

“Nope. But I’ve just now realized that I’m not as good a multi-tasker that I thought I was,” he said, the sound of his automatic seat being moved back from the knob he pressed down. Now in position to let her have his way with him, Jackson slid his hand behind the nape of her neck, fingering the soft curls.

“I can’t drive and manage the road while you’re doing wicked things to my dick. So, this way, I can give you my full attention.”

She wiggled her eyebrows and licked her lips, just as he pulled her lips to his, claiming her with a searing kiss. Dragging his mouth away, satisfied with his work when she let out a groan of disappointment, he threaded his fingers through her hair, gripping her tightly before leaning back in his seat.

“Now, I beg you…please continue making me a happy man.”

“I like it when you beg,” she giggled, bending her head again so he could feel her warm breath across his wet tip. “Let’s see how very,
very
happy I can make you.”

****

The intensity was off-the-charts. No other woman had ever made him feel so reckless before. For fuck’s sake, she just gave him a blowjob in his parked car, on a fairly busy city street, and he didn’t give it a moment’s thought to the consequences.

If he believed in voodoo or witchcraft, he’d begin to think Sasha had cast some sort of spell over him. There could have been a street parade traveling down the street and he wouldn’t have even noticed. All his attention was on the gorgeous, raven-haired angel sitting next to him, a smug look stretched across her face.

He may have given her reason for that smug smile, considering he just admitted that she’d given him the best blowjob ever.

Due to the unavailable parking near her brownstone, Jackson had to park a few blocks away, making him glad that the weather was still pleasant enough for evening walks. Sliding out of his seat, he sauntered over to the passenger side where he opened Sasha’s door, extending a hand to help her out. Jackson’s eyes landed on her lap, as he watched Sasha gracefully maneuver herself out of the car. He stared with rapt interest at the asymmetrical hem of her dress, which opened daringly between her thighs, giving him a little peep-show.

Sasha didn’t feign offense or bat her eyelashes demurely when she caught him staring. She simply smiled and patted his ass cheek as she walked ahead of him toward the direction of her house.

Locking the car doors with a click of the remote, Jackson moved to fall in-line next to her, linking his fingers with hers, as they meandered through her neighborhood.

Spying a nearly deserted park up ahead, he pulled her in the direction of the gate entrance.

She frowned, giving his hand a hard yank when he pressed on.

“What are you doing? My house is that way.” She pointed down the street.

Jackson nodded, offering her a brief smile as he dropped her hand and opened the wrought-iron gate. “Come on. Indulge me.”

She reluctantly trudged behind him as Jackson perused the small community park. An area to the right was enclosed in a wire fence, a sign tacked on to the barrier to indicate it was a community garden.

Suddenly very interested in knowing more about Sasha and what kind of hobbies she pursued, he couldn’t help but ask the question.

“Do you garden?”

The small patch of well-tended earth reminded him of his own mother. Celia Hamilton-Koda was born and bred to fit into high society. She was a southern debutant and a crowned Miss Georgia Peach who married his father when she was a mere nineteen-year-old. Not even legal drinking age. They tried several years to have a child before finding out she suffered from endometriosis infertility and couldn’t bare his father any children of their own.

Jackson would never fully comprehend why his parents went to such extremes to have a child, considering they rarely spent time with him as it was. It was all about appearances, he supposed. By the age of twenty-five, his mother had become desperate for a child so she could be seen as the perfect wife and mother for her successful businessman husband.

Whether she felt it her within her duty to produce a progeny and heir to the Koda family fortune, or she was just lonely and bored in the absence of his father, Stephen, whose job often took him all around the world, the couple finally found hope in a surrogate. And along came Jackson Phillip Stephen Hamilton-Koda.

A mouthful of a name for a child who was to be seen and not heard. Or, as he hit school-age, not even seen. Jackson was shipped off to boarding schools by the time he was ten. Elementary school through middle-school, Jackson spent in an all-boys school in Massachusetts, before transferring to an elite college prep school in Connecticut. While he’d known his parents loved him in their own way, it was never outwardly expressed. Not verbally or physically.

So when it came to his mother’s flower garden, Jackson was always a bit envious of the time and attention his mother lavished on her botanical babies. She’d spend hours cultivating her peonies and petunias, or trimming the rose hedges.

Sasha let out a scoff, waving her hand in front of her body. “No, I don’t garden. I wasn’t blessed with a green thumb, much to my mother’s distinct displeasure. But I do like
receiving
flowers from the male species, if that counts.”

She quirked a smile, leaving him to wonder how many men had sent her flowers in the past. A slight growl of jealousy whirled in his chest.

Jackson reached for her hand and entwined his fingers with hers, lightly stroking the inside of her palm.

“Green thumb or not, your hands are better used elsewhere.”

She slugged him in the shoulder with a huff. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“Ow!” he laughed, realizing then that she thought his comment was sexual in nature. He brought her hand to his lips and placed a kiss on the top of her hand.

“I didn’t mean it that way, Shorty. I meant that you were gifted a pair of hands that can work medical miracles on people. So much more important than whether you can grow a decent rose bush.”

She seemed to like the compliment, brushing her shoulder against his as they continued their walk through the park.

“Tell me about your family – your parents,” she asked, the sound of her heels clicking along the cobblestone path. “I don’t know much about your life.”

They stopped in front of a sculpture of a mother and child, the bronze structure now tinged green from the weather and years of harsh New England elements. How apropos that they stood in front of an art piece that was representative of the love between a mother and child. The unconditional nature of that relationship, a bond that should remain strong as the child grows.

Shaking his head, Jackson shrugged his shoulders.

“Not much to tell. My mother, Celia, was born and raised in Georgia and was a teenage beauty queen. She married my father, Stephen, who came from an affluent family in upstate New York. He took over the helm of the family business when he was twenty-six. Still runs it. My mother is a dutiful wife and enjoys the trappings of their success.”

He urged her along the quaint, cobblestone path that meandered through the park property, stopping every few feet to admire the landscaping and various artist pieces. The park was in the shape of a horseshoe, and they were nearing the exit on the opposite side of where they started.

As they stood near the end of the park’s sidewalk, Sasha turned to look up at him, her eyes shimmering, flecks of gold interspersed amongst the deep brown pools. This woman had so many different sides of her, and he was just now learning about each one. The tough and determined side. The fun, snarky girl. The intense and moody. The sexy, erotic woman.

This one peering up at him between her long, dark lashes, seemed hesitant. Almost shy. It confused him. A foreign feeling rushed through his veins. A need to protect. To act as her shoulder to lean on. To be…what? Her knight in shining armor? To prove to her that he was capable of so much more than she was asking from him.

“Our mother’s sound like one in the same,” she snorted, her hand releasing from his and moving up to run along the edge of his jaw. “But I’m guessing your mother doesn’t constantly hound you about when you’re going to settle down and find a “
nice woman
”, is she?”

His hands settled on her hips, yanking her gently to press against his body. She felt good. It felt so right to have her close to him.

“No, my mother and I don’t really talk all that often. And when we do, she knows better than to bring up my love life. In fact, I’ve never even introduced them to any women I’ve dated. They live in Manhattan and I’ve never been with anyone long enough to feel compelled to subject them to my parents.”

He thought back to his time with Abigail and how she’d badgered him to introduce her to his parents. But the timing never felt right. His family wasn’t typical, and didn’t have holiday family gatherings where you’d expect to introduce the woman you’re dating. So, he just never bothered to schedule a time, even though they made plenty of trips to New York together. And then she left him. So it was a moot point, anyway.

He laughed under his breath, thinking of what a clusterfuck that would be – bringing home a woman he loved to meet his unloving parents.

When was the last time he even spoke to his parents? He was just in New York a few weeks before and didn’t even bother to call them up to let them know he was in town. Why bother?

His father would likely have been out of town on business and his mother…well, she would’ve carved out a lunch hour for him, or at the bare minimum a cocktail hour, where they would have had a drink. She would tell him about her latest projects or gossiped about her supposed friends, and then she’d be on her way. No questions or even feigned interest in his life.