Authors: Emily Cooper
The lights flicker out just as I finish settling into the guesthouse for the night.
From my bedroom window I can just make out the ruby orange glow of sunset across the water, the teal blanket chopping ferociously as the hurricane gets stronger.
I’m immediately regretting my decision again to be alone in the storm.
The hurricane isn’t at its peak yet; I could make it over the air bridge easily.
But before I have a chance to way up the pros and cons of where I should stay, I hear three loud bangs on the glass front door and nearly jump out of my skin.
I rush over to open it and find Jackson half drenched and holding an umbrella, the water flowing off it torrents with the air bridge barely visible behind him.
“You should really come back over,” he states sternly. “My backup generator won’t kick in. It’d be safer if we stuck together tonight.”
His eyes linger on me, waiting for a response.
After a minute of deliberating, I decide that he’s right.
The smart thing to do is to stay together. Of course it is.
Even if he is the man that I have attacked for two years…
“Okay,” I say with a quick nod, accompanied by a rigorous rumble from my belly.
I haven’t eaten anything today but the sludge they gave me on the plane.
Flying first class isn’t all it’s cracked up to be food-wise.
The extra legroom, comfy big seats, quick service and unlimited champagne on the other hand was quite exceptional.
“I don’t suppose you have anything to eat over there by any chance?” I add.
“I do, actually,” he replies, grinning deviously. “I’d just finished cooking when the lights went out. I hope you like oysters Kilpatrick and smoked salmon!”
“Honestly, I could eat a horse if that’s what was going,” I tell him candidly, surprising even myself with my change of tone.
On the plane I’d decided to remain short and sharp with him at all times.
And yet something in those deep, bottomless eyes is daring me to do otherwise.
I think back to my conversation with Hank and the reference to me potentially seducing Jackson to get the exposé.
Am I really capable of such a thing?
I’ve always considered myself to be a reasonable and morally apt kind of person. ‘
We are what we do in this world, Claire’,
had been her father’s motto for years
and if being immoral is at the core of it, then we cannot consider ourselves to be good people, now can we
And yet uncovering the truth about Jackson and his mines could be seen as doing a great justice to the world.
I wonder what my father would think of my little ultimatum.
I suspect he wouldn’t be too pleased if I chose the former and somewhat seductive pathway.
But then again, he’s a public prosecutor, forever trying to find the injustice of a case even when it isn’t there.
I leave Jackson waiting at the door whilst I go and gather up my things.
“Oh, don’t be ridiculous, Claire,” I gabble to myself. “You’re both trapped in a hurricane. You can at least talk civilly to the guy and hear him out. Honestly, you’re acting like a precious schoolgirl.”
And just like a precious schoolgirl would find it hard to resist the captain of the football team, I fear I too may fall prey to my desires…
When we reach the house, we dry ourselves by the open fire in the main living room, surrounded by hanging deer antlers and more of Jackson’s evocative paintings. We eat the oysters and smoked salmon, a bottle of ridiculously expensive Shiraz also empty on the pine wood table between us.
Up until this point the conversation has been mostly small talk: the history of the area, the architectural details of the mansion, how many hurricanes this part of Canada has witnessed in the last ten years.
But now that I’m on my third glass of wine and feeling fairly confident, I decide it’s time to up the ante.
“So, my editor said you requested me to come here personally. What’s the deal with that?” I ask Jackson frankly, looking him straight in the eye.
“I’ve read your work. You’re a good journalist,” he answers straightaway. “You’re not afraid of exposing the
details.” He holds his glass up to his lips. “That’s what you think I am right?
He takes a sip of the wine, his eyes static and still on me.
I laugh weakly and polish off the rest of my glass. “
is a strong word, Mr. Windsor.”
“Indeed it is, Miss Hudson. Another wine?”
“Why not?” I retort, still mulling over the rest of my answer as I watch him get up and head down the corridor towards the wine cellar.
When he comes back with a vintage Merlot he refills both of our glasses and returns to the black leather armchair by the fire.
“So you didn’t answer my question?” he gibes, staring into the flames.
If I wasn’t already half buzzed, I’d find him quite intimidating, but at this very moment in time all he represents to me is a very attractive man who has information.
The flickering light of the fire has cast his handsome face into harsh, angular planes, an anger blazing there I suspect that has yet to surface.
I sweep my eyes over Jackson once more; despite my dislike for him I also can’t deny the sexual pull I feel towards him.
Every time I try to remind myself what a scoundrel he is, another portion of me tries to cancel it out, yearning for his lissome body and come-hither lips like an animal in heat.
I think I’m starting to come around to the idea that flirting might just be the right way to go about getting this interview.
“I don’t think you’re
,” I say demurely, tracing the rim of my glass with my finger. “I don’t know you.”
“Really?” he replies speculatively. “Because many of your feature articles refer to me as
‘the billionaire toy boy who endorses slave labor and torture camps.’ ”
Okay…he’s got you on that one, Claire.
“It’s curious that the publication even prints them,” he then inserts.
“Why’s that?” I ask defensively, not quite sure of where he’s going with all this.
“Well, the stories that have been coming out of
Leading Edge Press
lately haven’t exactly be stellar reads.”
“Sorry? I still don’t follow...”
“There seems to be a shift away from serious new stories in your paper, Claire. If I had to take an estimated guess, I’d say that this time next year the kind of stories you choose to write about won’t even be featured in it anymore.”
His statement comes as a hard blow.
I knew Hank has been directing the paper away from more important news stories recently, but inferring that they’ll be gone completely is a bit harsh.
“It’s true that my editor wants the paper to focus more on ‘pop culture’ and ‘sensationalism,’ which honestly I can’t stand to read about let alone write about. But I don’t think he’d be so brash as to get rid of serious news completely.”
Jackson tips his head to one side like he disagrees, the hint of a smug smirk on his lips.
“Getting back to what you said earlier though,” I continue. “So you disagree with those comments then? About being a billionaire playboy?”
His face carves into a wide smile, revealing white, even teeth. “Are we on the record now, Claire?” he asks with fastened insolence.
“If you want to be,” I say, batting my doe eyes at him and running my tongue provocatively across my lips.
But as far as I’m concerned, we’ve always been on the record.
Our eyes lock together in a contest of wills, neither one wanting to submit to the other.
I stand my ground and keep my eyes locked on him.
Even though I know he’s probably just toying with me, but I’m determined to beat him, overpower him, and get the facts no other journalist has succeeded in obtaining.
And if that means a scandalous tumble in the sheets…so be it.
The story would be worth it.
“Why did you close your mines?” I inquire gently, crossing over my leg towards him.
He seems like the kind of guy who knows the fine art of body language.
Fall for the bait, Jackson
He takes another mouthful of wine and breaks his gaze, a small victory for me as a tick of nervousness appears on his face.
“Come with me,” he then orders, disregarding my question as he gets back up and walks down the corridor.
A large slice of me doesn’t want to obey him.
I have a loose idea of what awaits me at the other end, as an image of a bed and Jackson stark naked loops in my mind.
“It’s just for the story,” I tell myself when I rise, tracing his footsteps up the dark passage.
Jackson leads me to the end of the house, stopping at a glass panorama of windows that display the violent ocean and jutted rocks below.
Okay, Claire, it’s not where you had thought he was taking you. That’s interesting...
“It’s bittersweet,” Jackson says after a few moments of silence, staring out into the violent half-lit night. “How something so raw and beautiful could also be so dark and sinister.”
Much like some of your paintings,
I want to say but once again lose all courage to spit it out.
As I match his gaze out the window I feel like I’m suspended in air, perched in a glass box in the middle of a wild hurricane.
Happy flipping Friday indeed,
I think to myself, shuddering at the thought of the box suddenly smashing and sending the both of us down to a grisly death.
“It’s rather like you, actually,” Jackson resumes, head turned in my direction. “So beautiful, yet so full of…unhappiness.”
I hardly believe the words when they fall out of his mouth.
I am not full of unhappiness!
How dare he say that! I’m happy…at least 90 percent of the time.
I love my lifestyle in New York: my apartment, my friends and more specifically my job, except for the Hank side of it.
“I beg your pardon?” I throw at him, anger surging in me.
If I were any drunker I’d consider slapping him in the face.
Although thinking that back over, if I’m really being honest with myself, I most likely wouldn’t do something like that.
As much as my fiery temper at times otherwise suggests, I wouldn’t even hurt a spider if it were crawling over my pillow; I’m one of those people who trap them in a jar and release them back outside instead.
“You don’t know me,” I jeer at him, whose arrogant smirk is enough to make anyone lose their cool. “How dare you insinuate otherwise.”
“You claim to know who I am in your articles,” he snaps wittily like he’s enjoying riling me up.
“Prove me wrong then,” I say, nostrils flaring whilst I straighten out my chest. “Tell me what happened in the mines.”
“You’re also a foolish little journalist, you know that?” he quips again, the smirk still there like a proud narcissist.
Then before I even have a chance to blink he clasps an arm around my slim waist, pulling me against him.
His free hand tangles in my hair, pulling on it so hard that I’m forced to look up at him.
He appears to be studying my face: eyes, nose and pinched lips, each distinct feature, like they hold an answer to something he’s been trying to figure out.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” I shout, struggling under his grip.
Never in my life has anyone touched me so forwardly.
Has this been his plan all along?
Asking me over here from the guesthouse…serving up oysters, a well-known aphrodisiac, and then plowing me with his fine, aged wine to get me tipsy enough to sleep with him whilst the backdrop of a hurricane rages on around us?
It’s a perfect seduction, really.
I should’ve heeded Sophia’s warning after all…
“Don’t play coy with me, Claire. You’ve been batting those long, glossy eyelashes at me. I thought this was what you wanted,” he says in a superior tone.
“It most certainly is not what I want,” I wince, still trying to pull away from him, yet also finding it equally hard to fight the effect his hands on me is having on my libido. “Don’t flatter yourself.”
But Jackson hasn’t seemed to hear me, lowering his face closer, and his breaths warm and infused with wine.
It shouldn’t come as a great shock when he kisses me, but my body doesn’t know it. His lips move easily, teasing my mouth before his tongue finally enters and collides with mine.
I stiffen instinctively, at first repelled by him and trying again to burn in my mind what a tyrant he is…the workers he’s forced into labor…the torture camp he may have endorsed…but then more pleasurable sensations take over, spreading out over my body.
I haven’t been laid in over six months, and the synthesis of his body against mine is bringing out a dormant desire begging to be fulfilled.
When he ends the earth-shattering kiss I am left speechless and compliant in his arms.
“So that’s what malicious journalism tastes like,” he whispers, his lips trailing down to my neck. “Funny, I wasn’t counting on it being so satisfyingly sweet.”
“You’re an animal,” I murmur, yet can’t help but revel from the touch of his lips.
Soon they return to mine again, and willingly I open my mouth back up to him, a dizzying cloud of hunger enveloping my mind from the loss of contact with his lips only seconds earlier.
He kisses me fervently, lust now the only true north as he scoops me up into his arms and carries me upstairs to the master bedroom.
I feel vulnerable but comfortable in his strong arms.
He makes me feel like a woman that needs his care…
On his dark antique four-poster bed, draped with white Egyptian silk sheets, we embrace again, tearing our clothes off feverishly so that we’re both naked under each other’s ravenous gaze.
As Jackson’s mouth traverses down my body I purr in his ear, “A friend warned me about you. She said you get whoever you want.”
“You should have listened to her,” he purrs back. “She knows what she’s talking about.”
He stares at me for a while before moving in to kiss me again.
He is intoxicating.
I uncontrollably moan against his demanding lips. His hands explore my figure without constraint; he isn’t timid while touching me, and it sets my body on fire.
No one has never touched me like this.
I need more.
His tongue traces my mouth before it intertwines with my own.
He kisses me with a hunger that I’ve never experienced.
It’s something that I’ve read about and have seen in the movies, but no one has ever kissed me like this. He doesn’t even know me, but he’s treating me like I’m the only person in his world.
For tonight, I want to pretend.
The hard bulge between us presses against my leg.
Oh… that’s big.
My hand moves down his body until it reaches his cock.
He gives a slight groan as I gently massage his hardness. I can feel the blood surging to his cock and he’s getting harder with each passing second.
A deep moan escapes my lips and I feel….powerful!
I’m the one getting all of these amazing reactions from one of the hottest men I’ve ever seen.
His kisses move to my ear and he whispers, “You’re so fucking beautiful.”
I shudder against him as he kisses across my shoulder. I feel exposed and vulnerable, but it is difficult to feel insecure when he is looking at me like he’s ready to consume me. I feel like a real woman. One that is desired and wanted. One that is in control.
It’s downright sexy.
“Amazing…” he groans as he kisses my perky breasts.
My responding giggle quickly turns into a moan as he licks my nipple.
His hands mimic my actions from earlier, he cups my center in his large hand and massages it with his palm. I push against his hand because I love the friction it provides.
“You’re so responsive,” he mutters.
His mouth finds my nipple again and he begins a slow and sensual assault.
His tongue flicks quickly over it as he holds it in place with his teeth.
Each flick of his warm velvet tongue goes directly to my pleasure center.
There is no mistaking it – I am his.
His fingers gently brush me before he dips his middle finger inside of my wet and waiting pussy.
Just one finger has me writhing in pleasure.
He gives it a slight wiggle and laughs lightly as I moan uncontrollably.
“You like that?” he asks in a commanding voice.
I give him a shy nod – I do like it.
His smile is filled with lust and he dips his head between my legs.
He sucks my aching clit into his mouth, causing me to wriggle against his face, and flex my walls around his finger.
He presses another digit inside of me and I am lost. My body becomes alight with the flood of sexual sensation – my skin tingling with passion.
His fingers press against my g-spot as his mouth makes love to me.
From somewhere deep inside, a loud moan escapes. I have never been one to be loud in bed, but right now, I can’t stop it. I can’t stop anything.
This man is doing the most amazing things with his mouth and the world should know.
His mouth is mind-blowing. It’s soft, warm, and firm.
I don’t know what he’s going to do next, he’s keeping me on the edge with my next orgasm is threatening to erupt.
“Jackson,” I whisper as I place my hand on the back of his head.
He speeds up his momentum and sucks hard, demanding my orgasm. His other hand travels up my body and pinches my nipple.
I am lost…
“Oooooh, I’m coming. Faster...more...please...yes...there,” I plead as I press my pussy against his wanting mouth.
Suddenly, I’m not sure if I’m experiencing multiple orgasms or one long one. My body is out of control, seizing, and then releasing my pent-up frustration.
My mind is somewhere else…
As I come down from my orgasm induced high, he moves back up to me.
I grab his face between my hands and kiss him.
I can taste my sex on his lips and I don’t care.
He’s an excellent man, I would vote for him if he ran for president.
Anybody that can do that with their mouth deserves the very best that life has to offer.
He leans back from me and I catch a full view of his body. He is a work of art and I unashamedly stare at him.
I want to get a full view of him so that it can be ingrained in my head forever.
His chiseled chest and abs are the things that statues are made of, but his cock is the main attraction.
It’s thick, powerful, and bulging.
It’s bobbing up and down in twitching motions and I have to reach out and touch it.
I lay back on the bed, he joins me and nudges my knees apart with his.
He crawls between my things and begins to tease me.
Jackson moves his cock head up and down my lips. I press forward trying to take him inside of me.
He laughs at my attempts and I give a frustrated growl.
“So the journalist wants this story?” he asks.
“Stop talking. Take me,” I state firmly.
“Well, I wouldn’t want an angry journalist.”
His hard cock pushes deep into me in one swift motion.
I yelp loudly as my body tries to accommodate him.
“You’re so big,” I purr hungrily.
“And all yours…”
He pulls all the way out of me.
“Come back…” I moan.
I need him back.
I need him deep inside me again.
He plunges deep inside of me again.
I’m ready for him this time and it feels so much better.
I have never had anyone so big. He is touching me in spots that have never been touched before. He’s opening me completely and with each stroke, he brings me closer to another orgasm.
“I want to feel your pussy cream all over me,” he states.
I nod my head in agreement.
“No, tell me you can give it to me,” he demands.
I blush because I’m not accustomed to talking dirty.
Usually, I don’t say a word in bed.
He stops his movements and stares at me.
I move my hips against him, taking more of him inside of me, but he grabs my hips and holds them in place.
“Tell me,” he demands again.
“I can try,” I say meekly.
“No. Don’t try. Do it,” he says as he withdraws and thrusts into me again.
It’s hard for me to stay focused on what he is saying.
I am lost in the way he is taking me.
What does he even want me to say?
“Say it,” he demands.
He gives me no choice but to reply.
“I can cum all over your dick.”
“That’s more like it.”
His pace begins to quicken and he is taking me harder than I have ever been taken.
His thrusts become deeper, the bed slams heavily against the wall but I can’t give it any thought. This man is completely dominating me.
He owns me.
My pussy convulses, contracts, and I give him exactly what he wants.
I pull him close to me as my orgasm overtakes my entire body.
It floods into every part of my body and my head throws back on the bed.
As another orgasm begins to calm down, he withdraws from me, “Turn over.”
His deep, tough voice controls me.
My body rolls over onto my hands and knees.
He slowly trails kisses down my spine before he kisses both cheeks of my ass.
“You’re so perfect,” he says in a low voice.
His large hands grab my hips and he plunges deep inside of me again.
“Ooooh yes…,” he moans.
“Faster,” I demand as I push back against him, meeting him thrust for thrust.
The sound of his thighs slapping against my ass can be heard throughout the room.
He is pounding me with his hardness… and I love it.
He groans and grabs a hand-full of my hair, pulling it forcefully as he fucks me like I can’t believe.
One last time…
He thrusts deep into my wetness.
And I am blinded by another orgasm.
He collapses on me, and I welcome his body weight.
Eventually he rolls over and pulls me with him so that we can cuddle with each other. The warmth touch of his body feels wonderful.
I never want this moment to end.
I want this moment to last forever.
“That was incredible,” I gasp, still reeling from the experience.
“You were incredible,” he kisses my forehead.
In the warm embrace, I feel safe.
I feel at ease.
His warm touch feels like home.
Before long, I fall asleep while enjoying the luxury of a stranger’s embrace.