I’m wearing only a pair of lacey black panties and the matching bra.
“Stunning,” he says quietly. “Sit in that chair, Princess.”
I obey, glad for an excuse to be out of the spotlight, just standing and subjecting myself to his scrutiny makes me painfully vulnerable. I sit in the chair and fold my hands in my lap, squeezing my arms together to cover as much of myself as I can.
“Now close your eyes, and do absolutely everything I say.”
I close my eyes.
“Put your hands on your thighs,” he says, voice calm and deep.
I do as he says, letting the growing sense of abandon and excitement take charge over my frightened hands.
“Now touch yourself.”
I wait, thinking he has more instructions to give, but he doesn’t. He doesn’t mean…
I rub my hands down my thighs, eyes still closed, trying to be seductive and sexy, but feeling inept. A few seconds pass before he sighs. I wait again, thinking he will say more, but he doesn’t.
I’m not pleasing him. I push past my reservations and let my hand drift up my thigh, grazing the sensitive skin of my inner thigh and I find my waiting heat. My mind may be confused and I may be more self-conscious than I’ve ever been, but my body is responding to this. My panties are already soaked as I rub my fingers across myself, moaning softly when the wet material slides against my sensitive slit.
I hear Jackson groan quietly with satisfaction. I can practically imagine him biting his lip and palming himself as he watches.
Every passing second ramps up my desire to entirely new levels. Before long, I’m covering my mouth with one hand to suppress the embarrassingly desperate moans spilling from my lips.
“Touch yourself for me, Princess.”
The rough gravel of his voice caresses me as if it has fingers of its own. I gasp out, spreading my legs wider as I grind my hips against my hand, fingers working furiously between my legs.
“Finger yourself and imagine it’s my cock,” he says.
I breathlessly slide my hand inside my panties, working my forefinger and middle finger into myself, letting my palm rub against my clit each time I pump my fingers in and out.
“God, you’re so fucking perfect,” he says, voice low and hungry.
Every syllable drives me further until I’m panting, each breath a gasping moan. I lurch forward, driving my fingers deep, picturing Jackson over me, powerful muscles tightening and flexing as he pounds into me relentlessly, whispering commands in my ears.
“Cum for me, Princess.”
My mouth opens in a silent exclamation as my fingers freeze inside me, body spasming while I ride my climax. It’s stronger than anything I’ve ever felt, and when it finally passes, I feel weak. I slump in the chair, opening my eyes to see him looking at me with a cocky smirk.
“Goddamn,” he says. “I’ll sign the contract. I’ll sign anything that means I can see how fucking beautifully you cum again.”
Blood rushes to my cheeks.
There’s a knock at the door. A voice calls from the other side. “Mr. Pierce, we need your bloodwork. Why is this locked?”
I look down at my soaked panties and jolt out of the chair, running to put my clothes on faster than I ever have in my life.
“Well,” says Jackson loud enough to be heard through the door. “I was doing push ups in the nude and didn’t want anyone to interrupt.”
“Mr. Pierce!” calls the nurse, clearly annoyed.
I quickly brush the wrinkles from my clothes once I’m dressed and unlock the door. I sprint toward the bed and do a full belly slide to get behind the hospital bed before the door opens.
Jackson laughs out loud, grinning down at me.
I feel like a total idiot. Why did I just sprint and slide to the ground? It’s going to be obvious Jackson didn’t get up and do it.
“Who else is in here?” asks the nurse. She has a stern, matronly voice. The kind of woman who doesn’t play games.
“Well!” I say quickly, standing up and brushing off my knees. “Can’t find my earring anywhere. I thought for sure it would be under there.”
The nurse gives me an unamused look. “Miss, you need to leave. Mr. Pierce needs his rest.”
“I was just on my way out,” I say, looking once over my shoulder at Jackson, who winks, before I leave.
“You didn’t!” says Lacey.
I smile, twirling a strand of my hair. “I did.”
We’re sitting outside the campus library, watching a goose flap his wings at a group of freshmen and scare them as they try to cross the quad.
“Freshman mistake,” laughs Lacey as a young girl yelps with fear and drops her books in her hurry to escape the goose.
I look around campus with what feels like a new lens. My experience with Jackson yesterday has me feeling like I’ve crossed over some invisible threshold. I may still be a virgin, but I would find it hard to believe most people ever experience something as sexually powerful as what happened in that hospital room.
Even though I was still tired from the night before, I stayed up for hours putting down my own version of the scene into my story. The words flowed from me like I was possessed. It felt incredible, and now I’m not just craving the next time I can see Jackson, I’m craving the next experience he will give me. If every time I’m with him charges up my inspiration for writing like this, I’ll have a novel written within days.
I don’t know what thrills me more. Him, or what being with him is doing for my writing.
“Seriously though. You’re not bullshitting me?” asks Lacey.
“I’m completely serious,” I say. “I feel a little bad though. Like I’m using him to finish my story.”
“Screw that. The guy is offering to pay you and wants you to sign a contract for God’s sake. Something tells me he’d understand. Besides, it’s not like the book is the only reason you’re continuing to see him, right?”
“I don’t think it is,” I say. “But I mean, how would I even know if it was?”
Lacey shrugs. “Maybe you wouldn’t. I wouldn’t worry about it, either way. You’re making this a lot more complicated than it is. Sign the contract if you’re comfortable, enjoy yourself, and collect the money.”
“How much money is it, anyway?” I ask. I’ve heard Lacey and even Jackson mention it several times now, but I was so far from considering it that I didn’t even ask.
She narrows her eyes at me. “You mean you guys didn’t even talk about it?”
“Not exactly, no. You kept mentioning it. I thought it was on the site or something.”
“No. We just messaged him out of the blue, remember? I have no idea how much the contract pays. I’d guess a lot though, these guys are all mega rich. You just have to promise to take me on a shopping spree when you get paid.”
“Yeah,” I say distantly. Jackson and his contract seems like the answer to everything. I probably wouldn’t need to worry about money for a long time. I’d lose the virginity that has turned into a curse. I’d finally be able to finish my story.
But I know I’m not being entirely truthful with him, and I hate myself for that. Especially if I sign the NDA and still go on to write our sexual encounters into my story. The question is, can I risk telling him how I’m feeling without spoiling everything?