Prologue
I knew I was asleep.
I knew he wasn’t here but it didn’t make the sound of his deliciously sensual voice rasping my name any less real, my skin scorching under his firm caress. My spiteful mind torturing me with images of his wickedly full lips tantalizing an over-sensitized nipple on my achingly swollen breast. I gasp his name in a desperate plea for him to push me over the edge into a fiercely blissful climax before I lose my mind.
He moves his mouth to mine, crushing my lips, his tongue devouring me with wild abandon as his fingers continue to fuck the slick, throbbing tissues between my legs making every muscle clench in anticipation. I thrust shamelessly into his dextrous probing, needing it rougher, faster and just...more.
I need more.
I scream his name as he parts my flesh, places the crown of his impressive, rock hard erection into my opening and I can’t bear the teasing. I feel like I’m going to combust as he shifts his ripped sex-on-legs body in preparation to pound deep into me. His abs clench and I know its coming and I’m so desperate for it; I need to be filled with him. I tilt my hips up to meet the violent thrust that consumes me completely...
…And like always, I wake up, sweaty and denied.
* * *
Jackson Smoak.
A man who frequents my dreams often and my nightmares even more. Even the erotic ones leave me trembling…and not in a good way.
He scares and excites me in equal measure and even when I do have a dream that wakes me gasping with sweat beading on my face and an unrelenting tightness in my core, the fierceness of my subconscious reaction to him terrifies me.
So, I never win.
Jackson continues to leave his mark and I can’t escape it.
For ten years he’s haunted me and if there was any possibility, supernatural or not, that he could influence my dreams, I’d swear he was doing it on purpose.
The erotic dreams leave me needy, breathless and very sexually frustrated. When those feelings subside enough for me to reconnect with the rest of my emotions, I feel weak, exposed, shameful and horribly empty. The first three make sense; the powerful reaction to Jackson in person is understandable, but to continue to respond like that to a dream? It’s more than a little pathetic. But I don’t want to give any real thought as to why my dreams leave me feeling empty; I’m frightened of the answer to that one.
In the past decade, on the occasions our paths have crossed, he’s been relentless and never left me alone no matter how much I begged him to. And I’ve spent a lot of energy ignoring the persistent voice in my head telling me that I’m glad he doesn’t listen. The voice never wins out; Jackson Smoak is dangerous and I run…every time…without fail.
So, here I sit, in the quiet dark breathing deeply with the soft bed sheets pooled around my waist, trying to recover from the raging desire my dream has left me with, willing my pulse to slow and knowing how futile it is as I recall in vivid detail how my Jackson obsession began...
Chapter One
As a freshman at Dartmouth, I’m definitely struggling more than most to acclimate to student life.
I’d been reasonably popular during high school, but that was due in large part to being Emilia Vincent, daughter of the mega-successful businessman James Vincent and his loving wife Margot.
I finally had the opportunity to strike out on my own, to step out from behind the shadow of the Vincent name and I’m determined not to depend on daddy’s bank balance to succeed academically or socially.
And that right there is the crux of my problem – I never had to try in high school and now I just don’t know-how.
Academically, I have a sharp mind and am consistently a grade ‘A’ student, but if you grade my interpersonal skills, I’m pretty sure I’d score an ‘F’.
James and Margot Vincent are something of a rarity in the New York super-elite…my father is successful and supremely rich but has managed it without becoming an asshole and my mother is the exact opposite of a trophy wife. She’s undoubtedly beautiful but did not come from money; she met dad at college and works tirelessly for his company, for which she is the only stakeholder besides himself. Margot Vincent detests excessive shopping and can just about manage the tedium of charity dinners and galas. She only took a back seat with regards to the company, Stellar Enterprises, after my arrival…which was when she also outright refused to hire a nanny. This led to a surprisingly normal upbringing, I think…well as normal as it could be with limos and 24-hour bodyguards.
My parents adopted me as a baby after several failed pregnancies; they had a lot of love to give and desperately wanted a family, but their dream was being poisoned every time they lost another precious child. This made them a little overbearing with regards to my safety and annoyingly my father has the money to finance their compulsion to shield me from the harsh realities of the world…hence the 24-hour security.
That had been a hard-fought victory on my part as I was packing for life at college; I didn’t want an armed guard following me everywhere, but the idea of me leaving home terrified my mother.
I often insult their paranoia towards my safety, but I suspect there’s more to it than I know – it’s the only time I feel like they are keeping a secret from me.
We agreed on a compromise in the end; a security detail would be located no more than ten minutes from campus but was not to make any contact with me unless I required their assistance.
I won that battle by a narrow margin, but at least I wouldn’t be followed around by a gun-toting gorilla all day. Because that wouldn’t intimidate any friends I made at all…which I guess is a moot point as I don’t have any.
Not that I’ve told my parents that.
I’m horribly unsure of myself, which shocks me as I’d never considered myself to be socially awkward, but the truth has hit me like a brick in the face, I’m shy and self-conscious…and it sucks.
Growing up, I’d pretty much just followed the same set of peers from kindergarten to prep school, all the way through to my high school graduation (families with money stick together, after all).
It’s easy when you’re five years old; you haven’t learned to fear anything yet, haven’t learned that people can be cruel and judgemental. Making friends is easy because you all want to play with the same toys. Fast forward to college selection and I found myself deliberately choosing one where none of my previous classmates had applied so that I could make a fresh start…have my own big adventure…be independent…Big. Error.
Having a friendly face around would be beyond nice right now.
I sit cross-legged on my basic bed, staring out of my dorm window at all the students milling around on the campus below; loud voices, laughter and random bursts of eclectic music float through the darkness to my ears.
Most freshmen are out celebrating their new affiliation with the Greek system; frat boys, sorority sisters, alcohol and a whole bunch of wayward hormones will make tonight messy for most people…not me though. I’ll just curl up in bed and watch a movie before falling asleep before midnight.
So much for college spirit.
It really shouldn’t be so hard to just go outside and join in and be me…but who exactly is that?
I feel increasingly disjointed and isolated and just well…not myself.