How is he doing this?
I’m drugged and I’m still hot for him.
Less than an hour ago he was fucking some other woman in spectacular style and my traitorous body still responds instantly to him. It’s more than a little frightening.
Jackson’s breathing accelerates ever so slightly and the sound makes me brave; I may not be able to stand on my own, but I can pull my shoulders back so that my chest is thrust up towards him. His ragged breaths tell me the view of my breasts, displayed for him in my lace push up bra, is quite the sight.
Jackson grips my hips with both hands, his splayed fingers digging into my soft flesh.
“Stop it,” he pants in my ear, his lips brushing across my flaming skin, “You’re in no fit state and I already told you…I’m not virtuous.”
His touch is electrifying, his words intoxicating, and if I could string a sentence together, I would probably be begging him to take me right this second on the bathroom floor…or against the wall…or in the bathtub…I’m not picky really.
A voice I know I shouldn’t ignore is telling me to listen to him; if only because I want to be able to remember the first time he fucks me…because I’m determined to make sure he does.
I breathe deeply to calm my raging desire as he moves his hands down to my jeans, undoes the button, pulls the zip down and yanks the jeans down over my butt, miraculously leaving my little lacy thong in place. I try to kick off my flats and step out of my clothes, but I’m still too unsteady – my hypersensitive, aroused, adrenaline state will probably stop me from blacking out again, but it’s not helping my balance; I’m weak in the knees and I’m not sure it’s because of the roofie.
Jackson kneels down in front of me so that I’m able to lean forward and put my weight on him and his body is solid rock under my hands. He untangles one foot at a time from my jumble of jeans and flats, and once down to my underwear, he stands, picks me up again and carries me into the bath with him. The warm, soothing, soapy water takes the edge off my adrenaline-fuelled quasi-clarity. It pools around my body making me drowsy and slightly more unfocused again.
Jackson positions himself behind me with his legs either side of my body, allowing me to lean back against his strong chest. Despite his solid muscles, it’s a pretty comfortable place to rest and I’m in no hurry to move.
He grabs a washcloth and some manly smelling soap and begins gently washing the mud and crap off my skin with surprisingly gentle hands. I close my heavy eyes and try really hard not to focus on his touch, the rhythmic way he brushes the cloth up my arms and sides, down my legs as far as he can reach and then back up to my stomach, over my chest and up to my neck. I almost succeed in keeping my breathing even as I sink deeper into his embrace.
Jackson lets me rest for a little while before he stands, washes himself and switches on the shower at the other end of the tub. He easily pulls me to my feet and walks me under the hot water to rinse off. Just when I think we’re done, he grabs a bottle of shampoo and begins washing my hair, causing my heartbeat to stutter. His dexterous fingers massage my scalp as he works the shampoo into a thick lather; I can’t help but groan in pleasure – I love having my hair played with.
Jackson takes a step closer as he runs his fingers through my hair to rinse out the soap. He dominates my senses; he’s tall, tanned and toned and I want to look at him, run my hands over his chiseled chest and rippling abs, but his gentle massaging and the hot water streaming over my body makes me drowsy again.
One half of my brain screams at me for not capitalizing on my current state of nearly-naked slipperiness with the Adonis in front of me. The other half demands sleep and a conversation to deal with the mountain of unanswered shit between us. Not least how he can hold me this intimately barely an hour after fucking Sonya into erotic bliss.
But I don’t want to think about that; I just want to press my increasingly sleepy and unresponsive body next to his. As if reading my mind, he folds me into his chest and encases me with his strong arms.
Jackson plants a swift, gentle kiss on my forehead and then he’s gone; switching off the shower and grabbing a couple of towels from a heated rail…somehow, I stay upright unassisted.
He wraps one towel around his lean hips, leaving his impressive torso on show, and wraps the other around my shoulders, cocooning me in soft, fluffy cotton. Jackson picks me and our pile of clothes up and carries me back into his room. Despite sleep threatening to take me, I’m increasingly preoccupied with being held tightly against the smooth, warm bare skin of his chest. His natural scent – thankfully free from the smell of Sonya – is overwhelming. I breathe him in deeply and it’s a heady combination of raw strength and alpha male masculinity; he oozes sex appeal and were it not for my yearning need for sleep, I would be consumed with my desire for him.
If I’m honest with myself, my instinctive reaction to Jackson is disturbing, our behavior around each other isn’t normal; I know next-to-nothing about him, yet I’m somehow okay with exposing myself and my vulnerabilities around him.
I don’t understand it and that makes me uneasy.
Jackson gently lays me on his comfy, king-size bed and all I want to do is roll over and fall asleep, but apparently, he has other ideas.
“I know you’re tired, Angel, but I bathed you with your underwear on, which is now soaking wet. You can’t sleep like that and I’d prefer to not have a damp bed.”
He walks over to a chest of drawers, pulls out a baggy black t-shirt and two pairs of boxers. Through sleepy, heavy eyelids I see him drop his towel and pull off his wet underwear...
Fuck...
I’m not surprised to see an ass as firm and muscled as the rest of him, but I am surprised that he keeps his back to me as he pulls on the clean, dry pair of boxers.
Jackson doesn’t strike me like the shy type…otherwise, he’d have locked his goddamn door while he was fucking Sonya.
Slowly my brain joins the dots; he’s trying to make me feel comfortable…because I can’t sleep in wet underwear…which means I’m about to get naked…in front of Jackson…
There is no shade in existence to describe how badly I blush.
Trying to get ahead of the situation, I sit up and awkwardly try to wrap the towel around myself with one hand while the other reaches behind me for the clasp on my soggy bra, but I’m too drowsy to be co-ordinated.
“It’s ok, Angel,” he says gently. “I promised you I would behave, and despite your efforts, I have, so I’m not going to tarnish my impressive record now.” Jackson seems genuinely pleased that he’s kept his hands to himself.
“Why would not sleeping with a drugged freshman constitutes as impressive?” I ask sluggishly.
“You and me on any other night? We’d have never made it to the bathroom…” he winks and his devilishly wicked grin finishes his sentence for him, which does nothing for my blush. “Keep still and don’t provoke me with that sexy body of yours.” With that, he slips his hands under the towel I still holding around myself and with practiced ease, unclasps my bra. I’m still hung up on being called sexy that I fail to be shocked by his hands; no one has ever called me sexy before.
“Take your bra the rest of the way off and dry yourself,” he commands as he runs his fingers lightly across my ribcage from back to front, and then reaches for the black t-shirt he placed on the bed next to me.