On a purely physical level, Derrick was hotter than Jackson. He was built like a Greek God, his face was chiseled, and every part of his body looked like it was sculpted from stone. His dark hair was a thick mane, and he embodied tall, dark, and handsome.
But when Jackson opened the door to his apartment, a warmth filled my belly like sipping coffee in front of a crackling fireplace, safe and secure. Derrick could physically protect me but at that moment I realized what I valued more was someone who would protect my emotional currency.
Jackson’s chestnut brown hair was disheveled like he’d been lying in bed. He had a five o’clock shadow, and his clothes were wrinkled. His body was lean, the muscles firm, but they weren’t carved into his body like Derrick.
Suddenly, Jackson was the most gorgeous thing I’d ever seen.
His light eyes watched me, inquisitive.
My emotions were fragile after the date, and I craved the sureness that Jackson had given me the last time we were together. I couldn’t let one bad moment strip away everything I’d gained the other night.
“Are you okay? Your text was vague.”
I sat on his leather sofa, and took the bottled water he offered.
“This is bad for the environment.” I spun the plastic top off and gulped.
“Noted.” He sank into the cushion beside me. “Wasn’t your date tonight?”
“I need more lessons.”
“What happened?” he asked alarmed.
I dropped my forehead in my palms. “He wasn’t hard.”
Jackson choked on his beer.
“You okay?” I patted him on the back.
He nodded and wiped his mouth. “How far did you go with him tonight?” he asked.
“We made out in a booth at this bar. His hand went up my shirt, my hand went to his crotch—over his pants—but he was soft. Not even a chubby.”
Jackson covered a laugh with the back of his hand.
“It’s not funny.”
He wiped the laugh off his face. “I wasn’t laughing at you. I just haven’t heard that term in a long time.”
I shook my head. “You got hard just by talking about sex. Making out with me and touching my body didn’t do anything for Derrick.”
Jackson sucked his bottom lip into his mouth. I glanced around his apartment—papers strewn on the coffee table, his laptop open, his TV had an old sitcom playing on mute.
“Shit. Were you busy? Selena’s out of town again, and I needed someone who could make me feel less like a failure. I was so confident at the start of the date. And now I feel like a piece of shit pie.”
Jackson shifted. “You’re being too hard on yourself. You hardly needed any guidance in the bedroom.”
“I barely participated in the first session. We didn’t even kiss. I didn’t do anything to you. What if I’m an awful kisser. What if you were only turned on because you haven’t been with someone in months and months and months.”
“Easy now,” he said.
“It’s true, right. You haven’t had sex in over a year, and you’re all frustrated because Kat kisses you and then runs off to fuck her new boyfriend. You probably had the worst case of blue balls in the history of balls.”
“You’re being kind of mean.” Jackson stood but I put my hand on his arm and he sank back down.
“I’m sorry.”
I was hurting and it seemed I wanted to shoot daggers into Jackson and make him hurt too.
Jackson was still.
“Why did you come here?” he asked, the muscles tense under his tight shirt.
“To feel better.”
“How?”
“I want the sureness I had when I left here the other day. The confidence that made me go out on a date with the hottest man I’ve been out with probably ever.”
Jackson closed his eyes and rubbed his temples.
“Don’t act like it’s weird that I came here, wanting this. It’s our deal, right?” I slid my fingers down his arm, my breasts brushing his shoulder, and rubbed my thumb over the ring he wore. “You’re using me, too.”
His hands balled into a fist. His jaw ticked and his eyes slid to mine. They were hard and intense and it was kind of sexy.
“Let’s go.” He didn’t look enthused. He looked mad.
“Is this going to be my hate-sex lesson?” I batted my eyes, hoping a little teasing would ease his anger.
“What are you talking about?”
“You seem pissed.”
Jackson rolled his eyes and huffed. “I don’t fucking know what I am.”
“You want to do this, right? I’m not making you?”
He swept me up from the couch and into his arms. “Yeah, I fucking want to do this.”
I leaned forward to kiss him but he moved his head and my lips hit his neck.
“I don’t want to confuse things,” he said, to soften the rejection of the kiss.
“I know,” I said. “I’m sorry.”
“Stop fucking apologizing.”
“Stop saying fuck. And let’s fuck.”
Jackson kicked the door to his bedroom shut, turned off the overhead light, and put me on the bed.
“Setting the mood,” I joked, but my bravado left when his gaze swept my body hungrily. My nerves were on red alert, ready for his touch.
“Do you want the lights back on?” he asked lust swimming in his eyes. My heart fluttered.
Derrick was the one I was dating, I reminded myself. Jackson was my tutor. A bit of fun as I gained confidence and carnal knowledge.
“I like the city lights.”
His hands rested on either side of my hips and he lowered his face to my stomach, his breath moist. He nudged my shirt up with his nose, tracing a line upward between my ribs.
Tonight, he was all business. And I liked it.
His head tucked under the cotton fabric and his mouth clamped onto my right nipple. Involuntarily, my back arched toward him, asking for more. His hand found my other breast and pinched the nipple.
“I love that.” I breathed out.
“I know,” he said into my shallow cleavage, as he swept to my other breast, sucking and nipping at my pebbled nipple, licking my areola.
He lowered his hips to my pelvis. Under his joggers, his cock was rigid, straining the material.
“Already?” I said, amazed.
“I was hard the moment you walked in the door.”
Desire pressed into my throat and I swallowed it down. His naked confession sent my desire into the stratosphere.
“Derrick was crazy not to be hard the moment he kissed you.”
Jackson licked my neck. His tongue reached my ear, bringing the lobe into his mouth and sucking. I moaned, my sex wet, anticipating what would come next.
I gripped his shoulders, strong with lean muscle and I smoothed my hands down his back and over his butt, pulling his clothed cock against my pulsating clit.
“Oh, god.” I moaned again, electricity snaking over my thighs.
Jackson pulled back, breathless.
“Why aren’t we naked,” I whined.
“One step at a time.” He smiled coyly.
“What step are we on now?” I asked through panted breaths.
“Last time, I took care of you and taught you what your body needs. Sex isn’t about perfecting a skill. This is a composition. Our bodies are the instruments. They work together. It’s not about you getting on your knees and giving me head. It’s about sharing an experience.”
He’d said something like this before, and I was beginning to understand.
“You may need more time to tune your instruments with Derrick,” he said.
I pulled my shirt over my head, my breasts ripe and ready for him to devour. I shivered, part of me still hesitant and anxious, but my desire to be with Jackson and understand how my instrument worked overpowered the anxiety.
“I don’t want to talk about him,” I said my fingers digging into his shoulders, begging him for more.
Jackson’s tongue played with the corner of his lip, his gaze on my chest.
“I think those are the most perfect tits I’ve ever seen.”
“I hate that word,” I said but smiled.
“Too crude?” He leaned forward and licked my right nipple then sat back staring at the glistening nub. “Dirty talk can be fun. It doesn’t mean it’s actually dirty.”
He licked the other nipple. They were a matching pair of shimmering desire, so hard they could cut glass. He unzipped my skirt and pulled it from my body. I lay on the bed, topless, only wearing my black lace undies.
“What do you call this?” He spread his tongue wide and slid it over the wet spot on my underwear.
My fingers dug into his hair, my senses on fire.
“Er, my underwear?”
“The part of your body under it,” he clarified.
“Oh, um, my sex. Or vagina.”
“Why don’t you call it your pussy?”
“It sounds… crass.” I raised up on my elbows.
He pressed his nose to my sex and breathed deeply. “You smell delicious. You taste better. This is a beautiful part of you.”
My whole body flushed, embarrassed, and turned on all at once.
“Can I call it your pussy?” His fingers gripped the edge of the lace.
“Yes,” I whispered. He could call it whatever the hell he wanted as long as he kept his hands and mouth focused there.
He slid my underwear down my legs and tossed them to the floor.
“Your pussy is gorgeous.” He looked up through his lashes. “May I?”
My nerves were electrified, every cell on fire wherever he touched me, pulsing with expectation.
“Yes.”
He spread his tongue and licked up in a slow stroke, savoring. I moaned his name in a plea for more.
He kissed my clit and lifted his head, his lids hooded as he watched pleasure fill my features. “I’m gonna make you come so hard you scream.”