Jackson's imagination went into overdrive. He shifted in bed, suddenly aware of how tight his silk pajamas had become.
"Careful," he warned. "Keep talking like that, and I might have to come over there." Olivia's low, sultry laugh sent shivers down his spine. "Is that a promise?" "It could be," he rasped, desire-laden. "What would you do if I showed up at your door right now?" "Hmm... I might drag you inside by your shirt collar. Pin you against the wall. Kiss you until we're both breathless." His breath caught in his throat. Olivia's words painted a vivid picture in his mind, and he gripped the phone tighter. "After that?" he asked, his voice husky with desire. "Wouldn't you like to know?" "I think we've established that I very much would," Jackson replied. "I suppose I could be persuaded to share more... over dinner, perhaps?" "Dinner? Are you asking me out?" "Maybe I am. What are you going to do about it?" He laughed, ruJackson stumbled into his apartment, exhaustion weighing heavy on his shoulders. The events of the past few days had left him drained, both physically and emotionally. He tossed his keys onto the small table by the door, not bothering to turn on the lights as he made his way through the familiar space. As he approached the bedroom, a strange sound caught his attention. His brow furrowed in confusion. Was that... moaning? "Oh, fuck yeah! Just like that!" Jackson froze, his hand hovering over the doorknob. That was definitely Veronica's voice, but she sounded... different. More passionate than he'd ever heard her before. "You like that, don't you, you dirty little slut?" A man's gruff voice joined the chorus of moans and grunts. Jackson's blood ran cold, then hot with fury. He threw open the door, his eyes adjusting to the dim light filtering through the curtains. There, on their bed – their fucking bed – was Veronica, her legs spread wide as some muscled Adonis pounded into her.
As Jackson emerged from the bedroom, he found Isabella inspecting his living room with an appraising eye. Her gaze lingered on the modern art piece hanging above the fireplace, a splash of vibrant colors that he still wasn't sure he understood. "So, you're into abstract art now?" she teased, raising an eyebrow. "Or did you just throw paint at the canvas and call it a day?" "Hey, it came with the place. It's either worth millions or absolutely nothing. "Sounds about right," Isabella laughed. She turned to face him, her eyes traveling up and down his body. "Well, well, look at you. Even without a shower, you're still rocking that disheveled charm. It's working for you, Jackson." Jackson felt his cheeks warm at her compliment. He ran a hand through his messy hair, suddenly self-conscious. "Thanks, I think. Um, are you heading to work? You look pretty dressed up for a casual visit." She smoothed down her skirt. "Indeed I am. But I couldn't resist stopping by to see how you were settl
Natalia strode into her office, her stilettos clicking against the polished marble floor. She wore a crisp white blouse tucked into a high-waisted pencil skirt, her hair swept up in a sleek bun. She settled behind her desk and had barely opened her laptop when a soft knock sounded at the door. "Come in," she called out, not looking up from her screen. Nolan, her secretary, poked his head in. "Morning, boss. How'd it go with the Donovan Blake last night?" She glanced up from her laptop. "Morning, Nolan. It went... interestingly." Nolan stepped into the office. "Interestingly good or interestingly bad?" She leaned back in her chair, crossing her legs. "Let's say a bit of both. Donovan's onboard but is only willing to invest 25% for now. Wants to see results before committing further." "That's still a win, right?" he grinned, his enthusiasm infectious. She nodded, allowing herself a moment of satisfaction. "It's a foot in the door. And trust me, once he sees what we can do, he'll
Jackson stood in front of the mirror, scrutinizing his reflection. He'd spent the last hour trying different outfits, each making him feel more like a teenager prepping for prom than a grown man getting ready for a date. "Jesus, get it together," he muttered, running a hand through his hair for the umpteenth time. He'd settled on a navy button-down and dark jeans, casual but not sloppy. At least, he hoped not. His phone buzzed on the dresser. A message from Olivia lit up the screen. Olivia: I just got off work. Here's my address: 1423 Paradise Street, Apt 8B. I can't wait to see you! Me: Can't wait either. I'll be there in 20. Hope you're ready for a wild night. He hit send, then immediately regretted it. Too cheesy? Too forward? But it was too late now. He grabbed his keys and headed out, trying to calm his nerves. The drive to Olivia's place was a blur of streetlights and anticipation. Jackson's mind wandered to their steamy encounter at the hospital, his body reacting to the
Jackson rapped his knuckles against the door. His heart pounded as he waited, half hoping Olivia wouldn't answer. The door swung open, revealing Olivia in a low-cut blouse that hugged her curves and form-fitting jeans that left little to the imagination. Her hair cascaded over her shoulders, framing her face in a way that made Jackson's mouth dry. "Hey there, handsome," she purred, her eyes roving over him appreciatively. "Come on in." He stepped inside, trying not to stare too obviously at Olivia's hips swaying as she led him into her apartment. The place was cozy, with mismatched furniture that somehow worked together. A few potted plants dotted the windowsills, and the walls were adorned with eclectic art prints. "Nice place," he managed, his voice strained even to his ears. "Thanks. I try to keep it tidy, but you should see it when I'm not expecting company." She winked, causing Jackson's heart to skip a beat. She sauntered over to the coat rack, her hips swaying hypnoticall
Jackson took a sip of water, buying time. Their food arrived, momentarily saving Jackson from having to respond. He dove into his chicken parmesan with gusto, hoping eating would give him time to think. As they ate, Jackson's anxiety grew. He could feel Quantum Quill's presence in the back of his mind, urging him to complete the task. The pressure was unbearable. Finally, after an eternity of small talk and awkward silence, He decided to bite the bullet. He set down his fork and took a deep breath. "Olivia," he said, "I have a... weird question for you." She looked up from her plate, curiosity evident in her eyes. "Oh? Do tell." "It's kind of personal. And maybe it's a bit inappropriate for a first date. But..." He trailed off, unsure how to continue. "Jackson," she said, her tone serious, "you've already asked me about my bra and panties, including size, type, and color. I'm not sure it gets much more personal or inappropriate than that." "Right. About that. I'm a unique guy,
Jackson hadn't lived through any of these experiences, at least not that he could remember. But he had to come up with something, and fast. "Alright, alright," he said, taking a deep breath. "So, this happened right after I finished college. I was dating this girl, Emily. We'd been together for a few months, and things were getting serious." She nodded encouragingly, leaning in closer. "One night, we went out for drinks with some friends. Things got a little wild, and we returned to her place. We were all over each other the moment we got through the door. Clothes flying everywhere, you know how it is." He paused, watching Olivia's reaction. She was hanging on his every word, a slight blush creeping up her cheeks. "Go on," she urged. "Well, we had some pretty intense... uh, activities. Multiple rounds. By the time we finished, we were both exhausted. We passed out right there in her living room, stark naked on the couch." "Oh no, I think I see where this is going." Jackson nod
Natalia stepped out of the shower at 7 pm, wrapping herself in a plush robe. She padded to her walk-in closet, leaving damp footprints on the floor. "What does one wear to a blind date they don't want to go on?" she muttered, scanning the rows of designer clothes. Her father's voice echoed in her head: "Just give it a chance, sweetie!" She rolled her eyes. "Easy for you to say, Dad. You're not the one about to have dinner with a potential serial killer." Sighing dramatically, she pulled out a matching set of lacy underwear. "Well, at least if I die, I'll have on nice undies," she quipped to her reflection as she slipped them on. Natalia rifled through her dresses, rejecting one after another: "Too formal... too casual... too 'I'm trying way too hard'..." Finally, she settled on a sleek black number that was both sophisticated and sexy. As she zipped herself in, she chuckled. "All this effort for a date I'm already planning my escape from. Maybe I should just show up in sweats and