Jackson's heart raced as they approached her apartment building. It was a modest brick structure, nothing like the towering glass monstrosity he now called home. But something was charming about its simplicity, a warmth that his sterile penthouse lacked. He stepped into the apartment, his eyes adjusting to the dim light. It was cozy, filled with plush throw pillows and potted plants that seemed to sprout from every available surface. The air smelled faintly of incense and something earthy – probably one of those essential oils yoga people always raved about. As she busied herself with turning on lamps, his gaze wandered to the wall adorned with framed photos. Most featured Chloe in various yoga poses. But one picture in particular caught his eye. It showed Chloe beaming at the camera, her arms wrapped around a tall, handsome man with a chiseled jaw and perfect hair. They looked sickeningly happy together, like one of those couples you'd see in a toothpaste commercial. "That's my b
Jackson stood up, towering over her as she lay on the bed, her legs splayed wide open. He reached down, grabbed the hem of her dress, and tugged it over her head. She raised her arms, helping him toss the dress to the floor. Her bra came next, a lacy thing that gave way under his deft fingers. Her breasts spilled free, her nipples hard and begging for attention. "God, you're hot," he murmured, unable to take his eyes off her. He leaned in, capturing one peaked nipple with his mouth, his free hand cupping the other breast, squeezing gently. Her hands returned to his hair, holding him close. "Don't stop," she pleaded. He had no intention of stopping. He suckled one nipple, rolling it between his teeth before moving to the other. His free hand slid down her smooth, taut stomach, fingers teasing the slick folds of her pussy once more. "You really like it when I play with you, don't you?" "Mmm, yes," she gasped, arching her back. "I think you need a little more," he whispered, slipp
Jackson slumped into the plush leather booth, his eyes darting between James, Matthew, and Charles. The bar hummed with Friday night energy, but their corner felt like an island of conspiracy. "Alright, spill it," James leaned forward, his beer sloshing dangerously. "What's this mysterious shindig you've roped us into?" Jackson cleared his throat, buying time with a long swig of his whiskey. "Well, funny story..." Matthew groaned. "Oh God, here we go." "It's not that bad!" Jackson protested. "I just... may have gotten us invited to a party. Sunday night." Charles raised an eyebrow. "And you're just telling us now because...?" "Because I only found out recently?" Jackson offered weakly. The disbelief on his friends' faces told him they weren't buying it. He sighed. "Look, I don't know much about it either. All I know is it's supposed to be this fancy shindig. Lots of rich folks, potential connections, that sort of thing." "Rich folks, huh?" James leaned back. "Well, well, well.
Jackson stumbled into his penthouse, kicking off his shoes with relief. The weight of his friends' questions still hung heavy on his mind, but at least he'd managed to dodge the worst of their suspicions, for now. He flopped onto the plush leather couch, sinking into its embrace. His hand fumbled for his phone and squinted at the bright screen. A message from Olivia blinked up at him. Olivia: Hey, handsome, how are you feeling? That shoulder of yours healing up, okay? He chewed his lip, thumbs hovering over the keyboard. The truth was, his shoulder felt perfectly fine - suspiciously so. But he couldn't exactly tell her that. Jackson: Doing better. My shoulder's healing up nicely. Doc says I'm a quick healer. Her reply came almost instantly. Olivia: That's great news! I've been worried about you. A warmth spread through his chest at her concern. He hadn't expected to feel this way about someone he'd just met. Jackson: Thanks for caring. It means a lot. Olivia: Of course! So..
Jackson sipped his coffee, trying not to fidget under Isabella's intense gaze. She hadn't touched her mug, her eyes fixed on him like a hawk eyeing its prey. The morning sunlight filtering through the penthouse windows did nothing to soften the tension in the air. "So," Isabella drawled, her finger tracing the rim of her untouched coffee mug, "you're telling me you've been in a coma for nine years and just woke up?" "Uh, yeah... Nine years. Crazy, right?" "Nine years," she repeated, her tone flatter than week-old soda. "Yep," he nodded, sipping his coffee to avoid her piercing gaze. "Alright, Jackson. Cut the crap. Why didn't you mention this whole coma business earlier? That's not exactly small talk material, but come on." "I didn't want to freak you out?" he offered weakly. "I mean, how do you casually drop 'Hey, I've been unconscious for almost a decade' into the conversation?" "Right. Because that's totally normal. Just like waking up from a coma and suddenly owning a penth
After what felt like hours (and might have actually been), Isabella finally settled on a stunning midnight blue gown that made her look like she'd just stepped off a movie set. "This is the one," she declared, twirling in front of the mirror. He nodded, beyond relieved that the fashion show was ending. "Great! Let's go pay." As they approached the counter, she hesitated. "Jackson, are you sure about this? It's pretty expensive." He waved off her concern. "Don't worry about it. Consider it nine years' worth of birthday presents." The saleswoman rang up the dress, and Jackson had to force himself not to flinch at the price. He handed over his card, praying to whatever deity might be listening that it wouldn't be declined. To his immense relief, the transaction went through smoothly. As they left the store, shopping bag in hand, she linked her arm to his. "You know," she said, a mischievous glint in her eye, "if I didn't know better, I'd think you were trying to impress me." "Wha
Jackson stood in front of his full-length mirror, fiddling with his bowtie. He'd never been great at tying the damn things, but tonight he was determined to look sharp. The party was in a few hours, and he wanted to make a good impression. After all, it wasn't every day that a guy got invited to a fancy shindig by a mysterious voice in his head. "Left over right, then... wait, was it under or over?" he muttered, his fingers tangling in the silk. The doorbell chimed just as he considered giving up and going with a clip-on. His heart skipped a beat. Could it be Isabella? He abandoned the bowtie, leaving it hanging loosely around his neck, and hurried to the door. As he reached for the handle, he caught a glimpse of himself in the hallway mirror. His hair was sticking up at odd angles, and his shirt was half-untucked. Taking a deep breath, he swung the door open with what he hoped was a charming smile. "Hey there, I was just..." His voice trailed off. The hallway was empty. He blin
Jackson eased his sleek car to a stop in front of the sprawling estate, the engine purring like a contented cat before falling silent. He glanced at Isabella in the passenger seat, her eyes wide as saucers as she took in the scene before them. "Holy crap," she breathed, her nose practically pressed against the window. "Are you sure we're at the right place? This looks like something out of a movie." Jackson chuckled, trying to mask his own nervousness. "Unless there's another ridiculously opulent mansion throwing a party tonight, we're in the right spot." He exited the car, adjusting his bowtie for the umpteenth time. The cool night air hit him like a refreshing slap to the face, carrying the faint strains of music and laughter from somewhere beyond the towering iron gates. Isabella emerged from the passenger side, smoothing down her midnight blue gown. She wobbled slightly on her heels, steadying herself against the car door. "Whoa, easy there," Jackson teased. "Don't want to fa