Page 41 of Second Chance Vacation

SIXTEEN

GEN

My mind has been in a whirlwind since the moment I woke up. I’m unsure if it’s because of the massage and the lines it pushed, but I find myself stuck with a one-track mind.

Jackson.

I have been trying so hard since arriving in Saint-Tropez to avoid what being around him again brings up inside me, but the moment that he touched me yesterday, I snapped. Despite nipping it in the bud, I can’t shake it from my brain. I will deal with the consequences later, but in this moment, I want nothing more than to have his hands on me.

“Say red,” he says as he pushes my dress up my thighs. My body is tingling, begging him to move even just a few inches further. Despite knowing that I should stop this, I can’t get the word out. My brain is a jumbled fog, the blood pounding in my ears.

“No.”

Something in Jackson snaps as he hikes my dress up along my hips, palming the exposed flesh of my ass in both of his hands. The moment he realizes I’m not wearing anything under my dress, he takes a sharp inhale, a struggled growl breaking through his lips.

“You’re trying to kill me.”

I went back and forth on whether I should wear panties under this dress. The satin leaves little to the imagination, which causes my panty line to be glaringly obvious. Forgoing underwear seemed like the logical decision, but I didn’t totally expect current events to happen.

With a tight squeeze, he lets go of his firm grasp on my ass, skating his fingertips lower with a lighter touch than before. He has been frantic, urgent, but the current shift seems calculated, intentional.

That, or he’s pushing my buttons.

As his fingertips dance along my inner thighs just below my apex, a gasp catches in my throat. The pulsing feeling between my legs has me achingly desperate for contact. Despite this, he intentionally avoids giving in to what I want. Just as I think he may give in to my desires, he grasps my thighs hauling me upward to wrap my legs around his waist.

Jackson lifts me with as much effort as if I weigh nothing at all. I tighten my thighs around him as tight as I can out of concern that he might drop me. Despite my fears, he holds me with ease. He’s rock hard against me, positioned right against where I ache for him.

Instinctively, I grind against him, earning myself a groan from his lips.

Within seconds, I am sitting on the kitchen table, but he doesn’t release me from his grasp. My thighs are still firmly wrapped around him, but to my relief, my weight is firmly resting on the table. He devours my kiss with such urgency I feel him pull my breath from me, taking it as his own. Jackson wraps his palm around the back of my neck, following me down as he pushes me back against the table. The moment my back hits the wood, he pulls back to stand. Jackson looks down at me with an expression I know well from him,hunger.

“Fuck.” His eyes are glazed over as they rake over my body. Despite his urgency, he takes in the sight achingly slowly. He reaches forward, wrapping his palm around the front of my throat before dragging his hand downward, drawing a line directly from my neck, down between my breasts, across my stomach, down to rest just above my pussy. Resting his thumb barely a centimeter above my clit, I instinctively wiggle, trying desperately to get contact.

“Did you want something?” His voice is heady, deeper than normal.

Even though he is trying to maintain control, it’s obvious he is just as affected as I am. Instead of waiting for a response, he lightly circles my clit with his thumb, enough to wake me up but not enough to satiate me. His tauntingly light strokes elicit a whimper from my lips.

“What? I thought this is what you wanted?” He smirks, not increasing the pressure as he touches me just enough to say he is. I am aching, and with every light touch that leaves his thumb wet, he grins wider.

“Please.” I find myself back in the spa yesterday, begging him to touch me.

“Please, what?” Nonchalantly, he continues to circle my bundle of nerves, but his tone implies he is doing something as mundane as cutting grass.

“You. Know. What,” I grit through my teeth. It is obvious what he is doing, and I won’t give in to his antics again.

He wants me to beg.

“Ask nicely.” His eyes are fixed on where his thumb continues to circle. “I want to hear you be specific. Ask me nicely, Viv. Then maybe I’ll give it to you.”

With every stroke of his thumb, I feel myself growing more and more drenched. My arousal is dripping against his palm as he continues to fain detachment.

“Please touch me.” My words betray me, giving in to exactly what he wants.

“I am touching you.”

“Jackson.”

“Genevieve,” he says, matching my indignant tone.

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