Nothing Little About You

Jackson stared down at me, his intense eyes growing even more intense. And then he sighed through his nose, looking away from me like I was a… nuisance. 

Well, ouch. 

“You’re drunk,” he said, taking a step back, and I could tell he was about to leave. “I’m not having this conversation with a drunk person.”

Just as he was about to turn, I lunged forward, slamming my hands on the tree behind him, caging him between my body and the tree. His eyes widened, his nostrils flaring. 

I tilted my head, my eyes narrowed. “Are you running away, Jackson?”

He looked around us before he could finally meet my eyes again, repeating slowly, “You are drunk.”

“When you’re done stating the obvious, answer the damn question. Are you running away from a little girl?”

He scoffed harshly. 

Finally, the moment I've been waiting for so I could determine what kind of bastard he was: his eyes finally trailed down my body. 

Please don't be a right bastard. Please, don't be a right bastard. 

I watched, with my bated breath, as his eyes took me in, lingering on my round stomach before he went lower, to my left thigh peeking out from the slit of my dress where I had a thigh chain wrapped around it.

His nostrils flared again. I waited for the look in his eyes to change. To grow disgusted if I was lucky. Hate, if I had shit luck tonight—which I usually did. But the only thing that changed in those grey eyes was the intensity: it grew.

Was my alcohol induced brain seeing things?

He looked back to my eyes. “There’s nothing little about you, Siri.”

I hummed softly as I leaned forward and my chest brushed against his torso, and he sucked in a sharp breath. 

“Do you say that in a good way or a bad way?” I asked softly. You could almost say my voice sounded seductive. 

“What do you think?” he asked, instead of answering, cocking his head.

Another step closer, and this time, my thigh was lodged between his legs, and he stiffened, his throat working as he swallowed. 

“I’m thinking… if I ask nicely, will you touch me?”

“Jesus Christ," he muttered, his voice rough. He fixed me with a hard look. “Do you know who I am?”

“A handsome bastard named Jackson with an accent in his voice.”

What accent was that? And why does it sound familiar? 

Ah, fuck it. We’ll leave the questions for later. For now, though… For now, I noticed his lips quivered into an almost smile. 

Almost, I say. 

“You will regret this come morning, Siri,” he said, and oh, I loved how rough his voice had gotten.

“I know.”

“If someone sees us, we’ll be in deep shit.”

I snorted. “We’re not teenagers sneaking off to go have sex, Jackson.”

That almost smile again, and I could almost swear he was enjoying this. 

“No, we’re not. We’re two adults who shouldn't be seen doing this because of the wrongness of it.” 

“Why is it wrong?” I asked in a whisper as I slowly raised myself to my tiptoes, but that didn't even bring me close to his neck. Tsk, I have never hated being short until now. That was a lie, but shut up. “Your words are beginning to sound like excuses to me.” He raised an eyebrow. I smirked. “What are the excuses for, pretty boy? Is Jackson Jr too little to get some action done?”

Snap. That was the sound of his control breaking into two. 

He grabbed my waist with both hands, and before I could even blink, he had me pinned against the tree, caging me with his body. He lodged his thigh between my legs, so dangerously close to where I was already soaked.

And then… Fucking hell, and then he pressed himself against my stomach, and my eyes went wide when I felt something monstrous poking me, and he wasn't even hard!

“Repeat that,” he growled, his eyes hard.

Ah, yes, the male ego will always be fragile and so easily bruised. 

“I’ve been a bad girl,” I said, dragging the words out. “Will you punish me, daddy?”

He cursed colorfully, using words I've never heard before. If I were sober, bells would have been going off in my head. My last experience with a man was… unpleasant. And yet here I was, with a man pinning me against a tree, driving me insane with his scent and the wild look in his eyes that I must be imagining. 

And I was wet. I was so wet. 

“You still haven't answered my question,” I said in that low voice that sounds too pleasant to be mine.

It was only a second, but his eyes dropped to my lips, and they darkened. He looked back at my eyes. “What question?”

I moved, rubbing my stomach on his dick, and he groaned. “Will you touch me if I ask nicely?”

His eyes dropped to my lips again, and this time it lingered. He dragged his eyes back up. Then, “No.”

My face fell. He let go of me, and my knees almost gave out, but I locked them together and remained on my feet.

“Come morning, and you’ll understand,” he said as he turned. 

I watched his back as he walked away from me. And then I threw my head back and laughed.

Of course. 

“What did you think was going to happen, you fool?” I asked myself. I shook my head as I adjusted my dress and moved to go find more alcohol. 

My booze was already ruined. 

“You never learn, do you?” 

~.~

Morning came, and the hangover was brutal, but I had no regrets as I moved downstairs to hunt for coffee. 

Thank fuck it was the weekend. I can't imagine going to class with this. But then I groaned as I remembered my shift in the café this evening.

Fuck, why do we need to keep working? 

I went downstairs but paused when I heard voices and laughter. Why was the new web so jolly this gloomy morning? I decided to ignore them and made my way to the kitchen, but I was caught.

“Oh, Siri!” Lilian called out, and I winced. “Come, come! Come meet my son!”

I paused. Her son? So the bastard could make it? Why wasn't he at his mother’s wedding, then?

“Coming!” I called, grabbing a glass of water before stumbling into the living room. “Okay, I’m–”

My words died in my throat. 

Grey eyes. That scent.

That face.

He was sitting on the couch, staring straight at me. 

Jackson. 

Was I still drunk? Or was this a new kind of hungover symptom? 

“Siri, this is Jackson. My son.” 

You have got to be kidding me.