Code Name: Tiara by Sawyer Bennett
CHAPTER 16
Camille
The pressure of Jackson’s hand on the back of my head, the prickle on my scalp as he tightens his grip, the smell of him—all man—and I’m ready to do whatever he commands. He knows, just as I do, he doesn’t need that hand on my head for this.
He also knows, just as I do, I’m a woman who likes it.
I had not quite figured that out about myself, but clearly he did.
The salty taste of him explodes against my tongue as I take in his hard length as deep as I can. It tears a rumble from deep within his chest and turns me on to know that he’s turned on.
I’m not sure why Jackson feels the need to establish such dominance over me. Perhaps it’s his subtle way of saying this really is just sex and nothing more. It’s all about how to maximize his pleasure and mine, and when he asserts control over me, perhaps he’s sending an underlying message that my thoughts and feelings and desires don’t matter.
I can see him feeling that way. But I actually think it’s different.
Jackson knows I am a princess who can have anything she wants on a whim. While he assures me that I am not spoiled, entitled, or frivolous, I can have anything in the world that I want with just a snap of my fingers. The world is my oyster. With that type of power comes the freedom to be whatever and whoever I want to be. In my position, I was born to order people to do as I command and to do so with impunity.
By virtue of my crown and wealth, I am an inherent dominatrix over all those who come before me.
And I don’t like it one bit.
Jackson has figured that out about me, and while he might be domineering by nature and enjoys sex in that capacity, I think he’s forcing my head on his cock because he knows I actually need it.
I need the freedom from always having to be in charge and always being the one to make decisions.
Jackson’s hand loosens slightly and I have more freedom to move up and down on him at my pace. I soften my suction, lick him lightly, and graze my teeth on occasion. Giving control to me lasts all of about five seconds before his hand tightens again and he forces me down on him a little deeper. The head of his cock touches the opening of my throat, and I fight my gag reflex while he holds me there a moment before allowing me the freedom to come up.
I suck hard on the way, hollowing my cheeks.
“Just like that,” he commends in a soft growl.
He loosens his grip again, and I’ve learned my lesson. No soft teasing—just hard suction.
I move faster, wrapping my hand around the base and concentrating on the tip when I pull up. He grunts every time my tongue brushes the sensitive underside, and I remember the ragged sound he made when he came in my mouth on the plane earlier.
It’s something I want again, but he takes control by tightening his grip and forcing me to slow down. I internally sigh in frustration that he won’t let me do this on my own, but at the same time, I take pleasure in him making me do what he wants.
My mind focuses, wanting to make this the best for Jackson. I take pleasure when his breathing becomes ragged and his hips thrust slightly counter to my moves. I want him to come in my mouth, but the next thing I know he’s jerking me off his cock and pulling my head back so my face is tilted upward. He leans forward and kisses me hard, teeth clashing against mine and his tongue invading and dominating my mouth. But then he’s moving his hands to the side of my face and gentling his kiss, and I’m swooning from the abrupt change—controlling and forceful to sweet and tender.
Jackson’s hands move from my face to under my arms, and he hauls me up off the floor. When I’m on my feet, he whips my silky tank top over my head and bends to take my breast in his mouth. He closes right in over my nipple and sucks so hard, the area between my legs starts to throb. Apparently there’s a direct connection between the two.
Jackson’s hand slides down my belly and in between my legs to which he has easy access given my shorts are still around my thighs. His finger slides easily into me, and I should be embarrassed how wet I am. I should feel shame at how I’m letting myself be a rag doll to this puppet master, but all I can think about is rolling my hips so his finger goes deeper.
“Jackson,” I moan as he runs his tongue in a light circle over my nipple, at the same time pulling his finger out to run it lightly over my swollen clit. “Will you please fuck me?”
His head lifts slightly to mutter, “Bossy little princess with a dirty mouth,” and then turns his attention to my other nipple.
I grin and then choke on that smile as he pulls his finger out and presses two back inside.
A harsh groan tears free and I can feel my muscles tightening, indicating another orgasm is building. I try to push it away, as I’m not ready yet. I want him inside me the next time I come.
“Jackson,” I moan, then jerk as a thumb brushes my clit. “Please.”
I’m not sure if it was my desperate begging or the fact that he was done playing, but Jackson releases me abruptly, one large hand to my chest where he pushes me onto the bed. Bending at the waist, he jerks my shorts and panties off before nodding to the nightstand. “Condoms are in there. Get one ready.”
Jackson straightens and disrobes. I freeze, watching him expose his body to me only to jump mightily when his eyes come to me and he barks, “Condom, Princess. Now.”
I roll to my side and pull the drawer open so hard it almost comes all the way out. I cast a side glance at Jackson who has everything off but his jeans, which were already below his hips and coming off fast. His eyes are dark and turbulent, and a thrill races up my spine.
Grabbing the box of condoms, I jerk one out and try to rip it open, but my hands are trembling. I’m so anxious about what’s about to go down, I can’t get a good grip on it.
Good thing Jackson has no patience as he snatches it away from me and tears the packet open with his teeth. I take the freedom given to me to let my eyes roam all over his body. He’s so beautiful with his corded muscles, ridged abs, tanned tattooed skin, and thick dusting of hair on his chest, arms, and legs. Drool puddles in my mouth. Glorious cock aside, he’s the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen.
I blink hard when my perusal is interrupted by him bringing the condom to his dick and expertly rolling it on. I try not to think about all the experience he’s had that allows him to sheathe himself so effortlessly. Instead, I tell myself to concentrate on the here and now.
Because right now, if only for a little bit, he’s mine.
And my head spins because now he’s covering me on the bed, nudging my legs apart to make room for his big body, and his mouth is back on mine, devouring me. He consumes me so thoroughly with his kiss, I jerk at the realization his cock is now at my entrance and pressing in.
I sigh, spread my legs wider, and wrap my arms around his neck so he’ll never stop kissing me.
The kiss is forgotten when Jackson presses his hips down and slides all the way into me in one fluid move. I stretch and form around him, and the sensation of fullness might be the best feeling I’ve ever had in my entire life.
Until he moves.
And then that subtle slide out and deeper thrust back in has my eyes rolling to the back of my head. I raise my knees, press them into his sides. Jackson hitches to the side a bit, brings one hand to the back of a thigh, and forces my legs open even wider.
His pulls his mouth away and stares down while he continues to thrust in and out slowly. He looks almost boyish, a lock of hair over his forehead, but his dark, glittering eyes remind me there’s a man between my legs.
Jackson dips his head and runs his lips along my neck while his hips pump. My blood races so fast I’m dizzy, and the throb that started between my legs when his lips first encircled my nipple begins to pound.
A long groan ripples from Jackson as he dives deeper into me.
“Yes,” I whisper, because… just… fuck yes.
Every thrust is a storm building, and I want to hold on to this feeling forever, but at the same time, I want him to cut me loose and let me free-fall into release. Only Jackson has the power to give it to me.
“Please.” My voice is strained, foreign sounding. “Make me come.”
Jackson’s head jerks up, his features sharp as he smiles at me. His hips never once missing a stroke, he removes his hand from my thigh and moves it to my own hand. Grabbing onto it tight, he lifts his torso enough so that he forces my hand between us. Makes me press my fingers to my mound and orders, “Make yourself come.”
That might be the sexiest, dirtiest thing a man has ever said or done to me, and his order has me jumping to obey. My eyes lower and I see his cock tunneling inside me, the pace quickening. Jackson’s chest rises and falls sharply, and I get the sense he’s exhibiting amazing willpower not to let go quite yet.
My fingers dip and find my clit, and the minute I touch it, my orgasm starts to push against its confines. My heart beats so rapidly, I feel it in my ears. I put pressure on my clit as Jackson fucks me harder. I move my fingers, swirl them around, and tingles erupt at the base of my spine.
I squeeze my eyes shut, inhale sharply through my nose, and rub at myself faster.
“Just like that,” he praises, and I open my eyes to find him watching me touch myself. Jackson starts really fucking me hard, the bed creaking under the movement. The only reason the headboard isn’t banging is because it’s bolted to the wall. He’s driving into me so deep, I’m seeing stars, and without warning, I launch off into that free fall of blissful abandon. My orgasm washes through me in pounding waves, and I cry out the man’s name that made it all happen.
Jackson.
“Christ,” he growls and rears up. With both of his hands to the backs of my legs, he lifts my ass right off the bed and pounds into me.
Just a handful of thrusts, all of them powerful and deliberate, and Jackson is tossing his head back to roar out his release. He’s beautiful and primal, muscles in his neck straining, and I forget all about the waves of pleasure I’m still riding to watch this gorgeous beast unravel before me.
“Fuck,” he mutters and then repeats it as a chant as his head drops, but his hips keep pumping into me. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”
Jackson flexes his hips hard and plants deep, goes still, and lowers his body onto mine. Hesitantly, I place my arms around his shoulders and pull him tighter against me while his body trembles with orgasmic aftershocks. His face presses into my neck and he murmurs, “That was different.”
That’s an understatement.
It was like nothing I’ve ever felt before.
Jackson sighs, as if regretful for what he’s about to do, and rolls from my body. When he slips out of me, I feel empty. When he leaves the bed, I feel cold and unsure.
Wordlessly, he pads to the bathroom, and I have a moment of indecision. When I walked into his room earlier, he was ready to push me back out.
He told me there was entanglement, and while we haven’t resolved what this actually is or what it might become, it’s clear things have gotten personal, and that’s bothering him.
Throughout the course of our fight that led to him goading me to be a brat, which led to him spanking me, which led to stupendous sex, Jackson gave in and decided to give this a go. But what are we doing? I can’t tell where we stand, but because it’s a worry to him—an emotional entanglement—I’m guessing he’d like to keep this sex only and I should go back to my room. I think I know this is never going to be anything more. I’m sure that’s what he wants, even though it’s not what I want.
Not wanting to rock the boat, I make my decision and scramble out of the bed. I locate my panties first, bend over, and lift one foot to slide them back on.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Jackson says, and I glance up to see him framed in the bathroom doorway. Because I can’t help myself, I look and notice the condom is gone. That is what he must’ve been doing.
His sudden appearance and the fact I’m bent over with one foot raised and my head lifted throws me off balance, and I have to release my panties and straighten before I topple. “I was getting dressed… to go back to my room. To sleep.”
Jackson cocks an eyebrow. “But we’re not finished.”
I flush warm, eyes glancing to that area between his legs that was just so hard not that long ago. It sure looks like it’s finished.
He laughs and walks toward me. “I need to recharge first, but we have the night.”
“The night?” I ask hesitantly, not sure what he means. I am confused even as he pulls me into his arms, embracing me tightly before leaning down to kiss me.
It’s almost feels… real. Just a mere hug with a kiss, indicating no sexual want, only the desire to touch me.
Tipping his head, he nuzzles my neck and murmurs, “Get back in bed. Do you want some water?”
I nod mutely, and when he releases me to go to the mini fridge, I scramble onto the bed, pushing the pillows up against the headboard so I can sit against them. In a rush of modesty, I slip under the covers and pull them over my breasts.
When Jackson turns around with a bottle of water in hand, he smirks. “Why so shy, Princess?”
“I’m not,” I insist but tuck my arms in tight to hold the covers in place.
“And if I ordered you to get rid of the blankets because I enjoy looking at your body?” he inquires as he moves to the bed to stare down at me.
I lift my chin, figuring there will be times I’m going to be defiant. It might result in a spanking, but that’s not always a bad thing. Moreover, I know Jackson doesn’t truly want me to be a puppet. “I’m cold.”
Tipping his head back to laugh, he says, “Fair enough.”
Jackson slips under the covers and when he’s propped against the headboard beside me—our arms, hips, and legs touching—he uncaps the bottle and hands it over.
I bring it to my lips, take a few long pulls, and hand it to him. He doesn’t hesitate, drinking several gulps himself. He takes the cap from me, puts it back on, and sets the bottle on the bedside table.
Then… he pulls me against him, sliding an arm behind me and turning me onto my hip so I’m snuggled into his body.
I’m frozen because I didn’t ever think cuddling would come after what started as just pure reaction to attraction. Yes, there are feelings, but again… expiration date, and neither of us wants to fall any deeper.
But the magic of his warm body and the way I feel both cherished and protected is too much for me to keep at a metaphorical arm’s length, so I choose to sink into him and slide my arm across his belly.
We stay that way for a few moments, the quiet in no way awkward. I concentrate on the steady thump of his heart under my ear, and it personifies the man.
He’s steady, if nothing else.
But then I don’t enjoy the quiet or his heartbeat, and I move back into my head to the confusion as to what this is. I need to know where we stand, and then I can choose to move forward or not. I need to know if my heart will get bruised.
“What is this going to be?” I ask, breaking the quiet and staring from my cheek’s perch on his chest across the room to a horrid piece of wall art I hadn’t noticed before. And because my words are blunt, they seem to boom around us.
Jackson doesn’t even flinch. Quite the opposite, he gives me a slight squeeze. He doesn’t shift so that we might look each other in the eye, but I don’t sense withholding in his tone. “It’s just this, Camille. Amazing sex for the rest of this trip. You in my bed every night. The same conversation and laughter we’ve had. Discussion about your life and mine. A friendship but with benefits for the rest of the trip, and then we return to Bretaria.”
It sounds so simple, so many things we don’t say but that are obvious. We have an expiration. Seven more nights together and then I go back to being a full-time princess and I take another step toward my sealed destiny. Jackson returns to the United States and goes on with his life.
We can be nothing more—we are from vastly different worlds. I can’t give up my destiny and what’s expected of me. Jackson is an American with a career he loves. There’s no way he’d ever give that up to stay in Bretaria and become a prince. Besides that, my father would never approve of the match. Jackson, while an amazing man, isn’t up to royal snuff, or at least I can hear my father saying so.
I hold my sigh of disappointment and try for my cheeriest voice. “It’s like a summer fling … but in the winter.”
“Technically, it’s summer in Bretaria,” Jackson comments.
“But we’re in the States where it’s winter,” I reply, and just that simple banter between us means neither of us is going to talk about this further.
Jackson made clear what this is. I agreed by accepting it as a fling.
Now I know what to expect. Now I can operate within those bounds, and I’m going to lock my heart behind a wall of stone and steel and concentrate on the physical pleasure we can give each other.
Seven more days.