Belinda's POV
I managed to to turn my body to face him, but I don't think that was a good idea.
Jackson didn't move. He simply stared down, his jaw tight, his eyes dark and burning like flint in the dim light.
"Do you really think that's how this works?" he finally ground out, the words a low rumble of defiance.
"It is now," I countered. I then arched my back, pressing my hips into the solid, unyielding plane of his. It was a calculated move, a dare designed to break his composure, to remind him of what he was sacrificing for his silence.
It worked.
He leaned in until our lips were barely an inch apart.
"You're playing a dangerous game, Bel," he whispered, his breath hot, smelling of the expensive whisky and the cigarette he'd had.
I managed to lift my hands from his grip to wrap one around his neck, and the other cupping a hand full of his hair.
He melted into my touch and his eyes immediately yearned for my lips.
He went for it.
His kiss wasn't one of pure passion; it was a hungry, desperate seizure of control. I could feel his confession pour into my mouth.
Our mouths broke apart, but only because I gasped for air. He trailed his lips along my jaw, his teeth scraping the sensitive skin behind my ear.
"You win," he rasped, his voice raw, his breath coming in sharp, uneven bursts. "You win."
He pulled back just enough to look me in the eyes, the confession not in his words, but in the dark, frantic desperation of his gaze.
"The truth, Jackson. Now." My voice was soft but utterly unyielding.
"Fine. My name is Jackson Hill. I'm a CEO billionaire. I own Hill industries and the security company you hired me from. I saw you once on vacation and I knew then and there I just had to know you. I tailed your every move and I assigned myself and a few others to you after that. I never use my face for anything when doing my business deals, and that's why nobody knows what I look like, regardless of me owning most of the country. Well, your family has this city by the balls and that's why I don't own all of it but that's okay. I didn't lie to you about who I was to hurt you or anything like that. You have to understand…I've never laid eyes on a woman as mesmerising as you. My obsession started then and only grew the closer I got to you. When you asked me to live in the main house I knew it was about time until either one of us cracked because I could feel you fall for me…and want me as well. That's the truth. You satisfied?"
"What…in the crazy…stalker fuck?" I don't know what to make of the information I just heard.
"Just know I'd never put you in harms way. I simply just fell for you and I wanted to give you the opportunity to fall for me as well. I know this sounds crazy but Bel…I had to. Once a man makes up his mind about a woman…he'll do anything to make her his. It's instinct."
When he calls me Bel…my heart melts.
"I didn't tell you because I didn't want you to hate me before you at least got to know me."He added.
I mean, I'm not exactly perfect-innocent-Katie so I can't be mad at him. You know what…that actually sounds like something I'd do as well.
He's lucky he's hot.
"You didn't have to follow me tonight you know." I eventually blurt out trying to distract myself from what I'm feeling.
"I follow what I want." Jackson corrected, his voice hardening with a deep, primal possessiveness.
"And right now, I want this." He added.
The heat was back, but it was cleaner now. Jackson hadn't released me, still holding me captive between his body and the cool, rough wall. His breathing was settling, the frantic edge gone, replaced by the steady, heavy rhythm of a man who had shed a weight.
He shifted his weight, his hips settling against mine, and the electric shock of that contact made me gasp. His hand moves finally, sliding under the hem of my silk shorts.
He then took my hand, the possessive fire in his eyes banked slightly, replaced by a fierce, intimate resolve. He led me away into the office.
As soon as he closed the door behind him, he lifted me onto my desk, spread my legs open with his body and said to me, "I know you woke up before I could make you feel good in that dream of yours. I also know you've been thinking about this whole room all day long."
"How could you possibly…"
"I watch you, Bel," he interrupted, taking a step closer. "When you get nervous, you look at things you want. And you've looked at this desk like you needed something from it tonight."
His fingers threaded into the folds of the fabric of my shorts, but he didn't pull them down. He stood between my knees, caging me on the desk, his presence so overwhelming I couldn't think.
"You wanted honesty," Jackson said, his breath warm against the sensitive skin of my neck as he leaned in. "Here it is. I'm taking the office scene you've been imagining, and I'm making it real."
He didn't waste another moment on words. His mouth crashed down on mine, demanding, possessive, a kiss that tasted of victory and the intoxicating liberation of the truth.
One hand slid low, cupping the back of my head to anchor the kiss, while the other moved under the hem of my shorts. He found the silk barrier of my lingerie and dragged his palm across the slick, delicate material.
"Tell me this is better than the dream," he growled against my lips, his hips pressing forward against the vee of my legs, the hard evidence of his desire a relentless, insistent heat.
I could only manage a shaky, breathless moan. The cool, solid reality of the desk beneath me, the heavy weight of his body pressed between my open legs, and the raw, conquering look in his eyes made the dream pale in comparison.
"Before I continue…I have to ask you a question. Will you be mine?I can only go further if you're mine and only mine. I don't touch women I'm not with." He warned.
"Yes. I'm officially all yours." I managed to respond.
My mind is a bit hazy right now but I meant it. He's such a protective, hot, strong man and he's a gentleman. What could go wrong?
He drove forward, eliminating all the air between us, his hard chest crushing my chest against the delicate lace of my bra. The shock of the contact made me gasp, and he devoured the sound.
"Tell me this is all you ever wanted," he demanded against my lips, his voice a vibrating urgency.
I couldn't speak, my breath coming in shallow, frantic bursts. My hands clawed at the back of his head, bunching the beautiful curls I've grown fond of.
His hands slid from my thighs, down my calves, and then returned to the back of my knees, leveraging my position until my body was angled back, entirely at his mercy. He worked quickly, fiercely, driven by the desperation we had suppressed all night.
With a final, ragged tear, the remnants of my composure—and my shorts—were tossed onto the floor behind him. The cool air hitting my bare skin only heightened the heat where we were joined.
"You wanted my truth," Jackson muttered, his eyes dark, reckless, and focused only on me. "This is the only language I have left right now."
He finally broke the kiss, pulling back just far enough so I could see the raw, consuming need reflected in his gaze. He anchored his large hands on the desk beside my hips, trapping me, his hips moving in a slow, agonizing grind that made my back arch instinctively.
"Don't move," he commanded, his voice a low, gravelly rasp. "Don't say anything. Just feel it, Belinda. Feel what happens when we stop lying."
He closed his eyes, drawing in a long, shaky breath, and then with a single, powerful surge, he erased the last remaining barrier, embedding the reality of the moment deeper than any dream.
I cried out, burying my face against his neck, the shock of the physical connection overwhelming, immediate, and utterly intoxicating. The desk shuddered beneath us, the sound of the friction a sharp, rhythmic metronome counting out our feverish ascent.
Jackson had just found a rhythm, his eyes locked on mine, navigating the intense reality we had plunged into. My head was tipped back, a sharp, choked gasp trapped in my throat.
Eventually the rhythm that had driven us for half an hour suddenly broke. For Jackson, it started as a desperate, consuming pull, a terrifying feeling of losing the edge of the world. He shut his eyes tight, his grip on my waist tightening until his knuckles were white.
"Bel," he gasped, the sound a strangled plea rather than a word.
I felt the shift in him—the sudden rigidity of his body, the sharp gasp of his breath against my ear. I met the change, letting go of all restraint, pushing myself past a point of no return. The room dissolved. There was only the sound of my heart hammering a frantic rhythm against my ribs and the intense, singular focus of his gaze when I opened my eyes.
A brilliant, blinding wave washed over me, a searing heat that radiated outward from my core, consuming every nerve ending. I cried out, not a loud sound, but a raw, aching release that was instantly swallowed by his mouth.
For a moment, everything shattered: the colors behind my eyelids, the feeling of the desk beneath us, even the memory of our names. We were reduced to pure, desperate sensation, spiraling together into a brief, violent silence where the world ceased to exist.
The descent was long and slow, a gentle float back down to reality. When the tension finally snapped, Jackson collapsed onto me, his weight heavy, reassuring, and completely necessary.
His forehead rested against mine, his breath coming in ragged, shuddering gasps that were mirrored by my own. We stayed still for a long time, the only movement the slow, wet slide of his chest against mine as our frantic hearts calmed.
He shifted just enough to kiss my temple, a damp, tender press that was more apology than passion.
"You're absolutely perfect," he whispered, his voice thick with exhaustion and emotion.
I only squeezed my eyes shut tighter, holding him, letting the simple, grounding weight of our two bodies finally still be the most profound intimacy of all.
Suddenly, a loud, sharp sound echoed on the door. KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK!