Catching Maggie Page 8

  A man walks up to us with two glasses of champagne and I am taken aback by who he is. It is one of the most high-profile attorneys in the city. I have seen him as the main representation on some of the biggest trials in the country. I am shocked because, here he is, bringing Jackson and I champagne, at a sex party. My mouth is suddenly extremely dry and this whole situation makes me wonder who Jackson really is and what exactly he does.

  “Jack, who is this delectable creature?” He asks, handing us champagne as his eyes hungrily drift over my body, taking me in. His gaze makes me feel extremely uncomfortable. I tuck myself even closer to Jackson’s side and try to melt into him.

  “She’s mine, Elliot,” Jackson growls, his voice deeper and more dominating than I have ever heard it before.

  “Such a gorgeous one. Will we be seeing her play at all tonight?” he asks, completely ignoring me and talking only to Jackson. Honestly, I’m grateful that I’ve not been invited into the conversation. I don’t think that I could form one word, let alone a complete sentence, at this moment.

  “Marguerite is new to the scene and tonight we are here to see exactly how she wants to play.” Jackson’s hand goes to the back of my head and he begins to slowly pet me. The feeling of his fingers lightly sliding over my hair makes me want to purr and curl even closer into his body.

  “Hummm, an awakening. How exciting. I cannot wait to see how she turns out once you have finished training her.” Jackson’s hand tightens slightly in my hair at Elliot’s words, but just as quickly as his tension appears, it is gone and he is calm again.

  “If you don’t mind, I would like to show Marguerite around now.” His words are harmless, but his tone is deep and unquestionable. Elliot smiles and waves his hand in a gesture to encourage us forward into the party.

  “Do not trust him, beautiful,” warns Jackson. “He prefers slaves and he enjoys breaking them.” His words are a whisper as his lips skim my temple, but they are no less frightening to hear. I cannot imagine what it would take to break a slave and I don’t think I would ever want to find out, either.

  Elliot grins before turning and walking away, toward a sofa littered with naked women. I watch him for a moment in his expensive suit, recognizing it as it looks exactly like one of Sammy’s tailor-made ones. My eyes move around the room noticing the stark contract between the flesh of the women around me and the dark suits of the men. Some of the women are completely naked, some are in only panties and others are like me in a bra and panty set. There is safety in the way I am dressed. I am not to be leered at, touched, or even approached without Jackson’s permission. I exhale deeply preparing myself for what is to come.

  We walk toward the back bedrooms and I gasp at the sight ahead of me. One of the bedrooms is a playroom where there is every sex toy and implement I could imagine, and imagine a whole lot I didn’t even know existed, all of which are hanging on the wall. A woman is strapped to two pieces of wood that look like an X, her back exposed as one man stands behind her, his cock hard while he hits her with a cane. Her screams echo, making me jump closer to Jackson.

  “No pain then?” he asks, his eyes alight with excitement as he looks down at me.

  “I don’t want to get beat, Jackson,” I whisper.

  “Some people need the pain for whatever reason, Marguerite. She may be screaming and it may seem like she is in pain, but he won’t hurt her. They have been married for ten years; she needs the pain to find her release. Just watch,” he encourages, urging me to continue watching the couple.

  “More,” the woman screams, her body shaking. The cane hisses through the air as he delivers three more blows to her already bright red thighs and then he drops the cane and I watch as his hand goes straight between her legs.

  “Drenched,” he murmurs, just loud enough for me to hear him. Then I watch in fascination as he brings her to the brink of climaxing, right before he stops and pulls his hand from between her thighs.

  “Please, sir,” she begs. The man’s chest puffs out as he slides up behind her. With one hard thrust, he is completely inside of her body. I feel as though this is too intimate and I shouldn’t be watching it; I feel like I should look away instead of watch this man forcefully thrust in and out of his wife of ten years. I feel like it – but I don’t. All of a sudden, she erupts with a scream. I hear the man roar before their bodies sag for a beat. Then the man pulls out of her, unstraps her, and carries her to a bench on the side wall. Grabbing a blanket, he wraps it around her nude body, just holding her, caressing her hair and talking softly to her. It is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.

  “That is called aftercare, gorgeous. That is extremely important to the experience. Not only does it bond a dominant with his submissive, but it also helps to ground both of them. Domination and submissiveness can be extremely emotional, bringing out buried feelings, so this part of the scene is crucial. She gets off on pain; she feels the high and then she will eventually crash. Her dominant - in this case, her husband - will care for her until her crash has subsided. It’s his job,” Jackson explains as I take a deep breath. It is a beautiful moment and, again, I feel like I am intruding, but the two people across the room from us don’t even realize we are there watching them.

  “Do you need a break?” Jackson whispers, his breath hot against my neck. I nod, unable to speak or move. Jackson presses his warm hand to the bare skin at my lower back and applies pressure to move me toward an empty balcony.

  As soon as we are outside, I take in a ragged breath and look at the city skyline before me. The people in the buildings that span as far as my eyes can see have no clue where I am or what I am witnessing. How strange to think that this happens in posh apartment buildings all over the city and that I am in one of them now.

  Does this make me a freak?

  Am I Kinky now?

  What does all of this mean?

  Am I sick and disturbed?

  Is there something wrong with me?

  Here I am, walking around in high heels and underwear, being paraded around with strangers who are screwing each other publicly, while everyone else in the room does the same thing. My head is spinning and I start to breathe heavily, my panic makes me feel dizzy, until two strong hands wrap around my hips from behind, lightly squeezing my flesh.

  “You are over thinking. I thought this might be too soon for you.” His words are quiet, almost too quiet as they bring me back to reality.

  “Is… is that what you want from me?” I ask shakily as his hands slide around to rest on my lower belly.

  “Which scene?” he asks as his fingers seductively rub the flesh at my belly, inching down toward the top of my panties. I take in another ragged breath and release it before I speak.

  “All of it. Do you want me to do those things? To allow you to do them to me in front of a room full of strangers?”

  Jackson’s lips lightly touch the back of my neck behind my ear as his fingers slide beneath my panties and rub my mound, just centimeters above the place I wish for him the most.

  “No, I don’t want to share your body with anybody, Marguerite. I’m a selfish bastard and I want you for myself; but I can’t deny that sharing a piece of you with the world wouldn’t be completely out of the question.”

  I know that this is a test, this whole evening is a test. Jackson wants to see what exactly I am comfortable with and, unfortunately, I’m not comfortable with much that happened in those rooms. Jackson’s index finger dips down to trace my seam. I widen my legs slightly and tip my hips back, my ass colliding with his perfect cock.

  “I-I don’t know if I could do it,” I admit shakily.

  “What about having others watch you? Would that turn you on, Marguerite? Would you come hard knowing that people’s eyes are watching you fall apart blissfully in my hands? Knowing they can’t have you, can’t touch you, can’t feel your sweet pussy suck them in deep like I can?” he asks. My head falls back against his shoulder as my hips meet his thrusting fingers. I feel the wetness
floods my pussy with desire at the image he has created.

  “They can’t touch me?” I ask, my voice trembling with need - I need more from him.

  “Nope.”

  “I might like to try that… I think,” I admit shyly.

  Jackson chuckles against my back as a second finger joins the first and slides deep inside of me, causing a long moan to escape my lips.

  “Yeah, you would. Knowing no woman in there could touch me and no man could touch you. What a selfish girl you are.”

  Jackson’s hand moved from my hip as he wraps it behind my knee, opening my legs even wider as he pushes my body slightly forward against the banister. If anybody walked outside, we would look like we are simply in a lovers embrace. Jackson’s body completely covers mine, as if his arms are simply wrapped around mine, and he isn’t pleasuring me with his deliciously wicked fingers.

  “Jackson,” I moan, feeling his fingers hit that delicious spot he already knows will drive me crazy.

  “Marguerite, will you let me tie you up like the gift you are? Will you let me give you nothing but pleasure while you do nothing but helplessly accept it? Will you be mine and only mine?” he asks, his fingers slamming in and out of me with fervor. My own fingers wrap around the banister, a loud gasp, followed by a moan and a shout of Jackson’s name, shortly follows.

  “Come,” he growls right before his thumb presses against my clit, and his teeth clamp against my neck, causing me to scream with my release. My core pulses around his fingers and my body sags against his, all of my weight leaning into him.

  Jackson scoops me up and carries me to a chair in the corner of the balcony. He holds me on his lap, my face pressed to his neck, his hard length presses against my ass and thigh. He doesn’t attempt to do more, he just holds me.

  Watching Jackson finger fuck the little one had my cock hard as nails. I wanted her more than I had ever wanted another woman. Something about her intrigued me. She wasn’t the most beautiful woman I had fucked, but her natural submissiveness and innocence had me on the verge of coming in my pants. Jackson didn’t deserve her. He wouldn’t break her and make her scream and cry. He was handling her with kid gloves, giving her way too much freedom. If it were up to me - she would be crawling next to me and begging for mercy.

  Soon. Soon I would have my opportunity I thought as I took a sip of expensive whiskey. This little one would be -mine. One way or another, I would have her all to myself. She was perfect for me, a perfect little fucktoy for my pleasure.

  Walking away from her was hard, but necessary. The game was on and I would win, I always won.

  “That was gorgeous,” Jackson whispers against the top of my head before placing a soft kiss there.

  His hand rubs up and down my thigh as the other hand wraps around my waist, his chest heaving behind me in ragged breaths. I can feel how taunt his body is, how he needs the release that he just gave to me.

  “What do you want, Jackson?” I ask as I place a kiss on his neck. I shift and move to straddle him. My lips make quick work of the length of his neck and I suck his earlobe in between my teeth as I slightly tug. I have forgotten that, although we are alone outside, we aren’t alone - not really.

  “What I want I don’t think you’re ready for, Marguerite,” he groans.

  I slowly rub my center against his hard length, loving how I feel every inch of him against me through the thin material of his slacks. His hands fly to my ass as he grabs a handful and squeezes, hard, stopping my movements. I don’t care what he thinks I’m ready for or not. I want him.

  “I want to fuck you, and I don’t know why, but I want to fuck you in front of every single person in that room. I need to prove that you’re mine, to make you scream my name while every man in there fists his cock, fantasizing that they’re me. But I won’t do that for our first time together. No, when I fuck you for the first time, I want to be the only person to bear witness to your beauty. That moment will be ours and ours alone.”

  My chest is rising and falling so rapidly that I feel light headed. This man undoes me and, at every turn, he turns me on even more. He makes me feel so special. Surprisingly, the way he describes. What he wants makes me want it, too.

  I want every man to wish they were him; I want every woman to wish they were me. For the first time in my life, I want to be the center of attention; I want to be desired; I want to be the envy of everybody, instead of the constant joke like I was when I was with Sammy. I want to take that piece of me back, that control.

  I crave it.

  “Let’s go home,” I whisper unable to control my urge to take him inside of me.

  I need him, I need to feel all of him thrusting deep inside of me with the power I know he possesses within his strong body.

  I want him to make me his.

  JACKSON’S LIPS HAVEN’T LEFT SOME part of my skin since we ran out of the pent-kink-house; right now, he is sucking my finger as he drives way too fast down the busy streets of Manhattan. I can’t help the thumping of my heart or the dampness collecting in my panties, and I don’t want to. I can’t even believe that in just a few short minutes, Jackson will be inside of me, finally. Though as exhilarating as that truth is, I’m also terrified. I don’t know if I’m ready, no matter what my body is screaming at me to do.

  He will be the second man that I have slept with in my life. The first man couldn’t stay faithful, so does that mean that I am bad? Will Jackson react to me the same way Sammy had? I can’t fight the doubt that creeps into my mind as we pass the busy streets, the sidewalks full of people going to and from their destinations.

  How many of them will be going home alone, or with a stranger? I look over at Jackson and wonder, what am I doing? I don’t know him - not really. I don’t even know what he does for a living. He’s hiding something, I can tell. I question how bad it really is. Will I regret being with him once I find out all of his secrets?

  I don’t even realize we have stopped and Jackson is at my door, holding his hand out for me to take. My mind has completely taken over everything else. I slowly take Jackson’s hand and allow him to help me out of the car and to the elevator of my building. Immediately, his hand slides around my waist as his mouth touches my neck before his lips hover over my ear.

  “You are over thinking and it will get you in trouble, Marguerite. Just feel for me, little bunny,” he breathes.

  I moan as his fingers dig into my waist, his hands hot and his hold firm, sending a bite of pain straight to my core. I suck in a breath as the elevator open and quickly find my key in my dressing gown’s pocket before we race toward my front door.

  Jackson is at my back when I walk in and I hear a baby’s cry. I know exactly who is waiting for me in my living room. Amalie. My steps falter as we walk inside and Jackson busies himself locking the door, oblivious to my visitors. I curse myself for giving the Harrison’s my freaking key. Jackson walks up behind me and slides his hand into my dressing down to cup my breast. As he pinches my nipple, my legs begin to shake and I almost forget my visitors – that is, until Jarrod shows up from around the corner.

  “Maggie, where the hell have you been? Amalie and I have both been calling you for two days! We thought you were fuckin…” his voice trails off as he takes in the sight of Jackson and me, Jackson’s hand in my gown and obviously on my breast.

  “Jarrod,” I gasp. I wiggle out of Jackson’s grasp, smoothing down my dressing gown, praying nothing is showing.

  “Lexington, what in the actual fuck are you doing?” Jarrod roars in a voice I have never heard come out of his body in all my years of knowing him. Amalie appears with little Axel in her arms and she looks between Jackson and me, her eyes growing wide.

  “Fuck,” Jackson hisses. I spin around to see him running his hand through his hair before he wraps it around the back of his neck. He won’t look at me and I immediately take a step back.

  “Jarrod, do you know Jackson?” I ask in a hushed tone my eyes searching his face.

  “Yeah,
I fuckin’ know him,” he says sharply. I shrink back from his biting tone. “Jackson Lexington took over Sammy’s position as starting catcher Maggie, you didn’t know?” Jarrod reveals.

  My lungs feel like they are collapsing inside of me as all of the oxygen escapes from my body. My eyes cut to Jackson’s and I see nothing but truth in them.

  “You were using me,” I say. It isn’t a question, it’s an observation and the truth.

  I begin gasping for air just as I feel Amalie’s arm wrap around my shoulders and pull me into her side. I find zero comfort in her embrace. All I want to do is scream and cry. I look like such a fool - again.

  “No, Marguerite, I swear, never,” Jackson murmurs desperately, almost as if he was in pain.

  “No? Really? You knew who I was when you saw me in that club. You knew who my husband was and you just pretended you were somebody else. You stood right there in that field while I delivered that speech, you were there.

  “I hid nothing from you. I told you everything about myself and you fed me nothing but lies and omissions,” I cry out as tears threaten to fall. I try to hold them back, but one escapes.

  Jackson reaches for me, but I take a step away from him. I don’t want his comfort; he’s done nothing but lie to me since the moment we met.

  “It wasn’t like that. I didn’t want to tell you because I knew this was how you would be and you wouldn’t have let me in. I was fucking right, wasn’t I? If I told you that I was Jackson Lexington, the new starting catcher for the Yankees, you would have told me to have a nice day.” He shouts. My tears are now free falling from my eyes and my lips is trembling so hard my teeth are actually chattering.

  “I want you to leave,” I whisper, unable to say anything else, knowing he is right. I would have never let him near me had I known his career; but that doesn’t negate the fact that he refused to tell me, after I had asked him repeatedly.

  “Marguerite,” he calls out, his voice sounding crushed. My eyes finally meet his when I ask him the most serious question I could ever utter.