A tool
853 Words
---
Jackson’s POV
“What terms?” I asked, voice low, eyes locked on her.
There’s always terms—especially in an arrangement like ours. Agreements don’t exist in a vacuum. There had to be something.
“We have an agreement, so there has to be terms,” she replied, ever the stubborn one.
I leaned back, a smirk playing on my lips. “Alright then. What are the terms?”
I waited, amused. I always liked watching her squirm when she tried to act tough.
“There would be no s*x and—”
My laughter cut her off before she could finish. It echoed in the space between us, sharp and incredulous.
“What do you mean by that?” My voice dropped, the amusement gone. I leaned in slightly, the air around us shifting. She was brave—until now. But Audrey… Audrey wasn’t one to go down without a fight.
“Well, wife, if you don’t want s*x—how about a divorce then?”
She blinked. “Is that a threat?”
“No, love. Not a threat.” I tilted my head. “Those are my conditions. Take it or leave it.”
I didn’t flinch. I didn’t blink. I waited.
Her voice cracked slightly. “Stay married,” she muttered, disbelief coating her words like frost.
“Good girl.” My voice dropped a note deeper. “Come closer.”
“What?” she asked, even though she heard me.
“I said, come closer.”
She hesitated, but I saw her fear of testing my patience win out. She inched closer until she was within reach.
When my hand landed on her thigh, I felt her jolt—like lightning under my fingertips. She froze, pretending nothing was happening, eyes fixed anywhere but mine.
But I wasn’t done.
I leaned in, brushing my lips against hers. A bold move, yes—but instinctive. I forgot Bruno was in the car. I forgot everything, really, until her teeth sank into my bottom lip.
I pulled back, stunned—not from the pain, but from the confusion. She bit me?
The silence that followed was thick. Tense. I wondered if she enjoyed the kiss. And from the way she shifted in her seat, lips parted, flushed cheeks… I wasn’t sure. But I had my suspicions.
We finally arrived, and if anyone looked more relieved than me, it was Bruno.
Once inside, I gave my employee one look. “Show her around,” I said, and retreated to the study. I needed space. I needed to think. I didn’t even glance at Audrey.
Not because I didn’t want to.
Because I did.
But she needed to understand what kind of man she’d married.
---
She must have felt guilty. I could feel it in the way she lingered. The way her footsteps padded softly around the house. After the tour, joe—my loyal employee—stormed into my study in a panic.
“Sir, there is a problem,” he said breathlessly. “If you don’t intervene, I fear the house will be… ashes.”
I raised an eyebrow. “What is it?”
“Madame is cooking.”
I smiled. I didn’t know why. Maybe it was the absurdity of it. Maybe it was the image of her, messy and defiant, battling with pots and pans.
“Why is she cooking?”
“She said… she thinks you’ll forgive her if she does.”
The smile widened. That ridiculous woman.
“Leave it to me, joe”
---
Minutes later, Audrey walked in—hair wild, shirt stained, and carrying the saddest tray of instant noodles I’d ever seen.
She placed it before me, eyes avoiding mine. “I’m sorry I bit you,” she said softly. “Did I… did I hurt you?”
I leaned back and gave her a look. “I’ll forgive you completely,” I said, “if you sit on my lap. And kiss me.”
She sputtered. “But—I cooked for you!”
I chuckled. “Yes, and by the looks of it, my kitchen paid the price.”
She huffed, flustered, but I saw the shift in her eyes—she was going to do it.
She stood. Walked over. Lowered herself gently onto my lap.
“Close your eyes,” she whispered.
I did. I felt her lean in, her lips brushing my forehead.
But before she could pull away, I caught her waist and pressed my lips against her neck. Her body stiffened, then melted. Her moan—it echoed through me like a spark to dry wood.
Her scent was everywhere. Her skin under my touch, her body reacting to every tease, every graze. I lifted her onto the desk, testing, tempting, tasting—
Then I stopped.
Abruptly.
Her eyes were wide, confused, breath heavy.
“You’re forgiven,” I said, voice calm once more. “But never cook again, alright?”
Because if she kept making a mess of things…
I wouldn’t be able to stop cleaning it up with my hands.
- Writer
