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Magic Jackson

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I slammed shut the front door of the apartment, letting out a loud sigh and giving a shake of my head. It's noisy than intended but it's not late enough in the evening that I care about it.

Today had been the longest day and all I wanted to do was unwind with a glass of wine. It's only eight in the evening, but my day had unintentionally started at six when extra hands were needed in the emergency room after a sinkhole had absorbed two cars and their passengers. I'd dove into surgery first thing before breakfast or coffee and barely gotten to get my hands on the latter afterward with the insanity that had been in the emergency room all day.

Quarantine and decontamination, specifically, had been the absolute pain in my neck part of the day. All because of a wrongful jump to conclusions from one of the interns.

A man had come in complaining of extreme stomach pain and vomiting, vertigo, dizziness. What he had not revealed was that he had an excess of almond milk that morning. Enough that the smell of almond had Wilson jumping to that kind of conclusion, all because she'd apparently seen it on some crime show recently.

That, naturally, made me want to tear my hair out.

"Hey, babe." My husband's voice called out to me.

I don't respond to him, hanging up my keys on the hook by the door and dropping my bag. I make a beeline for the sofa and collapse down into it face first. Burying my face into one of the pillows, I let out an annoyed, grumbled shout of frustration.

"That bad, huh?" Jackson questioned. I could tell by the shift of the cushions beneath me that he had sat down in the space left between my thighs and the edge of the couch.

"I almost killed Wilson. I was this close to just strangling the life out of her." I shook my head.

His hand fell on my back, rubbing it gently. "Well, I'm glad you didn't. You know I love you but I don't know how far you would manage to make it in prison, babe."

I snorted, turning my head so I could watch him out of the corner of my eye and let out a loud sigh. I'm still irritated even if I knew that he was doing his best to try and get rid of my frustrations, but it was just one of those days that had gotten a good grip on me and taken a long, hard shake.

"We were so close to decontaminating everything and everyone before I caught it." I huffed out. "I don't mind almond milk, but I can't ever imagine drinking enough of it to make myself sick. And I can't believe that Wilson thought just because she saw it happen on television one time, that it was about to happen right here, in the E.R. Just because crazy crap happens here a lot doesn't mean we're some kind of telenovela." I rambled on, getting it out of my system.

"At least it didn't get that far, yeah?" Jackson suggested.

"Yeah," I breathed out, still feeling a little defeated. "I really was not looking forward to stripping down and showering in front of half our coworkers."

"I prefer keeping this cute little ass of yours between just the two of us." He commented with a smirk growing across his features, hand sliding down my back to the curve of my rear and giving the flesh a little squeeze.

I squirmed naturally at it, a bit playful, flipping back over so that I was laying on my back and facing him. "I'm still grumpy. Don't be so cute." I whined.

"I'll just have to cheer you up," Jackson said. Before I could counter, he leaned down and pushed up my shirt, blowing raspberries against my skin. I practically screamed with laughter, squirming and pushing his head away reflexively.

"No, no…" I barely breathed out. "No tickling."

He pressed another kiss on my stomach before pulling back. "That's okay, I've got another idea."

Jackson stepped away from me a moment and my curiosity is enough to get me to sit up and peer at what he's doing. He grabbed his phone and a Bluetooth speaker, setting it down on the kitchen counter. It makes a noise as they're connected, and he presumably scrolls through the music on his phone for a moment as he walked back over. He bent over, dragging the coffee table away from the sofa.

"What are you doing?" I finally asked, staring at him with furrowed brows.

"Cheering you up. Sit." He instructed.

I leaned back into the sofa without another word but my gaze doesn't leave him. When he finally settled on a song, Pour Some Sugar On Me began to blast from the speakers. I let out a laugh, shaking my head. It's on my running playlist. I like having the occasional sexy song on there and he's clearly found that out for himself.

"I–" I tried to start.

"Shh." Jackson hushed me before I could even get started.

His hips began to sway in half-time with the beat and I can instantly feel myself begin to smile. We danced together on occasion, but it was never anything serious. It was pretty much always something goofy and quick, never with music.

But he seemed to be taking this a lot more seriously than any of the goofy movements the two of us had fallen into together. Even with the growing grin, there's still a furrow of my brows, trying to figure out what exactly he's got on his mind. He mouthed along the lyrics but didn't sing them out loud, only sparking my curiosity even further.

"What are you doing?" I finally blurted out, unable to hide the amusement from my expression.

"What part of shh don't you understand?" Jackson retorted with a shake of his head.

Before I could try and get any more questions in, slowly and sensually, he began to pull his shirt off and over his head. I love my husband. I try not to think of him as a sex object because of said love for him. But to be honest, he's got the kind of washboard abs that could make any straight woman weak at their knees.

He's hot. He's really, really hot. And when he's moving around like that and running a hand over his pectorals and defined abdomen muscles, it's pretty much impossible to think about anything other than exactly how hot he is.

Even as my eyes checked him out and my thighs unintentionally pressed together, Jackson's beautiful eyes never left mine. His movements weren't crazy or overdone, just slow, sensual movements of his body, over enjoying his shiftlessness perhaps. He grinned at me, clearly confident in every movement of his body, as he damn well should have been.

Jackson put his hands on my knees and dragged my legs apart, fitting himself between them. With his jeans riding low on his hips, I'm eager for him to get rid of them.

He does a full body roll, low and deep, before running his hands along my thighs. I tried to lean forward toward him, but instead, his hands run up my legs and over the curves of my breasts, pushing me back into the couch with a cluck of his tongue.

"Is this what you think decontamination showers are supposed to be like?" I asked, nearly breathless.

I'm absolutely throbbing with desire by the time that he picked me up all too easily with one hand, arm like a seat beneath my ass. Jackson rolled his hips into me and I couldn't help but let out a low moan, chewing at the flesh of my lower lip. I don't want him to finish the dance – I'm too impatient for that. All I want is for him to throw me down and fuck me senseless until I'm incapable of thinking about all of the crap that had happened today.

Despite what I'm thinking about, he's apparently committed to his little striptease. His hips roll into mine and I let out a groan unintentionally. Jackson smirked at me, kissing me hard for a moment before setting me down in one of the living room chairs.

"You're ridiculous," I commented with a shake of my head, beaming.

"And you love it." Jackson countered without hesitation.

He's certainly not wrong about that.

His hand skims down the expanse of his abs until they reach the button of his jeans and he's ridiculously slow to undo it and drag down the zipper of his jeans. He's wearing tight black boxers beneath – I can tell exactly which pair. I'm just impressed he's not hard yet.

Hips move sensually from side to side and the jeans only slip even further down on his hips. When I reached forward to try and give them a gentle tug, he wraps one hand around both of mine, holding them above my head and leaning toward me. His hips thrust in my direction and all I can think about is how much better it would be for the both of us if he was inside of me.

Hands moved down the lines of his pelvis to where it disappeared into his jeans. Then he tucked his thumbs inside his waistband and slid them back and forth, pushing his jeans down, revealing more and more of his pelvis in front of my face.

Unable to resist, I reach out to try and pull him toward me.

"Nope," he scolded with a tap on my wrist. "Look, but don't touch."

I groaned. "That's so unfair."

"Those are the rules," he said, inching a hand down the front of his jeans before grabbing a fistful of himself. Shit. That was the only thing I was capable of thinking at the moment.

Jackson rolled his hips against as he squeezed himself, his own breath quickening as he grew hard. So much for that not lasting very long. I wiggled in the chair, barely managing to listen to the fact that he had now told me multiple times to just look and not touch. Well, he had said that about him. He didn't say that I couldn't touch myself.

Although my eyes never left his frame, I reached down for the button of my own jeans and quickly undo it, lifting up my hips to push down the thick material and the cotton panties beneath.

That, of course, got his attention.

"You only said I couldn't touch you," I reminded him, slipping my hand between my thighs.

It does get the reaction that I had been hoping to garner out of him. His jeans finally make it to being nothing more than a pile on the floor that he kicked aside, member straining against the tight material of his boxers. I begin to rub my middle finger through my wet folds.

The song had already changed on the speaker but I hadn't noticed until the chorus of Bitch Better Have My Money had started to play. I was never giving him access to my workout playlist again.

His thumbs teased along the tight edge of his boxers, pulling it away and letting it snap back against his skin. Normally light eyes had darkened in his gaze and it made me smirk, knowing that this was beginning to have the same effect on him as it was on me. He was the one in the relationship who was clearly sexy, so getting to have the same effect on him was a little victory for me.

Jackson turned so his back was toward me, placing a hand on each arm of the chair and leaning back into me. He gave another full body roll, this one right up against me. It takes all my self-control to not reach out and touch him.

"Baby…" Even if I would listen enough to not whine, I wasn't going to shut up.

The skin of his ass is revealed when he teased down the back waistband of his boxers and I let out a little dog whistle, hearing him chuckle over the music in response.

He straightened back up to his full height before he finally pushed his boxers all the way down and let them pool around his ankles. His hips shook side to side again, still facing away from me so I can't see him entirely, but I watch with too much fascination at the way the muscles of his back move, fingers moving a little faster and finding my clit to satisfy myself. He's truly a beautiful example of the human form.

Finally, Jackson turned back around. This time when he bends, he barely stills in his dancing, lips sealing over mine in a firm kiss. I withdrew my hand from between my legs, and he snatched my wrist almost immediately. Breaking the kiss, he sucked my fingers into his mouth.

"What happened to no touching?" I questioned with a raise of my eyebrows.

He pulled back from my fingers with a popping noise. "Changed my mind." He wet his lips. "And you taste delicious."

Jackson wrapped his hands around my thighs again and when he lifted me up, this time he throws me over his shoulder as if I weigh nothing more than a sack of potatoes. His hand comes up, giving my rear a quick spank, and I squeal and squirm against him.

"You don't get to punish me! You're the one who broke the rules." I whined.

"Only this time," Jackson pointed out.

He makes quick work of carrying me back to the bedroom, but he doesn't throw me down in the way that he's expected. Instead, he settled so that he was sitting on the edge of the bed, pulling me down so that I'm laying across his lap with my ass exposed, pants and underwear caught around my knees. His erection poked me in the belly as I squirmed.

My thighs are slack, open. It's no challenge at all to slip his hand between them, seeking her out. His fingers make contact with slick skin, and I gasped out, hips rocking back for more.

Jackson braces her thighs apart with one arm, his other hand going back to work between my thighs. Even I could smell myself. I let out a sharp moan when a finger slipped inside of me but I'm soaking, and his fingertips slip and slide easily, but he doesn't rush it. That wouldn't suit his final goal at all. He'd been teasing me practically since the moment that I got home and I'm not surprised that he's about to continue with it. I tried to muffle my moans in the duvet of our bed as he lightly traces the edge of each fold.

The more that he teased me, the more frantic my movements became as I tried to rock back against his fingers and get more friction. But he keeps his touch light and teasing, enough to keep me begging but not enough to push me toward any kind of release.

"Baby, please…" I whined, unsure how much more I could take.

When he doesn't say a word or give me what I want, I squirm more than before, at least trying to get my pants down to my ankles so I have a little more autonomy over the movements of my body. But what I'm trying to do and what I accomplish end up being far from the same thing. I jarred myself a little too far and nearly fall off his lap, his arm catching my legs and my face inches from the floor.

We both burst out laughing, loudly.

Jackson doesn't let the humor distract for too long, though. He takes advantage of the uncanny position and pulled my pants and underwear off, tossing them aside, lifting me up and putting me back on the bed.

He doesn't wait any longer to give me what I want, with a powerful thrust, filling me up entirely. No matter how many times we're together, it's hard to get past his size. But we're both wound up from the teases of his dance and everything else.

I'm still half dressed, I realized, only when he hands underneath my blouse, and up my belly to the curve of my breasts. My nipples are hard as carven wood, poking against the lace of the blue bra that I have on, and his hands burrow under the fabric, plucking and squeezing and teasing. I cry out with pleasure from the stimulation, arching my back into his touch. My nails raked down the muscles of his back, gripping onto them and feeling them flex with each powerful movement and roll of his hips inside of me.

Turned out his hips really were multitalented.

The way that he was gripping onto me and thrusting inside of me was harder than the usual pace of our lovemaking. Sure, we've experimented here and there with kinkier and rougher sex, but it doesn't normally come out of the blue like this. Then again, neither did his striptease.

"I'm not stopping till you come all over me," he snarled in my ear, thrusting hard and fast. I moan even louder at his announcement, hips pushing aggressively back against him.

There's something undeniably sexy about having him be so possessive and animalistic with me. Sure, almost everything that he did was sexy, but this was Jackson taking it to a new level. A level that definitely resounded well with me. It seemed like he had barely done anything to me and yet I was throbbing, feeling the beginning of a release curling in the pit of my stomach. His striptease had gotten me riled up, as endearing as it had been, it had been far too sexy.

"I'm so close," I moaned lewdly.

One of the hands massaging my breast slipped down my body and quickly found my clit, rubbing tight circles over the sensitive nub. It's exactly what I need to be pushed over the edge completely and loudly.

When I finally explode over the edge and stars dance across my vision, crying out his name and clinging onto him harder than I had before. My orgasm coaxed him over the edge and I feel him pulse inside of me as he finished. A few more lazy rolls of his hips are given to allow the both of us to ride out the remainder of the orgasm.

After a few long moments, Jackson pulled out and rolled to collapse onto the bed next to me. One hand remains on me, his fingers finding mine and intertwining together naturally.

"How are you feeling about your day now, babe?" Jackson asked, looking at me with a smirk.

"You're so full of yourself," I breathed out with a huff of laughter.

"Yeah, but you like being full of me even better." He grinned, bringing up both of our hands and placing a few kisses on the back of my knuckles and the pulse point on my wrist.

I rolled my eyes but curled up against him anyway, wrapping both of my arms around one of his muscular ones. The one that I don't have trapped between my own looped over my hips and snuggled me up against him either further. I let out a content sigh, smiling to myself.

"Thank you," I finally murmured.

"For what?" Jackson asked.

"Being such an amazing husband."