Financial District – Downtown

It’s not Friday, but her tolerance for this place may not hold out until then. Since Monday, it has been a flood of meetings and crises, last-minute calls and bottomless emails. Eighteen paragraphs. Eighteen! Who has time to write, not much read, an eighteen paragraph email!? Delete.

A strained huff escapes her—glossy hair flipped to one side on the twenty-seventh floor of Wells Fargo. She won’t make it to the end of the week. She can’t.

Picking up her phone, she taps away and gives in to what she told herself she couldn’t.

@Brooklyn: I can’t do this anymore. I can’t keep going like this. Tell me to go home.

Across the city, Jackson Wright steps away from the drawing table when a rapid buzz captures his attention. It’s only Thursday, which is an off day for Brooklyn Price to be messaging him with as busy as she can be. A small smirk emerges, a brow briefly rising.

@Jackson: You’re doing great. I can’t imagine the things you have to do. You’re an amazing woman. Stay. Take a 30 minute break.

He sets his phone down and returns to work, blueprints and computer models demanding his attention. Jack doesn’t wait for a subsequent buzz. Brook won’t reply. She’s already off on the next calling that compels her attention. Still…Jack wonders, and worries, about how she’s holding together.

---

@Brooklyn: I’m on my way.

Across town, Jack steps out of the shower to see her eight-minute old message. He checks the clock and date. A brief scramble through his Whitestone apartment ensues, tidying up here and there, though he knows Brook really won’t care. Why is she coming on a Thursday?

Brook’s home in Park Slope may be thirty minutes away, but she has no choice but to seize this time with Jack since she never knows when she will be back.

Brooklyn slaps the Whitestone resident parking tag on the rearview mirror, popping out of her car as if it has suddenly caught fire. A thin haze of an exhale slips out as she marches toward the building. Jack is there; that’s all she needs to know, her saving grace being only eight floors in the sky. The elevator doors shut on a solitary Brooklyn, a golden chain on her right ankle sporting a cute flower to match.

“Can I stay?” she lets out when Jackson opens his apartment door, falling into his arms as she gives into him. Brook latches onto Jack, burying herself in his arms as he waddles to close the door.

“Hey, now,” he whispers, feeling her tight squeeze. “Come here, baby. Take your shoes off.”

She allows both heels fall, black stockings slick on a hardwood floor as Jack half-carries her into his place.

Brook gives herself barely enough room to breathe as she accepts the reality that she is finally at Jack’s. There’s nowhere else she would choose to be. “They want me to go to Miami next week. Miami.” Brook’s duress nearly causes her to cry. “I don’t want to go to Miami, Jack.”

“Then you’re not going. Do you hear me? You’re telling them no.” Jack holds on, slowly pulling both of them to her favorite spot on the couch.

Brook nods, swiping away her beautiful brunette hair. The corporate two-piece accentuates her skin, a gorgeous almond shade of generations from the Bharat.

She feels like screaming. She needs to cry. She wants Jack.

It’s so perfect of Jack when he takes her hands, gently squeezing and feeling their softness before touching his face to hers. “Shh,” he whispers. “You’re here now…with me.”

Brooklyn nods, rolls her lips, and forces an exhale. A smile comes…then a brief laugh…herself a refugee in the sanctuary of her Jacky Boy. Jack accepts her kiss which is warm and full tonight, her flush cheeks giving her lips an even deeper shade of red. Brooklyn kisses Jack again, loving the way he freely touches her face, moving a strand of her hair aside.

“Lay back,” he tells her, making more room. “Both legs on the couch.” She complies, propping herself up into the spot that only she has occupied since her last visit over a week ago.

Jack gently runs his hands along Brook’s long, stocking-clad legs, finding the anklet around a slender ankle. He fiddles with the chain, turning it this way or that as he examines the rose.

Brooklyn watches his face, relieved for Jack to be next to her, to have him touch her body. “I love it,” she comments in an attempt to change the subject. She watches Jack play with the tiny chain.

“Yeah? Me, too. It looks good on you.”

Brooklyn never had a preference for jewelry, so when Jack willingly picked it out for her, it felt as if she finally found something that she never knew was missing. She wouldn’t have made the decision to put it on herself. Jacky Boy assumed that emotional burden.

She watches Jack, adoring the way he admires the casual things about her. It’s so calming to see Jack like this, although she’s reached the point of exhaustion. Jack is easy and light, fully controlled in speech and demeanor. He’s everything opposite of what Brooklyn unknowingly knows herself to be. Jack’s nature is reassuring, a smooth and calm feeling that glows from his simple charm.

His voice is low. “What do you need, baby?”

Brooklyn closes her eyes, eager hips adjusting as Jack’s hands side up her body to find the waist of her skirt. “I don’t know.” The skirt begins slipping down, Brook raising her hips.

“Oh, honey,” he lets out when he sees nothing underneath. “You forgot your panties.” The skirt slides off, Jack’s mastery of touch gracing up her legs.

“I’m sorry,” she lets out, her eyes closed. Jack does wonderful things when he plays with her, Brook’s legs instinctively widening. Jack plays with her in small circles. “Oh, fuck,” she gasps, pushing up against the couch. The anklet is prominent against her black leggings, a flash of gold on black. Jack’s circles become more determined.

“Tell me what you want.”
Brook shakes her head. “I don’t know!”

“Up on the couch. Spread your legs.”

Brook shoots upright, legs spread wide as she hangs onto the back of the couch.

“You’re getting ten.”

“Yes, sir.”

A firm hand finds one cheek, then the other, a wave rippling on her round hips. Brooklyn counts each one, making it to ten as she feels the sting.

Jack observes his work. “Start over.”

“One,” Brook lets out, satisfied that Jack isn’t finished with her punishment.

Brook has been here before, but never like this. Jack’s youth shows in the way he adores her body, the blood in him rapidly rising for a woman ten years older than himself. It’s so refreshing to have someone who can quickly decide the next move, to have a younger man’s desire burn past any sense of indecisiveness.

Jack kicks off his pants, positioning himself behind a warmed up Brook. He worships her hips, exploring her round cheeks. “Can I, baby?”

“Oh, God,” she lets out. “I don’t know. I don’t care!”

Jack begins working himself into Brooklyn, taking his time as every second is appreciated. Brook is wet and eager now that Jack is in control. A gentle fuck follows. Brook holds on while Jack does what he must, unable to even consider what comes next. It’s not that she’s indecisive, but rather exhausted. Brook becomes frazzled at times like this. It all builds up, and she gets too far into her own head. She becomes paralyzed between the competition of intuition and desire. It’s everything she wants, but can’t bring herself to be convinced. Her husband wouldn’t approve. He’ll never understand. She can’t decide if she should stay or go, leaving her fate up to Jack, who’s currently making a determined effort to drive her into the fucking couch!

Brook looks back with some surprise. Jack has never been so hard for her before.

He loves that look. “Tell me what it is, baby.” Jack doesn’t let up.

“Oh, fuck,” she moans, her eyes on his. “I want to leave him. Tell me to leave him!”

“No.” Jack smacks her round ass, continuing to fuck. “You’ll stay.”

Though her mouth is open, it takes Brook a moment to answer. “Ok.”

And that’s it. Jack’s decisions are final. It’s enough for Brook. He holds the power to free Brooklyn of the strain in her life, to rid her of the obligation and commitment of ill-informed reactions. Jack gave her the same answer last week. She isn’t sure if he will be able to say it so definitively next time.  

Jack’s not letting up, knowing that he is in control of her pleasure and life. He grabs onto Brooks' hips without asking what else she may want. Whatever it is, it doesn’t matter. It’s only what Jack can think of now and how to please her in this moment that matters for them both. If it’s good enough for Jack, it’s good enough for Brook.

---

Brooklyn takes her time getting dressed, slipping on the stockings as she adjusts and breathes deep on the couch.

“Here, baby,” Jack says, causing her head to turn. The gold anklet is in his hands, holding it out as a new, golden heart hangs next to the rose. Brook hums a tiny piece of pleasure at Jack’s decision to get her another one.

“Baby,” she lets out, holding up her ankle as it clasps with an audible click. She watches Jack kiss the anklet, giving her tired foot a firm rub.

The golden heart is a tiny expression of Jack, something minimal that will go unnoticed by even the most attentive of husbands. A heart joins the flower, one hanging next to the other. There’s room for more.

“It’s time to go, sweetheart.” Jack returns her heels to their rightful place, helping her stand.

Brook leans in for a kiss, the one thing she doesn’t have to think about when it comes to Jack. “Can I come back?”

“You have to.”

Brook nods, closing her eyes as she sways with Jack in this moment, happy to forfeit the difficult decisions.