Jackson:Chronicles of an Executive Coach

I stared longingly at the full-bodied, curved figure in my grasp. Cool to the touch but warming, I was struck by the intoxicating scent of plum and blackcurrants. The open window by the large oak bookcase let a cool breeze in, ruffling the half-open dinner robe sprawled across my still sweat-covered torso. I lowered my head and placed my lips slowly back, taking a deep breath of that luxurious scent of late nights and moonlight.
“Jackson?” came the husky, feminine call from the other room, shocking me into spilling the glass of red wine all over the robe.
“Fuck” I muttered, rising out of the leather armchair I had fallen into about half an hour prior.
“Jackson, are you coming back to bed?” Through the doorway to the bedroom, I could see her. Dark brown, almost chestnut-coloured hair hung loosely around her shoulders, framing her topless upper body by the dim floor lamp in the hall. As I glanced at her and back to the wine, slowly staining the once-white robe, the woman walked over and in a sickly-sweet tone, whined “Awww Jackie, you made a mess”. I rolled my eyes.