Get Him Some Money Too

Had To Be You (Male!JessicaRabbitXReader) One-Shot

~A/N: I am a sneaky devil, I know lol. I'm sorry for posting on such a family-oriented day, but the truth is this is the first time in my life I'm not able to spend Thanksgiving with my parents/family. So I figured I'd spend it with people I also love so very dearly: you guys!! To those who are also having to spend today alone, I'm there with you in my heart. I love ya'll~

~Jessica=Jessie~

Strawberry fields.

That's what it always reminds you of as your hand weaves in and out of thick waves, twisting them over and beneath each other in ways that often pulls soft hums and, perhaps, a tired groan. Your fingers move down to the slender yet taut shoulder muscles, bare and dotted with the faintest of freckles only you have knowledge of. The sinew barely yields to the circulating pressure you apply, but you don't really notice. Every thought in your mind is focused on the silkiness of the flesh, of the spiced cologne that's stirred whenever your nails accidentally rake against the tanned plane, of the grating sighs that vibrate through your groping palms. The vibrant, fire waves spill over your wrists and you happily return your attention to them, and yet a pair of hands rise to grip yours, returning them to the shoulders.

You silently laugh through your nose at the guy sitting in the chair between your legs. "Jessie, you don't have time for this," you say from your position on the table and, instead, pull up the red-sequined blazer that hangs around his biceps. "You have to practice your new set for tonight."

The man groans. "But I need to relax, and this is relaxing."

The blood that tints your cheeks is grateful for his back being to you, and you purse your lips to withhold a moronic grin, but only because you know you can't hold to heart the words that come out of those full, pouty lips of his. Jessie's an entertainer. You'd label him a singer, but what he does on stage-on the hormonal, quivering women that flock to his stage-works far more muscles than just the throat. He's a natural womanizer, and a damn good one at that. Everything from his swooping fire-orange hair, his devilish smirk, his intoxicatingly chiseled body, to his voice is seemingly manufactured for the sole purpose of seducing women till it's his name that stains their lips in the heat of the night.

Yet, as much of a wicked delight he takes in seducing hordes of women, it's your job-or what could be called such-to reign him in for his own good. You were dubbed the one woman he's forbidden to toy with, regardless of the time, place, or your ever growing needs.

"That's what you get for whipping your hair again last night. How many times do I have to tell you to stretch beforehand if you're going to do that?" you ask.

The only reply you get is a dark chuckle hindered on the thought of himself, sitting on the edge of the stage, back arched as he flipped his shoulder-length hair over his face. You roll your eyes and pull a card you know will demand his focus.

"I can always call you a professional masseuse."

Jessie turns around and catches your eyes with his of powder blue. "And let some strange woman get intimate with my body? I'd never dream of such a thing, doll," he stands from straddling the chair.

"Tell me again how a masseuse is any different than the strange women who stuff wads of cash down your pants?" You cock a brow. You strain to keep your gaze on his angled, coy face as he palms your thighs and settles his weight onto them.

"You of all people know I don't have the time to acquaint a new gal with the ins and outs of my body," he hums, smirking. "All the tense parts, the sensitive ones-the ones that are off limits."

His grip widens your legs and a gasp slips through your parted lips, yet you settle down once realizing your slowly tightening legs were pressing into a dangerous part of his ribs. A part that, with the right amount of pressure, could turn any situation problematic.