“Don’t stop,” I whisper, lifting my hips up from the bed to take him still deeper. “Jake, don’t stop.”
He doesn’t. He holds his weight above me, one hand braced on the wall behind my head, the other gripping the back of my neck as his thrust grows needier. The bed creaks with every stroke, the plain, metal headboard knocking against the brick wall. Every pump feels like a physical manifestation of his promise to protect me, to keep me safe from the storm outside these walls.
To be my home.
I lose my mind in the darkness of his studio. The polished professional with a squeaky-clean image I have spent my entire life building completely dissolves, replaced by a woman who is alive. The heat in the room rises until the air feels sticky and thick, our skin sliding against each other’s, glued together by sweat, saliva, my arousal.
Jake’s pace quickens, his breath turning into short, ragged gasps. His hand leaves my neck, sliding along my arm until his fingers find mine, locking our hands together against the mattress as his thrusts become relentless. Finally, he punishes me so deep that it makes my entire body go taut.
“Jake—” I scream his name, my voice breaking as the first wave of my climax hits me. It rips through me in a shattering explosion that starts in my belly and radiates outward, paralyzing my muscles and sending glorious, blinding heat through my veins.
Hearing my cry breaks whatever control he has left, andhe lets out a low, primal sound. He buries himself inside me one final time, and my entire body warms with his cum. His body goes rigid, the muscles in his back and arms locking like iron as his chest shudders against mine. He pours everything he has into me, and I take it all. I want more.
For several long minutes, the room is completely still save for the sound of our panting, desperate lungs trying to find air. Jake doesn’t move. He stays buried inside me, his heavy weight a comforting blanket that makes me feel safe. I can feel the rapid thudding of his pulse against my skin, gradually slowing to match my own, the redness that crawled up his neck and into his cheek fading to his normal color.
Jake rolls to the side, pulling out of me before maneuvering my body so that I’m tucked securely against his chest, my back flush against his stomach. He reaches down and pulls the tangled comforter up over our shoulders, shielding us from the cool air of the room.
We lay there in the quiet dark, our skin damp, our muscles heavy with a deep, bone-weary exhaustion. After a while, Jake shifts, his arm sliding under my neck to pull me closer, his chest expanding against my shoulder blades in a long, slow exhale.
“Shower,” he murmurs, his voice a gravelly, post-coital whisper against my ear.
“Mmm,” I agree, though I can’t find the strength to move a single muscle. “In a minute.”
Eventually, we make it to the small bathroom. The shower is a tight squeeze, a narrow fiberglass stall that requires us to stand flush together under the spray of lukewarm water. Jake takes the bar of soap, working up a lather between his hands, and gently washes the sweat and evidence of the night from my skin. He’s careful, his handsmoving over my curves with a quiet reverence that feels distinct from the manic hunger that took over our bodies moments ago.
When we finally crawl back into the bed, the sheets feel cool. The world outside the window has long been dark now, stars beginning to flirt with the sky.
I curl onto my side, my head resting on his bare chest, my arm draped over his ribs. Jake’s hand finds my head, his long fingers threading through my damp hair, gently stroking the strands away from my face in a slow, hypnotic tempo that instantly makes my eyelids feel heavy.
“Stay,” he murmurs into the quiet room, his voice thick with sleep. “Just give in and fall with me, Campbell. Catch up to me.”
I let out a soft, breathy sigh, my body sinking completely into the mattress, my heart happy, my soul at home.
“I already did,” I whisper against his skin.
Jake doesn’t answer with words. He just squeezes his arm around my waist, pulling me so close there is no space left between us, and kisses the top of my head. I finally close my eyes and let myself fall into a deep, dreamless sleep.
The transition from deep sleep to absolute clarity happens in an instant.
I wake up before the sun has barely breached the horizon. The studio is washed in a cool, ethereal blue, the shadows long and soft across the hardwood floor.
The crack of dawn does wonders for this place.I smile to myself.
Next to me, Jake is dead to the world, lying on hisstomach with one massive arm thrown across my pillow, his back rising and falling, keeping time, ticking away seconds of the day.
I lay still for a moment, savoring the profound sense of peace that fills the room. For the first time in years, I don’t wake up with a knot of anxiety in my stomach about my father’s expectations or my failures in pleasing him. In fact, if he were to call right this moment, I might simply shut off my phone and drop it in Jake’s garbage disposal.
Despite the calm, within thirty seconds, my brain does what it always does—it switches into strategy mode. Maybe I dreamt after all. Only, rather than dreaming of Jake—or a fantasy land—I dreamt of the work that lies ahead.
Carefully, so as not to wake him, I slip from under his arm and slide out of bed. The chilly morning air hits my bare skin, making me shiver as I pad across the floor to grab one of his oversized Mavericks shirts from the top of his dresser. I pull it on, then retrieve my laptop and folders from my tote bag.
I climb back into the bed, propping the pillows against the wall to brace my back, and fold my legs up underneath me. By the time the first sliver of golden sunlight pierces through the window, my screen is glowing, and I am already deep into a media blueprint.
FROM:[email protected]
SUBJECT:Save Sweetwater – Phase 1 Media Framework
