I step aside and open the door wider. “Sure,” I whisper.
He drops his bag by the door, and we just stand in my living room, the air between us so charged I can barely breathe.
“Why are you really here?” I cross my arms over my chest.
“Because I can’t stop thinking about you. Because last night on the phone, I…” He breaks off, shaking his head. “I can’t do this anymore, Izzy.”
My heart drops. “Can’t do what?”
“Pretend.” He steps closer. “Act like this is just some arrangement. Like I don’t want you every second of every day. You’re all I fucking think about.”
“Jack, we said…”
“I know what we said.” He stands toe to toe with me. “But I don’t care about rules anymore, or why this ever started. I need you to tell me it’s not just me feeling this way.”
I want to lie. Want to protect myself, keep the walls up, and stay safe behind the rules we made.
But I can’t. I’ve been lying to myself for weeks, telling myself it’s just physical, just fun, just temporary. But standing here, looking at this man who flew across the country aftera game and then drove nearly another hour just to see me in the middle of the night…
I can’t lie anymore. “No, it’s not just you.”
His hands cup my face, and the second his mouth meets mine, my patience snaps. The kiss is urgent, almost rough, as if he’s terrified he doesn’t believe me and I’ll pull away. I don’t. It’s messy, breathless, and too much and not enough all at once.
We break apart, both breathing hard, and he kisses my forehead.
Jack dips, hooking his arm behind my knees, and scoops me up. I yelp, laughing into his neck until he pushes through to my bedroom and sets me gently onto the bed.
He doesn’t give me time to think.
Jack’s mouth crashes into mine again. His hands slide down my sides, gripping my hips, pulling me hard against him. I gasp, the sound swallowed by his kiss.
“Get on your knees,” he says.
I push up on the mattress, doing as he asks.
We’re a tangle of hands as we urgently undress. My fingers tug at his jacket until it falls to the floor. He shrugs it off without breaking our kiss, like he can’t stand even a second more between us. My back arches when his hands slide under my sweatshirt, skin on skin.
I break away just long enough to breathe. “Too many clothes,” I grunt.
“I know,” he says, foreheads pressed together. “I know.”
He pushes my T-shirt up and over my head, his eyes darkening, and my breasts spring free. He palms them, his thumbs flicking over my nipples. I tug him close by his belt loop, my fingers shaking as I unzip him, and he steps out of his pants and underwear.
“Still okay?” he asks.
That almost undoes me more than the way he touches me. I nod, unable to find my voice.
He crawls up onto the bed on his knees, holding me to his body, his hands softening as they skirt up my spine.
Jack kisses me slower now, deeper, guiding us back until he rests against my headboard. My hands slide over his shoulders, tracing the line of his chain around his neck, the tattoos on his arms. I’m stuck somewhere between magic and a memory. Like, we’ve been here before, and yet I can’t stop, too afraid I’ll wake up.
“This is different,” I whisper, climbing onto his lap. His cock presses against me, and he hisses.
He stills, resting his forehead against mine. “Yeah, I think so. Too much? We can stop.”
I shake my head.
For a second, the weight of that hangs between us. Then he reaches over to my nightstand, grabs a condom, and rolls it onto himself. His fingers draw a slow circle against my clit until I feel like my skin is on fire.
