Page 65 of First in Line

Why did I ask that? Why would I assume he’s also aching inside, tortured by the ghosts of what could have been? I don’t doubt how Jax feels about me after all this time—he’s made that very clear during our impromptu dessert dinner the other day.

But what he said was that I’m the only woman he’s ever considered spending the rest of his life with. Not that he still wanted that for himself. For us.

Realistically, I’m still that girl who grew up in a trailer park, the one who allowed herself to dream big with him. I rose above my condition, yes, but not as much as he did. I didn’t climb the entire ladder from the bottom to the top, like him. He’s gone from nothing to everything.

How can a man like him, who has everything he’s ever wanted in life, still want me and only me? He isn’t a lovesick teenager anymore. Far from it.

But the way he looks down at me, with those blue and brown irises, tells another story. Maybe he hasn’t changed as much as it seems because as I drown in his incredible eyes, I see a window into the past. He used to look at me exactly like this, all the way to the end. With those same emotions, that same need, the same longing…

That hasn’t changed. Not even the slightest bit.

The sunset is at its peak, and we’re bathed in a warm, reddish glow that makes the moment feel surreal.

I remember coming here a long time ago. Just once, but I recognized this place as soon as he parked Winnie. Both of us have been so busy revisiting the past that I’m not sure we’re keeping track of the present. I certainly am not, too focused on what it used to feel like to be loved by him. To be his girlfriend. His wife.

It’s so easy to get lost in memories of simpler times. And part of me wishes we could exist solely in those moments. Those snippets where everything felt so perfect, even when it wasn’t. This, too. This moment we’re living right now could be a part of those snippets. A still frame among thousands of others. A pause in time.

Especially when his hand comes up to my face, gently cradling its side. I almost lean into the gentle hold, desperate for his touch, pathetically so. When the soft pad of his thumb grazes my cheekbone, I almost want to weep at how good it feels.

“I’d take the ache, Evie. I’d rather live with it than never have known you. A thousand times over.”

I’m still registering his words when he leans forward, tenderly bringing his mouth to mine.

The moment we make contact, I lose the little grasp I had left on reality. The entire world could evaporate around us, and I wouldn’t notice.

Not when the softness of his lips is pressed onto mine like this, with all the tenderness and adoration he’s tried to contain since we’ve reunited. I can feel it everywhere in my body, an electric tingle that awakens every part of me. This feels right. As right as it did before.

I didn’t expect that. I thought, somehow, it would feel wrong to kiss him, now that we’re grown adults. After what I did, Ididn’t think I’d ever get to kiss Jackson again without regret and guilt tugging at my guts. But there’s none of that as our lips remained pressed together, his hand holding me there.

His lips part before mine, but I’m quick to mirror it. The first graze of his tongue on my upper lip is enough for something inside me to flutter. And when he boldly slides it further in, offering me a smoky taste of him, my core throbs. The sensation is so intense that I can’t hold back a trembling moan, which lands right onto his audacious tongue.

The helpless reaction breaks the restraint he was forcing on himself, and the hand that was so gently cradling the side of my face slides farther back, fingers tangling in my hair as he tugs me harder onto his lips. He keeps me right where he wants me as his deft mouth devours mine in a way that is entirely primal.

And not only do I let him, but I also welcome it, returning his lascivious intentions with some of my own. My hand rises between us to fist his black shirt, pulling on it to bring him closer.

We’ve made out hundreds of times in the past. Maybe thousands. It was always amazing, probably because I learned with him, so my technique is perfectly tailored to match his. I’ve never enjoyed kissing anyone as much as I’ve enjoyed kissing him, and I know no one will ever feel this good.

But this is different. I can’t recall a time we’ve kissed like this before. It’s desperate, and raw, and so terribly needy that I fear we’ll never be able to stop. It tastes like the cigarette he just smoked, but also like him and like wasted years.

I can’t get enough of it. It’s everything I’ve ever wanted, even if I was too blind to realize it. This is Jackson, my Jax, and I was such a fool for ever thinking I could walk away and go on with my life. Without him in it, it’s incomplete. For seven years, I’ve been missing half of myself.

And for the first time since I left him, I feel whole again. Like I’m finally me.

Our kiss is sloppy because we’re each desperate for more. I hang onto him while he holds me close, as if letting go would kill us. I’m so absorbed by it I barely feel him moving around. As long as we’re lip-locked, I don’t care what happens.

But when one of his big hands slithers between us to cup my breast, I realize he’s made his way between my legs as I lean back on Winnie’s hood. In this position, he towers over me, arched in a way that gives him dominion over the moment. My face is angled up, my mouth pliant under his repeated invasions.

I’m burning all over. Feverish and heated like I’m standing right in front of a fire pit. And between my legs… I’m throbbing, soaked, and eager for him, for his touch. I can’t recall ever being this aroused before. And if I ever was, it was with him. Without a shadow of a doubt. Only this man could make me this desperate for release. This eager to be filled and plowed with powerful thrusts.

“Jax,” I moan into the kiss.

“I know, princess.”

My fingers curl into the fine fabric of his shirt as his lips explore my neck, his greedy tongue sampling every inch of skin it can access. I’m so starved for his touch that when his free hand lowers between us and covers the heated space that’s begging for him, I can’t do anything but whimper his name.

“I bet you’re so wet…” he rasps in my ear. “Your pretty little pussy was always so fucking drenched for me, wasn’t it, Evie?”

“Please,” I beg, arching into his hand, trying to get more.