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RORY
Stretching my arms up and over my head, I slowly open my eyes. The small amount of daylight peeking through causes me to shut them once more. Awesome, yet another hangover. I’ve really got to get my shit together.
Forcing my eyes to open again, I blink away the blurriness. This is not my house. It takes me a minute to realize where I am. Jackson’s. I don’t even remember seeing him at the bar last night. I wonder if Lyndsey had to call him to come and get me.
Sitting up, I look down and notice that I’m not wearing the clothes I had on yesterday. In fact, all I’m wearing is one of Jackson’s T-shirts. I lift the hem and let out a sigh. Thank God. I still have my panties on. It’s stupid of me to even check. It’s not like Jackson would take advantage of me. He’s had plenty of chances over the years and never did. Standing, I move to his dresser and grab a fresh T-shirt and a pair of sweats. I need a shower to wash this funk off of me.
When I turn and make my way toward the bathroom, I glance down at the bed. Jackson is laying on his stomach with his arms propped under his pillow. He’s in nothing but his tight boxer briefs. My eyes take in every inch of perfectly toned flesh. With his arms like that, the muscles in the upper part of his back are flexed. My eyes travel down his spine to where the lettering of his tattoo is. Not until we are lost do we begin to find ourselves. I’ve seen that tattoo hundreds of times, but this is the first time I’ve ever wanted to run my tongue over it. Jackson stirs, and I rush into the bathroom, locking the door behind me.
Pull yourself together, Rory. It’s been a really shitty week, and Jackson is your comfort. That’s all this is. He’s your safe place, and your hormones and your head are getting confused. This little pep talk I’ve been giving myself since February is getting old. Maybe a cold shower will help with more than just the hangover.
Turning on the water, I remove my clothes and step into the tub. Pulling the shower curtain shut, I stand there for a minute and allow the water to wash away all the emotional crap I’ve been holding onto. My mind goes back to yesterday, and I think of Brad and I sitting in the little conference room at GenCo, hearing the results. Then the argument that ensued at his place right after. Closing my eyes, I push that thought from my head.
Reaching for Jackson’s body wash with one hand, I pick up his loofah with the other. I squirt a dollop onto the sponge and inhale the scent as I lather it between my hands. The familiar smell of Jackson engulfs me. I close my eyes and allow my mind to drift. Thoughts of Jackson help the memories of yesterday fade, replacing them with a heat that flushes my entire body.
The water is still cool, so I know exactly what my body is telling me. Thinking about Jackson is turning me on. Between dealing with the stress of Annabelle and now Brad, maybe a release will help me put those thoughts to the back of my mind. It needs to feel something other than disappointment and pain.
Lathering up my skin, I allow the roughness of the loofah to graze across my nipples. Slowly, I come alive, and the ache in my head dulls as the blood rushes south. Running the loofah over my slit, my body yearns for me to push deeper, but not yet. My mind goes back to Jackson. How incredibly sexy he looked lying in bed just now. How badly I wanted to run my tongue up his spine while my hands roamed over his body. I wonder how he would react. Would he reject me? Try to talk me out of it?
No, in my fantasy, he pins me down on the bed. His body is pressed firmly against mine as his mouth devours me. God, what would it be like to have his lips on mine? To feel him touch every inch of my body?
Dropping the loofah, I place my right foot on the ledge of the tub and press my back up against the tile wall. Unable to take it anymore, my fingers make circles around my clit. Over the years, I’ve imagined Jackson naked. I know his size is impressive, even though I’ve never seen it. But it’s impossible not to notice things while being friends as long as we have. What would it feel like to be stretched and fucked by Jackson Nash? Would he be rough? Gentle? Shit, I bet he has a filthy mouth.
I bite my lip to stifle the moan that almost escapes. Just the thought of him has me feeling things I haven’t felt in a while, maybe years. My fingers move faster, and I’m forced to bite my fist as my orgasm nearly rips me apart. My vision goes spotty, and my hearing becomes muffled. Removing my hand from my mouth, I look down and see a perfectly shaped bite mark. Holy crap. I can’t remember the last time I came that hard. And now I’m supposed to walk out there and face him as if I didn’t just touch myself in his shower.
Rinsing off the rest of the body wash, I turn off the water and reach for the towel. I can’t even look at myself in the mirror as I dry off. The euphoric feeling is gone and quickly replacing it is guilt. Why does it feel like I just cheated on Brad? Women have fantasies all the time. This isn’t anything different. Ok, maybe the fantasies are normally about famous actors or sports figures. Usually they’re not someone you shared a bed with all night. Or someone still asleep in the other room. How did I allow these feelings for Jackson to get this far?
I finish dressing and throw my hair up into a bun. Gathering up all my clothes, I tip-toe out of the bathroom. Peeking through the bedroom door, I see Jackson is still asleep. Good. At least I don’t have to face him right away. Making my way through the kitchen, I enter the laundry room and toss my clothes in along with the hamper full of Jackson’s things. After starting the washer, I make a pot of coffee. When Jackson finally wakes, I’ve been sitting on the rocking chair out on the front porch for almost an hour. It’s just enough time to allow the guilt and weirdness I was feeling to fade.
“Why didn’t you wake me?” Jackson has on a pair of black sweatpants and he’s zipping up his Hawk Bend P.D. hoodie.
“I didn’t know what time Lyndsey called you to come get me. So I figured I’d let you rest.”
“Lyndsey didn’t have to call me.” Jackson sits down on the rocking chair next to mine. “I was out with Vanessa, and we happened to be at the bar.”
“Shit.” That woman must hate me.
“Yeah, she uh, she wasn’t too happy.”
“God, I’m so sorry. I’ll apologize—”
“There’s no need. We won’t be seeing each other anymore.”
“Ugh, now I feel even worse.”
“Rory, if she would have been the one, she would have understood my loyalty. Good riddance.”
“So, I guess she won’t be coming to the wedding?” I try to joke, but then I remember my argument with Brad. “That is, if there even is still a wedding.”
“Can we talk about what happened now?” I look at Jackson, confused. “You told me you got your test results back last night.”
“Was I just a sobbing mess of a drunk girl last night?” I have absolutely no memory of anything that happened after my third beer. God only knows the things I said and did.
“There was no sobbing.” The look on Jackson’s face is unreadable, and I can only imagine what a fool I made of myself. “You actually wouldn’t talk about it at all.”
Looking out over the fields in front of me, I see a goose swimming with three little ducklings in the pond. The familiar pain in my chest aches, and I’m forced to take a few deep breaths to avoid shedding tears.
“I’m positive for both genes.”
