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He applies pressure to my clit as he moves his hand faster and that’s all it takes. My climax crashes and flows over me in heated waves. It washes over me completely, filling me with a kind of satisfaction and peace I haven’t felt in a long time.
We slump into each other, our breathing labored. I want to kiss him. I want to take his cock into my body. I want to tell him so many things. Things I haven’t said to a man in a long time.
But I don’t.
He removes his hand from my panties and shifts us until we’re spooning each other, his hard cock pressing into my backside. I wiggle into it, loving the feel of it. Loving his body next to mine.
“Stay,” I say, knowing too well that he’ll try to leave as some sort of chivalrous gesture.
He reaches over, taking my arm in his hand, careful of my wrist. “I’m not going anywhere. Sleep, wildcat.”
Peace fills me and I close my eyes.
* * *
I wake up, disappointed to see Jackson’s not next to me, but I hear the shower going. I slowly sit-up, wincing at the twinge of pain in my wrist. My whole arm feels stiff.
I glance at the water glass on the nightstand, but there’s no pill bottle. Jackson had probably gotten it from the kitchen. I grab the glass and head out of the room.
I don’t know what I expected Jackson’s place to look like, but it’s not this. A living room void of any decorations, only a sofa, coffee table, and television. His kitchen only has a toaster and coffeemaker on the countertop. I find the ibuprofen bottle next to the fridge and take a couple of pills.
I roam back into the living room. Is his San Antonio place as bland or does it reflect his personality? Or is he not into decorating? Though I feel like Jackson’s the kind of guy that would want a piece of himself in his living space.
There’s another door in the hallway back to the bedroom. Curious, I turn the knob and open it to peek in.
But a peek won’t do because I found Jackson. His office is where he lives.
The walls are filled with accolades from his time in the Army and various other pictures. Most are of him with his unit. Then there are a few of only him and Gage. One of them holding up a framed picture with the name of their company on it.
On his desk are several more pictures, including an unframed picture of him, Gage, and Everleigh. Considering Everleigh told me they haven’t hung out for very long, this picture must be recent, which is probably why it doesn’t have a frame yet. I look at the others and they’re of a couple with a young child at various ages. One as a toddler, one as young child, and the last one the child is probably a pre-teen. The woman is beautiful with big bright light-colored eyes, they look to be somewhere between blue and green. She has long strawberry-blonde hair and a perfect smile. She’s a total Grace Kelly with an old-school glamour about her you don’t see anymore. The man next to her…holy hell. He has mid-length hair that falls in loose corkscrew curls around his head, giving me serious Lenny Kravitz and Jason Momoa vibes. The comparison kinda cracks me up since both actors had relationships with the same woman, but my celebrity trivia knowledge isn’t what’s important now.
He’s big, like Jackson, but his muscles are bulkier, his shoulders broader with a full sleeve of tattoos on one arm. His eyes are brown and his skin a little darker than Jackson’s, but the resemblance between them is uncanny. Jeez, no wonder Jackson is so handsome. The gorgeous genes are strong in his family.
“My parents,” a voice says from behind me.
I jerk to standing, my cheeks burning from getting caught snooping. He’s leaning against the door jamb, dressed only in a pair of low-slung sweatpants, his hair damp and curling at the ends. My gaze sweeps over his tattoo and this hectic feeling fills my stomach. It’s beautiful. So utterly him. I want to touch it. I want to touch all of him. And last night he touched me. I had those lips on my skin. Those fingers bringing me pleasure.
Now my cheeks are burning for a whole other reason.
I blink and glance at the picture again. “Yeah, you look a lot like your dad. He could be an action hero, and your mom looks like a model. They’d be an instant success in Hollywood.”
“Just a football player and cheerleader. They met in college.”
“Did he play professionally?”
“Nah, he was a firefighter.”
I smile at that. “Ah, I see the protect and serve genes run in the family.”
He shrugs, a sad smile playing on his lips. My stomach suddenly drops. I look around the room and there’s no pictures of him and his parents as an adult. He said was a fireman, past tense. I look back at him. “Did something happen to them?”
He takes a moment before answering, his gaze on the ground. “They died in a car accident when I was twelve.”
I press a hand to my heart. “I’m so sorry, Jackson.”
He shrugs. “It was a long time ago.”
“That doesn’t mean that it still doesn’t hurt.”
