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When he finally stops what feels like hours later, my whine is a mixture of relief and disappointment.
Mostly the former, honestly, becauseJesus fucking Christ.
“What,” I pant as I prop myself up on trembling elbows, “thefuckwas that?”
And there it is. A flicker in his bravado. A tiny glimpse of Can I Help You Dry Those Glasses? Jackson. An interesting shade of burnt tan, he rubs the back of his neck. “Too much?”
Oh, I shouldn’t laugh.
I really, really shouldn’t laugh.
It’s such a shame I never grasped the whole concept of ‘shouldn’t.’
I collapse on my back with a shamefully loud laugh. “Too much,” I snicker, hair in my face as my head shakes from side to side. “Fucking hell, Jackson.”
The poor, confused boy flushes another shade darker. “Did I do something wrong?”
“Absolutely fucking not.” I sit up so fast my head spins a little. “Sorry. I’m not laughing at you. I think I’m in shock.”
“You, uh,” Jackson scratches his nape again, and again, I want to laugh at the whiplash-inducing change in demeanor, “don’t normally come?”
“Not like that.” Shifting to rise on very unsteady knees, I bat his nervous hand away and replace it with mine, fingers finding themselves at home in his hair again. My free hand skates down his chest towards the hard cock begging for my attention. “And I have every intention of returning the favor.”
Jackson catches me by the wrist before I can. “Not tonight. I meant what I said.”
“Seriously? That wasn’t just a line?” My whine morphs into a shriek when I’m pushed on my back again, then a moan when the warm weight of him presses me against the mattress, every noise swallowed by a kiss that effectively lulls me into submission.
When he pulls away, muttering another “not tonight, Luna” even as his cock digs into my stomach, I don’t argue.
I sigh and I huff and I pout like a brat, but I don’t argue.
Rubbing my eyes to try to ward off the sudden wave of sleepiness several orgasms causes a girl, I gently shove Jackson off me and rise on unsteady legs, wobbling my way to the bathroom, much to his quiet amusement. I make quick work of cleaning myself up and when I re-emerge, Jackson’s settling a pair of sweats low on his trim hips.
Grey, of course, because he enjoys making me suffer.
A very apparent lack of boxers.
Jackson smiles at me where I linger in the ensuite doorway, tossing me a shirt that I promptly toss back. “I should go.”
“No, you shouldn’t.”
I sigh. “Jackson.“
Jackson stalks towards me, giving me a real good look at those surprisingly muscly arms as he braces a hand on either side of the door, caging me in. “Stay.”
“I don’t think I should.”
He leans down, nose nudging mine, lips brushing mine in a soft, slow, oh-so-tempting kiss. “Stay,” he repeats, “I'm not playing the hot or cold game, Luna. Either you want to be here, or you don't. And I think that you do.“
I do. For the first time in my life, I want to stay.
I just don’t know if I’m capable of it.
Expression soft, Jackson dips his head. He kisses along my jaw, down my neck, following the curve of my collarbones and back up again to end at the corner of my mouth. “Let’s go to sleep.”
In hindsight, I didn’t put up all that much of a fight. He didn’t give me time either. He wrapped my hand in his and with a single tug, I followed him back to bed. He handed me his t-shirt and I took it, slipped it on, tried so fucking hard not to sigh happily at the familiar scent. He pulled back the covers and I climbed in.
I let him tug me close, wrap me in his arms.
