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A big, hearty, booming sound that echoes off the walls and punches me in the gut. Rolling me off him, Jackson gets out of bed. “Nope.”
Bitch.
“This is cruel,” I whine, slapping my hands against the mattress like a child because I get stroppy when I’m horny.
Jackson bends, a palm smoothing my hair back, lips grazing my forehead. “You’ll live.”
“You might not,” I grumble as I rise and follow him into the bathroom, definitely not eyeing the glorious outline of a perfect, sweatpants-clad ass.
The stars in my eyes dissipate real fucking quick when my gaze raises to the mirror and I catch sight of my reflection. Fucking hell, what is it with me and looking like a wreck around this man? Remnants of last night's makeup line my eyes, glitter still decorates my skin in haphazard clumps, and my chest and hips? Covered in tiny little bruises that I notice, with no small sense of satisfaction, Jackson seems particularly fixated on, the gleam in his eyes nothing short of predatory.
When he realizes he’s been caught, Jackson drops his gaze, clearing his throat and muttering something beneath his breath about spare toothbrushes under the sink.
I don't dwell on why exactly he has a horde of dental care. And I definitely don’t dwell on why the most obvious potential reason irritates me. I just take the toothbrush, grateful for its existence, and snag a couple of hair ties too.
“You wanna shower?”
Yes. Desperately. But I’ve already stayed a hell of a lot longer than I intended, than I should’ve. It’s not in my nature to linger yet here I am. And when Jackson takes the shake of my head for what it is–a bare-faced lie–and leads me towards the shower, I let him, blaming the lure of hot water.
The lure of a gorgeous, naked man is inconsequential, obviously.
So insignificant, actually, that my hands absolutely do not wander freely around that deliciously sculpted torso, tracing collarbones and hipbones and a drool-worthy defined abdomen until Jackson groans.
“I'm trying really fucking hard to be a gentleman.“
“What if I don't want you to be a gentleman?“
A momentary dark flare in his eyes is all I get before he composes himself. Big hands smooth along my shoulders, comb through the hair down my back, settle low on my waist. “We’ve been over this, Luna.”
“But I don’t getwhy.” It’s just sex. Hot, sweaty, no doubt toe-curling sex. It doesn’t have to be… I don’t know, whatever he’s trying to make it. Special or whatever.
“Because I like you.”
“You barely know me.”
Jackson smirks as he twists my hair around his fist and tugs. “I've held your hair back while you vomited. Doesn't that count for something?”
A groan of pure embarrassment leaves. Cringing, I hide my face in my hands. I’m not one to indulge shame but that was a low moment. It’s a miracle he stills looks at me the way he does when he’s seen me doubled over a toilet, spilling my guts.
Jackson pries my fingers away from my face, pressing his lips to my palm, his laughter sprouting goosebumps across my skin. When I peek at him through narrowed eyes, he’s grinning like a Cheshire cat. “So you do remember that.”
“I neither confirm nor deny.”
My surprised shriek echoes off the tiled walls when a hand comes down hard on my ass in a stinging strike. “Go get dressed.”
With a harrumph, I step out of the shower and wrap myself in a towel, playfully scowling at him over my shoulder. “You're kicking me out?“Oh, how the tables have turned.
“Not fucking likely.” Jackson scoffs like the mere idea is completely ridiculous, biceps flexing and making my mouth water as he runs his hands through his hair. “Just didn't think you'd be keen on a cold shower.”
Although probably not his intention, Jackson’s joke does nothing but draw my attention to the impressive length between his legs.
Yeah, I candefinitelywork with that.
Jackson groans as my hungry eyes take him in, and I’m half convinced I could make him come from eye contact alone.
An idea springs to my mind.
“I could help.” When Jackson pins me with a pleading yet stern look, I roll my eyes. “Not like that.”
