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Another sexy rumble of laughter. “That didn’t take long.”
I cried out in protest as his fingers slipped from me when he withdrew. Only to scream as he split me in half when he thrust into me.
“Better?” he growled.
“YES!”
He pinned me to the door, forcing my arms overhead as he used me for his pleasure, forcing me to ride one orgasm into another. From the first clench of release, the spasms never stopped. Over and over, they rushed through me.
He moved hard and fast, his movements becoming jerky.
“Oh god! Jackson!” I screamed as yet another orgasm hit me.
I felt limp. Completely spent.
“I could live my life inside you,” he groaned. “So hot, so wet, so motherfucking tight. You were made for my cock.”
He thrust one last time and stilled. His dick jerked and jumped, triggering aftershocks as it brushed against me just right.
“Fuuuck,” he growled. “I’d tell you to stop, but that feels too good to stop, even if it fucking hurts.”
He walked us to the bed, laying me down and pulling up his jeans. He leaned forward, kissing my belly and then my lips.
He whispered, “Stay put. I’ll be right back.”
“Good,” I said, still panting. “I don’t want you to go far. Plus, I don’t think my body is back in my control yet.”
Once we cleaned up and I caught my breath, we curled up on the loveseat in his room. He snuggled me between his open thighs with my back to his chest.
“Thank you for the new leathers. I love them,” Jackson whispered.
“I’m just thankful Olivia knew you wanted them. I was at a loss. I was going to get you new boots,” I replied.
He chuckled. “I love the ones I have, and the leathers will be like having you with me when I ride since I can’t take you with me yet.”
He stretched, jostling me, as he said, “You still have a gift to open,” he whispered.
Confused, I asked, “What gift?”
“Mine. I’ve not given you my gift yet.”
“Jackson, I don’t need anything. I have you. That’s the greatest gift I’ve ever received,” I told him, looking over my shoulder.
“Eyes forward,” he told me.
Shocked, I looked forward, wondering what he was doing.
“Darlin’, it’s not about needing something. It’s about wanting. What do you want?” he asked.
I sighed. “My Gibson.”
I lost the guitar I loved since I strummed the first note on it. The mic was a goner, too, since it had also been used to track my location. Everything else in my backpack was deemed okay, but I’d been unable to touch any of it because it all felt tainted.
“That guitar was amazing. I hope you like this one just as much,” he said as he laid a guitar in my lap.
“Oh, Jackson!” My chin trembled, and tears popped up and immediately spilled over.
He gifted me an exact replica of the Gibson I’d loved and lost. Unlike the original, this one had a customized fretboard with my signature inlaid in it, along with a line drawing of a microphone and Jackson on his bike.
