5. Hailey
CHAPTER 5
HAILEY
M y heart was pounding so loud I couldn’t hear myself think. It drowned out my doubts and my usual what-ifs — What if he doesn’t want me? If he laughs in my face? If I’ve read this all wrong, oh God. Oh, God!
“Come here,” I said. Could he see my hand shaking? I flashed back to eighth grade, to our school’s spring fling. To that moment I’d asked Robbie Goldstein to dance. At least, I’d started to, then he’d asked Mina. She’d said no, of course, but the damage was done. All those times I’d thought I’d caught him staring, smiling at me behind his math book, it had been Mina. Of course it had.
Jackson took my hand. I forgot Robbie Goldstein. I forgot about everything but Jackson’s big hand. His firm grip. His rough, callused palm. I pulled him down without thinking, my head in a whirl. Was I really doing this? Was this really me? I wasn’t drunk, or anywhere close, so where was this coming from, this sudden courage? Was this what fame did, or was Jackson that hot?
“Well, hello,” he said. He was so close. So close I could feel the heat off his skin, or was that me? Was I burning up?
“Hey.” I reached up and took hold of his shirt. All I needed to do was give it a tug. Pull him down, kiss him, but no. Not like that. I wanted him to make the first move. I needed to know he felt what I felt.
“I never do this.” His voice had gone hoarse.
I smiled up at him, challenging. “You never do what?”
“Oh, hell.” He let go of my hand. Next thing I knew, he was holding my hair. Tilting my head back, his lips rough on mine. His kiss wasn’t gentle but deep, full of want. His hand in my hair drew a gasp from my throat. He was pulling it, hurting me, but not in a bad way. In a dirty-hot way that made me want more.
His hair was too short to pull so I raked my nails down his scalp, down his neck and his shoulders, up his shirt. His bare back. That made him groan, so I did it again. I scratched him harder and he slid one hand up my skirt. He gripped my thigh so tight I thought it might bruise, then brushed his thumb where he’d just dug in. A hot thrill ran through me, and the prick of gooseflesh. Jackson bit at my lower lip and I choked back a moan.
“You can be loud.” Jackson nipped at my ear. His breath was hot, ticklish, and I hissed through my teeth. “My neighbors work late, so be as loud as you want.”
I pinched his ass. “Make me.”
He laughed. “Oh, you’re bad.” Then he flipped me like a griddle cake onto my back. I yelped, and he caught my yelp in a punishing kiss.
He kissed his way down my neck, down my collarbone. Over my shoulder, down the length of my arm. He nipped at my fingers and sucked them into his mouth. My breath caught as he teased with the tip of his tongue, my mind running wild with what else he could do. With what else he was doing with his clever hands, one in my hair, one up my dress. His weight was half on me, and I liked it that way, pinned under him. Soon, he would take me and make me all his.
“Yeah. Just like that. I love when you’re loud.”
I realized I was moaning, half-sobbing with need. Pushing his shirt up to bare his abs. His broad chest. He was scarred there as well, the new-healed skin tight. I found his nipple and pinched it, and he growled like a beast.
“You’re overdressed for this.”
“Yeah? So are you.”
He pulled back just enough to whip off his shirt, his body by moonlight like a Greek god’s. Every muscle stood out, every wandering scar. I traced his abs with one finger and watched as they jumped, ticklish twitches as I teased my way down. I hooked my thumb in his waistband and popped his fly, and pulled the zip down over his bulge. He shivered all over, and I felt his cock swell.
“Sit up,” he said.
I pushed myself up. Jackson unzipped my dress and it fell away. Then he was on me, pinning me to the bed. Pushing my hands up over my head. He pressed them both to the pillow with one massive hand, and with the other, he unhooked my bra. I arched up, weak with lust, and he chuckled deep in his chest. He took his time teasing me, making me beg. Trailing soft kisses down the line of my jaw, over my shoulder, between my breasts. Down the curve of my belly, up the crest of my hip. I’d freed one hand by then, and I tried to guide him, but he went where he wanted. Did as he pleased.
“What’s your rush?” He smirked down at me. I swatted his head.
“You’re a tease, and you know it.”
“So, say what you want.”
I felt my ears redden. “You mean like… talk dirty?”
“Why not? You shy?”
I wondered if he knew I had a song called “Talk Dirty.” If he knew the lyrics, more suggestive than dirty.
“Touch me,” I said.
“Yeah? Touch you where?”
I took his free hand and thrust it between my legs. “Right here. And your mouth, I want?—”
The words died on my lips as his thumb found my clit. His mouth found my nipple and he sucked it hard, then he nibbled and tugged at it, and I choked on a cry. A bolt of desire shot through me like lightning, every nerve in my body sparking wild as it went.
“That’s right,” I moaned. “Fuck me. With your tongue. Make me scream for you, come on. Come on.”
Jackson was breathing hard, lips rough on my skin. The scrape of his stubble made my blood race. He kissed his way down, tugged my panties aside, and then I gasped at the heat of his tongue. I tried to tell him don’t stop, but I couldn’t think, couldn’t do anything but pant for more. I’d never wanted anyone like I wanted him. Like I needed this feeling never to stop.
It was almost embarrassing how quickly it went, how my pleasure crashed over me in wave after wave. How Jackson rode every wave, teased me over the crests. How he didn’t stop till I was gasping for breath. Till the strength had gone out of me and I lay trembling, sprawled out like a rag doll, unable to move.
“Get up here,” I groaned, when I had breath to speak.
Jackson crawled up, and I stole a kiss. His cock was still throbbing, pressed to my thigh. I’d wanted to ride him like a rodeo bull, but if I sat up, I’d faint. I bucked against him instead, and wrapped one leg around him.
“Just a second,” he said, and reached for the nightstand. I heard cardboard tear, then the crackle of plastic, and then he was back with a whole strip of condoms. I laughed, high and breathy.
“Think you’ll need all those?”
“Guess that depends how bad you want me.” He tore one off and out of its wrapper, and I took it from him and rolled it on. He held his breath as I did, and his body went tense. I could feel his need, urgent as my own. Then he was on me and thrusting inside, one long smooth stroke and my vision went white.
I clung to him hard as his rhythm picked up, quick thrusts at first, then slow and deep. I could feel his heartbeat, his breath on my neck. His skin hot on mine. His hands in my hair. I melted into it all, the tide of sensation. It swept me away, and I didn’t care. I wanted to drown in it and drown in Jackson, and I held my breath as though that could stop time in its tracks. Then the urge rose to scream, to yell out his name, and I had to breathe. I had no choice. I shouted his name and he growled mine back. I ran my nails down his sides. He twisted my hair. Then I was gasping, head thrown back, falling over the edge with him. Falling through my climax.
We lay in a tangle as we caught our breath, then he leaned in and kissed me, and I pressed my bare flesh to his. His cock twitched and swelled, and we were off again. We didn’t quite use up his whole pack of condoms, but we made a good dent in it, and in his mattress. Literally, we pushed the frame of his futon apart, and we ended up lying squished in the dip.
“We should fix your bed,” I said.
He kissed my head. “Mm.”
I didn’t move, and Jackson didn’t either. We lay in that dip like sardines in a can, Jackson’s hand lazily stroking my side. After a while, it slowed, then it stopped, and I could tell from his breathing he’d gone to sleep. Tears stung my eyes and it struck me, I’d missed this. And not just the sex, though yeah. I’d missed that. But what I’d been missing was… this whole night. Laughing with someone. Teasing. Being teased. Human connection outside of work.
I stared at the cracks across Jackson’s ceiling, blurred then unblurred as I blinked back my tears. The longest crack looped round an empty light fixture, making a shape like a lumpen dog’s head. It was kind of cute, in a messed-up way. Time was, I’d have seen that and reached for my phone. Snapped a pic of the ceiling and texted our group chat — This look like a dog to you? A big hairy boofer? Now, I had no one I’d want to text. Mina was still a friend, but she was also my boss. Or I was hers. Or kind of both. Either way, if I texted her, she’d only yell.
That left my parents, which… yeah. No. First off, it was probably two, three a.m. They’d have been tucked in their beds around ten. And even if they were up, what was left to say? They’d said it all when I walked out: You leave this house, don’t bother coming back. They’d said it again when I tried to make peace — You made your choice . And I guessed I had. But I’d never pictured it being this lonely.
I glanced over at Jackson, asleep at my side. He was still sort of halfway holding my hand, like even in sleep, he didn’t want to let go. I leaned my head on my shoulder and matched my breathing to his and for a moment I wondered, what if this was my life? What if I’d met him instead of Elle and Shanice, and I’d moved in with him, into this place? Would he wake up before me and go get us food? Or was he a late sleeper, and I’d be up first? I smiled at the thought of me perched on the bed, waving a coffee mug so he’d wake to the scent.
He sighed in his sleep and his hand half squeezed mine. I pictured us rushing through our morning routine, him grabbing toast as I rushed out the door. He’d come after me, stop me, and kiss me goodbye, and tell me Be safe out there. Have the best day .
You too, I’d say. See you tonight?
Yeah. Let’s get dinner. Our usual place?
Our usual place would be somewhere only we knew, somewhere we could eat without being bothered. And if someone did bother us, Jackson would save me. Then we’d sit and laugh and eat… pasta? Chinese?
The fantasy crumbled for want of detail. I didn’t know what Jackson liked, or what he did for work, or what music he listened to, or where he was from. I knew he’d once been an Algebro and once been a soldier, and tonight he’d stepped up for me, but that was tonight. Morning would come and he’d go back to his life, and I’d go back to mine. I’d head out on tour. I’d be four weeks on the road, then six months in Miami. Time enough he’d move on, and so would I.
“Thank you,” I whispered, meaning for tonight. For my rescue, and this. Bringing me home. It’d been nice for a moment, to dream of another life, but the horizon was pinking up with a new day. If I didn’t get going, I’d be late for rehearsal.
I pressed one last kiss to Jackson’s forehead, then gently untangled myself and got dressed.