Chapter 26
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Jackson
It’s wild, this instinct I have to protect Ava.
I’d love to say it’s because somewhere deep down, I’m a good guy.
But I’m not. I’ve never been empathetic or altruistic.
Even in high school, I went through girls as fast as they threw themselves at me.
I never saw them as people with feelings, and I still don’t.
They’re all faceless pawns that exist solely for my entertainment.
And when I’m done, I’m fucking done. On to the next cheerleader, or model, or whatever the fuck…
Except for Ava.
And this is the thing—on paper, she wasn’t all that different from the rest. At seventeen, she was popular, flirty, eager to please me, and I’ve often wondered, what set her apart from the rest?
How did she manage to reach inside my chest, wrap her fingers around my dead heart, and force it to beat again?
I’ve never found the answer, except that she’s always been authentically herself.
She doesn’t chase trends, and she’s not afraid to have an opinion or tell me I’m being an asshole.
And, damn, it’s rare to find someone so damn sure of themselves that they don’t give a fuck what I think.
She’s always been a whole, independent person, and that’s hot as fuck.
What kills me is seeing that confidence fade.
“You’re so damn beautiful,” I whisper.
“You’re not so bad yourself,” she whispers back, her voice catching, just slightly. Enough for me to notice. But then again, I notice everything about this girl.
Finger hooked under her chin, I pull her face up, and lower my head to touch my lips to hers, testing her reaction.
My cock is so hard, it’s fucking painful, and the only cure is to bury it deep inside her.
Normally, I’d push her onto the bed, tell her to spread her legs, and take what I need.
But today, what I need is different. Today, I need her to crave me the same way I crave her.
But first, there’s a bridge we need to cross.
Pulling back, I stand in front of her. She looks so damn delicate, swallowed up by my oversized bed, my T-shirt hanging loose on her smaller frame. She’s naked beneath that thin piece of fabric, and that thought alone makes my cock throb.
I flick my chin at her. “Take the shirt off.”
She hesitates, her chest rising and falling rapidly as her mind tries to formulate a response. Finally, she says, “I’d rather leave it on.”
Yeah, I bet. She’s hiding from me. She’s been hiding since the moment I pulled her into that van.
“That’s not an option,” I say, itching to yank the T-shirt right off her body. But I manage to hold myself back. Just barely. “Take it off.”
She flinches at the steel in my voice, scrambling back, across the bed. Fear flickers in her eyes, and rightfully so. My restraint has limits, and she’s close to the edge. She’s smart enough to know that.
After several long seconds, she finally pulls her knees up to her chest and removes the T-shirt, dropping it beside her on the bed. She hugs her legs tight, denying me what I’m really after.
I lift a brow, my jaw tight. “You can’t hide from me forever, Ava.”
She shrugs, her gaze darting away like the words hit too close.
It’s almost cute how she pretends she’s got a choice.
Like she hasn’t already been caught in something neither of us can walk away from.
She still thinks she can outrun this thing between us.
The obsession, the pull, the inevitable collapse…
“You know, three years ago, when you left—” I kick my shoes off, then start pulling off the rest of my clothes, dropping them in a pile next to me. “It killed me. For months—years, maybe—I was trapped under a wave of grief that held me under, and stripped away every last ounce of happiness I had.”
She’s not moving, just watching me strip down to nothing, trying to act like it’s no big deal, but I can see the interest flicker in her eyes. I can see it in the way she subtly straightens her spine and hugs her legs just a fraction tighter.
My socks are the last to go. Now I’m naked, standing in front of her, my cock swollen, pulsing, stretching toward her.
Her throat flicks, “I’m supposed to believe that? You have no heart, Jackson. We both know it.”
With one knee on the mattress, I lean toward her. “It’s the truth.”
“If that’s true, and you were so torn up, then why didn’t you come after me?” Do I hear a thread of anger in her voice, or is that just my wishful thinking? Did she want me to chase her? “You knew where I was.”
I reach out and peel her arms off her legs. “Because I’d convinced myself it was better that way. You needed time. You needed a guy who could give you a quiet, uncomplicated life. But as the years passed, and you’d moved on, I sank into a darkness I could never quite shake.”
I push her down until she’s lying on her back, knees still bent. “That darkness was there long before I came along.”
It’s true. I was born with a soul as black as ink, and a heart as brittle as ash. But Ava was my lifeline, a hand reaching into the abyss. And when she left, I was plunged back into that dark void, swallowed whole by it. Pain, grief, and anger all flooded in, and swept me away…
“You were my light in the darkness,” I whisper. “And when you left, you took that light with you…”
I push forward, forcing her legs to straighten until she’s lying flat beneath me. For once, she doesn’t fight it, even though I can see the fear in her eyes. Every muscle in her body is pulled tight like a bow.
With one hand, I cup her breast, squeezing gently.
They’re larger than they were three years ago, but they fit my palm perfectly.
“Is this what you’ve been hiding from me?
” I ask, squeezing gently. She says nothing, so I continue my inspection of her body, my hand trailing down her ribs to the curve of her waist, to the softness just below her navel.
There’s a faint line just above her pubic bone, and I brush my thumb over it.
She sucks in a sharp breath and tries to pull away.
“Is this it?” I whisper, smoothing my thumb over the silvery line where her skin had stitched itself back together. “Is this what you didn’t want me to see?”
Rigid as a board, she draws in a breath and holds it, silent. I can feel I’ve pressed her to the edge of breaking, so I grant her the mercy of retreat. My hand continues its exploration downward, past the curls between her thighs, to her folds, then finally, to her clit.
Her body jolts when I make contact, like I’ve touched a live wire. I dip my head and touch my lips to the throbbing vein at the base of her neck, while at the same time, pushing my fingers into her soft, wet pussy.
“Mmm,” she moans, her hips jutting up to grind against my hand.
So fucking greedy. She’s always been this way. So eager. So hungry for my cock. My balls tighten just remembering how good her pussy feels.
“Tell me what you want, Ava,” I whisper harshly against her throat, my tongue snaking out to taste her salty skin. Fuck, I could devour this girl in one swallow, and still want more. She’s like an addiction I just can’t shake.
“I want you to fuck me so hard, I can’t remember my name,” she says, not shy at all about telling me exactly what she needs. And I’m more than happy to give it to her. But with conditions…
My mouth stays on her throat as my fingers sink into her channel, fucking her while I grind against her thigh. Each thrust of my hand is rougher, faster, matching the rhythm my cock is aching to take over.
Little moans bubble up from her throat, her thighs falling open wider. I pull back just enough to look at her, my fingers still buried deep inside her, watching her fall apart on my hand. “Tell me you’re mine,” I say, fingers pumping in a frantic rhythm.
Her eyelids slam shut, brows pinched in pleasure.
“Say it now,” I choke out, dying to hear the words tumble from those dewy lips.
I hate how much I need this, how desperate I am to hear those three fucking words from her, and only her.
How many times have I heard those words from another girl?
Countless. And each time, they slid off me like rain on glass, never touching the man beneath.
She’s riding my hand, grinding, searching for that sweet relief, but I won’t give it to her. Not yet. I slow my pace, the pad of my thumb barely brushing her clit.
Opening her eyes, she looks up at me, tongue snaking out to lick her bottom lip, her hips working, thrusting. Her pussy is so damn wet I can barely get traction.
“Say it,” I command again.
Her eyes narrow, and her jaw clenches tight in a silent refusal to comply that sends a blade of anger slicing through me, like a dull, rusted knife. I pull back abruptly, peeling my body off hers like a bandage torn from raw skin.
Every festering doubt that has writhed through my mind these past three years comes roaring back with vengeance—She hates me. She can never forgive me.
“Jackson…” Her voice is thin.
She’s lying on her back, thighs spread open, her glistening pussy on full display. Blood rushes to my cock, making it swell more, if that’s even fucking possible. And my balls are so tight, I can’t fucking see straight.
Anger pulses through me as I look down at her. She refuses to admit she’s mine. Fine. Fuck it. Then she’ll get what she deserves…