4. Chapter 4
4
Chapter 4
I wake slowly to early morning light and the sound of waves. For a moment, I’m disoriented - this isn’t my room at the inn or my apartment. Then I feel Jack’s arm around my waist, his chest warm against my back, and memories of last night flood back.
His lips on my skin. The way he whispered my name. How he touched me like he was memorizing every inch. Then fucked me stupid. Making me come so hard I forgot my own name. His tenderness afterward as he pulled me close, and kissed me.
Now his breathing is deep and even, his body curled protectively around mine. I should probably feel awkward or uncertain, but instead I feel… safe. Fucking amazing, actually.
I must move slightly because his arm tightens, pulling me closer in his sleep. His face is buried in my hair, and I can feel his heart beating steady and strong against my back.
“Stop thinking so loud,” Jack rumbles against my neck, his sexy voice rough with sleep.
I smile. “I thought you were asleep.”
“Was.” His lips brush my shoulder. “Until someone started overthinking.”
“I’m not overthinking.” I turn in his arms to face him. His hair is adorably mussed, stubble darkening his jaw. He looks fucking good enough to eat. “Just… processing.”
“Processing what?” His eyes are still heavy with sleep, but there’s something else creeping into them.
I trace a finger along his collarbone, shrugging. “Everything.”
He catches my hand, brings it to his lips. For a moment, I think he might say something. Instead, he rolls away and sits up.
“I should make coffee.”
I watch him pull on sweatpants and pad to the bathroom, shoulders tense. The warmth from moments ago dissipates like morning fog, leaving me uncertain.
By the time I make it downstairs Jack’s in the kitchen, focused on the coffee maker. Fuck, his walls are back up - I can see it in the rigid line of his spine, the careful distance he maintains.
“Jack?”
“Coffee’s almost ready.” His voice is cold. Nothing like the man who growled my name into my pussy last night.
His phone buzzes on the counter. He’s been ignoring calls since we arrived, but this time he grabs it, stepping on the deck to answer.
I watch through the window as he paces, running a hand through his hair in frustration. Even with the glass between us, I can feel the tension emanating from every line of his body.
The coffee maker beeps. I pour two mugs, but by the time I turn around, Jack’s heading upstairs.
“Work call,” he says without looking at me. “Need to handle some things.”
I stand in the kitchen holding two cooling mugs of coffee, trying to reconcile this distant stranger with the man who held me like I was precious just hours ago. The man who danced with me, who kissed me like he never wanted to stop, who whispered things against my skin that made me shiver. The man who was inside me most of last night…
Maybe this is why his relationships never last. Maybe this is what happens the morning after - the walls go up, the warmth dies, and he retreats into himself until whoever he’s with gives up and leaves.
The thought sits heavy in my stomach as I dump his coffee in the sink.
Through the window, I watch the waves crash against the rocky shore. The sky is steel gray, matching my mood. I should write - I have deadlines, after all - but the thought of trying to focus on my manuscript right now seems impossible.
His footsteps on the stairs make me turn. He’s dressed now, in dark jeans and a sweater. The casual intimacy of this morning feels like a long lost dream.
“Listen,” Jack starts, not quite meeting my eyes. “There are some things I need to handle. Project deadlines, meetings…”
“Sure.” I firm my voice. “I should work too, anyway.”
He nods, already pulling out his phone. “There’s food in the fridge. Make yourself at home.”
Make yourself at home. Like I’m a fucking houseguest he’s leaving to run errands. Not someone he spent the night with, someone he kissed like he meant it, someone he…
“Jack.” My voice stops him at the bottom of the stairs. “Are we going to talk about last night?” My tone is stone-cold.
His shoulders tense. For a moment, I think he might turn around, might actually say something. Instead, he just mumbles, “Later,” and disappears up the stairs.
By evening, I’ve given up pretending to write and migrated to the sofa with a book I’m also not really reading. Jack’s been upstairs all day, the sound of his voice occasionally drifting down as he takes call after call.
When he finally emerges, the sun is setting over the ocean. He looks tired, his hair mussed like he’s been running his hands through it.
“Hungry?” he asks, heading to the kitchen. “I can make something.”
“Sure.” I set my book down, matching his cold energy. “Need help?”
He shakes his head, already pulling ingredients from the fridge. I watch him work, the efficient movement of his hands as he chops vegetables, the way his muscles flex under his sweater. Everything about him is a contradiction - the tenderness of last night versus this careful distance, the way he moves around me like he’s afraid to get too close. And I hate that despite all that my body still responds to his proximity.
The silence stretches between us, broken only by the sound of cooking and waves against the shore.
“The press is still camped outside my building,” Jack finally says. “And yours.”
“Is that what all the calls were about?”
He nods, focused on the stove. “Among other things.”
“Other things like avoiding me?” The words slip out before I can stop them.
He stills, his back to me. “I’m not avoiding you.”
“Really? Because it feels like you’ve been doing nothing but that since this morning.” I stand, needing to move. “Last night you couldn’t keep your hands off me, and now you can barely look at me.”
“It’s complicated.”
“Then uncomplicate it, Jack.”
He finally turns to face me, and something flickers in his beautiful eyes - pain? Regret? But his voice stays carefully neutral. “Last night shouldn’t have happened.”
“Shouldn’t have happened?” The fuck?… “Which part? The dancing? The kissing? The fucking? Or just the part where you let your fucking walls down for five fucking minutes?”
“Neneh-”
“No, you know what? Keep your bullshit, Jack Ellis. I’m going upstairs.” I head for the stairs, then pause. “And Jack? ‘It’s complicated’ is boy speak, not grown man.”
I make it to my room before the tears start, hating myself for crying, hating him for being a fucking closed-off jackass, hating that I let myself believe last night meant something. Everything…
I wake to the sound of waves and my phone buzzing. It’s my mother.
“How’s Jack?” she asks, too cheerful for my mood.
I stare at the ceiling, at the way morning light plays across it. “Fine.”
Her voice softens. “What happened, sweetheart?”
“Nothing.” Everything went to shit. “Just… being stupid. Thinking something was there that wasn’t.”
There’s a long pause. Then: “Did I ever tell you how your father disappeared for a week after our first night together?”
“What?!” I sit up abruptly. “Ma!”
“Oh, yes. Went completely silent. I was ready to fly back home, convinced I’d imagined everything between us.” She makes a sound between a laugh and a sigh. “Men sometimes run when things get real. Especially men who aren’t used to letting people in.”
“This isn’t the same, Ma.”
“Maybe not. But, chérie? Maybe give him a chance to tell you why he’s running before you give up. Feelings are scary, and men can be dumb.”
I laugh, feeling a bit better. Then I hear movement downstairs - cupboards opening, the coffee machine starting.
“I have to go,” I tell her. “I’ll call you later. Love you, Ma. you’re the best!”
I find Jack in the kitchen, looking like he hasn’t slept. He’s staring out at the ocean, coffee untouched in front of him. Looking like some brooding Heathcliff. I hate him. Well, not really. Ugh.
“Your mom?” he asks without turning.
My step falters. “How’d you know?”
He just shrugs, before running a hand through his already messy hair. “Is she… are they okay? With all this?”
I pour myself coffee, needing something to do with my hands. “I think so.”
Then Jack turns and the look on his face stops me. “I don’t want to pretend it didn’t happen, Neneh.”
I just watch him. Silent. Trying to keep it together. To not let myself hope again.
Jack takes a step toward me, then stops himself. “I’m trying to protect you.”
“From what, Jack?”
“You don’t understand what this life is like.” He grips the counter, knuckles white. “The constant scrutiny, the speculations, your every move analyzed, the details of every relationship exposed in the tabloids.”
“So help me understand, Jack.”
He lets out a bitter laugh. “I haven’t had a real relationship in years because every time I try, it becomes a media circus. My last girlfriend had reporters going through her trash. The one before that had to change her number three times. My sister can’t even post a family photo without gossip sites analyzing each detail.”
“Jack-”
“And now they’re camped outside your parents’ inn. Your home. Because of me.” He pokes at his chest. “Because I was selfish enough to want…” He stops, jaw clenched.
“To want what, Jack?” My heart breaks a little seeing this handsome giant struggling to gather himself, to hold it in. His pain, his frustration. The things he can’t really share. One-percenter problems. Still real, still human. Just a man with talent. Who chose to share his gift with the world. And now asks for nothing but a bit of space, some privacy, room to breathe. To live his life.
“You.” The word comes out rough, almost angry. “I want you. And now your life is going to become a fucking circus because of that.”
“That ship has sailed, Jack.” I say quietly. “Now, what? You protect me by pushing me away?”
“I’m not-” He starts pacing.
“What, Jack? What did you want when you kissed me? When you brought me here? When you…” I swallow hard. “When you were inside me last night?”
He stops moving, and the pain in his eyes makes my chest ache. “Everything. That’s the problem.”
“It doesn’t have to be.”
“This-” he gestures between us “-can’t work. It never works.”
“You haven’t even given us a chance.”
“Because I know how it ends!” The words explode out of him. “Every time. The press, the pressure, the constant scrutiny - it kills everything good. Everything real.”
“Or maybe,” I step closer, refusing to let him retreat, “you kill it first. To maintain control. To protect yourself.”
He runs both hands over his face. “Neneh…”
“Tell me I’m wrong. Tell me you’re not sabotaging this because you’re scared.”
“Of course I’m scared!” The admission seems to surprise us both. “I’m fucking terrified.” He waves between us. “This feels different. You feel different. And that makes it worse.”
“Why?”
His silence is answer enough. I grab my phone off the counter.
“I need some air.” I head for the door.
I walk along the rocky shore until my feet hurt, until the wind has dried the tears on my cheeks. The ocean crashes against the rocks, as wild as my thoughts.
My phone buzzes - Malik, probably with more PR plans - but I ignore it. All I can think about is the pain in Jack’s eyes, the way his hands shook when he admitted being scared, how badly I want to shake some sense into him. And kiss him, hug him, make love to him again. Soothe his pain.
When I finally head back to the house, the sun is high overhead. I find a note on the kitchen counter:
Had to go to the city. Back tomorrow.
- J
That’s it. No explanation, no apology, not even a proper goodbye. Just another retreat, another fucking wall.
I trace my fingers over his handwriting, remembering how those same fingers touched me with so much passion and tenderness just yesterday. How is it possible that everything has changed so fast?
The house feels even bigger now, empty and echoing. Through the windows, I watch clouds gather over the ocean, matching my mood.
He’s running. Again. And maybe this time, I should let him.
The rest of the day passes in a blur. I try to write, give up. Try to read, can’t focus. End up curled on the sofa watching the sky darken over the water.
Sometime after sunset, my phone rings. It’s my father.
“Your mother’s worried,” he says without preamble.
“I’m fine.”
“Mm-hmm.” He’s quiet for a moment. “You know, when I first met your mother, I was terrified.”
“Dad-”
“Let me finish. I was terrified because I knew - from the very first moment - that she could break my heart. That what I felt for her was bigger than anything I’d felt before.”
I pull my knees to my chest, watching lightning flicker over the ocean. “Did you run?”
“You know I did. Your mom told me she shared. But you know what I realized?”
“What?”
“That it hurt more trying to live without her.”
The tears I’ve been holding back all day finally spill over. “It’s different, Papa. He’s…”
“Pushing you away with excuses?”
“Yeah.”
He chuckles softly. “The question is, ma chérie, is he worth fighting for?”
I spend most of the night thinking about my father’s question. About Jack’s face when he admitted being terrified. About the way he kissed me like I was everything he’d been waiting for. How he made love to me.
Around dawn, I’ve made my decision. I’m halfway through packing when I hear a car engine.
Jack finds me in my room, suitcase open on the bed.
“You’re leaving.” He sounds exhausted, like he hasn’t slept either.
“Seems like the only thing left to do.” I fold another pair of pants, not looking at him.
“Neneh-” His voice is filled with emotion. Longing, warmth, regret. Fuck.
“Don’t.” I finally turn to face him. “Don’t say my name like that unless you’re ready to actually try.”
He takes a step into the room, then stops. I zip up my bag. “You know what I think? I think you’ve gotten so comfortable being alone that it’s become your excuse. Because if you never let anyone in, they can’t hurt you. Can’t leave you.”
He runs a hand through his hair in frustration. “You make it sound so simple.”
“It’s not simple. It’s fucking crazy, Jack. You think I’m not scared? You think I wanted this? To fall for a man who can’t walk the street pretty much anywhere in the world without a crowd following.”
“You’re… you’re falling for me?”
I shoulder my bag ignoring his stupid question. “You’re worth it, Jack. But clearly you don’t feel the same way.”
I move to pass him, but he catches my arm. “Don’t.”
“Don’t what, Jack? Don’t leave? Don’t give up? Don’t expect more than whatever scraps of yourself you’re willing to share?”
His fingers tighten. “I don’t want you to go,” he grits out between clenched teeth.
“Then give me a reason to stay. A real one. Not ‘it’s complicated’ or ‘I’m protecting you.’ Tell me why I should stay when you’ve made it clear you’re not ready to let me completely in.”
His hand drops from my arm. The silence stretches between us, broken only by the sound of waves outside.
“That’s what I thought.” I adjust my bag on my shoulder. “Goodbye, Jack.”
“My mom. She was…” He swallows hard.
The words stop me at the doorway. When I turn back, he’s staring out the window, shoulders rigid.
“After she got sick, I promised myself I wouldn’t…” He trails off.
“Wouldn’t what?”
“Need anyone like that again.” He finally looks at me, and the pain in his eyes makes my heart ache. “But then you smiled at me in that lobby, you kept rambling all that nonsense, and you looked so fucking cute. And surprisingly hot at the same time…“ His lips twitch up.
I set my bag down slowly, a tentative smile on my own lips. “Jack…”
“I know it’s not an excuse.” He takes a shaky breath. “I know I hurt you. But the thought of letting myself need you, then losing you…” The ghost of a sad smile crosses his face. “Turns out I was right to be.” He gestures to my suitcase. “Because watching you pack that bag? It feels like I can’t breathe.”
I take a step toward him. “Then stop pushing me away.”
His voice breaks slightly. “I don’t know how to be what you need, Neneh.”
“I don’t need you to be anything. I just need you to be honest.”
“What if I mess up?”
“Then we figure it out. Together.” I move closer. “But you have to let me in, Jack. All the way in. No more walls.”
“No more walls.” He cups my face, thumbs brushing away tears I didn’t realize were falling. “I want to try. With you.”
“That’s all I’m asking.”
When he kisses me, it’s tender, almost reverent, like he’s finally letting himself believe in us.
“Stay,” he murmurs against my lips.
I’m distracted by how his hands span my waist, how the morning light catches the silver in his hair, the way his voice has gone low and rough.
His mouth finds that spot on my neck that makes me shiver.
“This is very unfair. Using your…” I lose my train of thought as his teeth graze my skin. “Your everything to win an argument.”
He laughs against my throat, and the vibration does ridiculous things to my insides. “Is it working?”
Jack slides his hands lower, cupping my ass, and tugs me into the warm cradle of his hips. The evidence of his arousal pressing against my inner thigh. I want him naked. Now. Want to feel his skin. His warmth. Be enveloped in his scent. His mouth travels down my body, lingering on sensitive places, and I gasp as his tongue laves the underside of my breast. He moves lower, his touch light and teasing. My knees buckle when his fingers slide between my legs. Sucking on one hard nipple and rolling the other, he pushes his thick middle finger inside my wet, quivering cunt.
I moan.
The need to come is so urgent.
It builds, and builds.
Just as the orgasm starts to peak, he stops.
Pulls away.
A ragged groan claws its way up my throat, and the frustration is sharp.
He steps back. My knees give out. He catches me, and carries me to the bed.
Jack presses his face into my neck, his hot breath tickling the sweat-dampened skin. His erection is trapped between our bodies, the head swollen and wet with pre-cum. I arch, trying to angle myself so he slips inside, but he won’t let me.
Fuck.
I can’t wait anymore.
I shove at him, and he rolls onto his back, chuckling.
Straddling his waist, I grab the base of his cock and line him up, hissing through clenched teeth as the thick, blunt tip stretches me.
He lets out a strangled sound and bucks.
I sink onto him.
We groan in unison.
My heart races, and a wave of emotion washes over me. It’s overwhelming and intense. Tears spring to my eyes, and I blink them back, overwhelmed by the realization that this isn’t just sex.
I’m falling for this complicated man.
He pulls me down, and I rest my cheek against his chest. The frantic pace of his heart thuds against my ear.
I raise my head, and his gaze locks with mine.
We stare at each other, not speaking, and something passes between us.
I lean down and brush a soft kiss across his lips, then start to move.
He matches my rhythm.
Our bodies rock together, finding a perfect rhythm.
His thumb strokes the nape of my neck.
The pressure builds, and our pace quickens.
My thighs shake.
I’m close.
So close.
“Don’t fucking stop.”
“I won’t.”
“Promise.”
“I promise, sweetheart.”
“If you do, I’ll—”
His hand covers my mouth.
“Stop fucking talking.”
His free arm curls around my shoulders.
He pulls me down and kisses me, his tongue sliding between my parted lips, his beard scratching my skin.
He shifts his hips, changing the angle and hitting that perfect spot inside me.
He drives into me, and a scream rips from my throat.
I’m so close.
So, so close.
“Tell me you’re mine.”
“Jack.”
“Say it, Neneh.”
“I’m yours. Just, please…please let me come.”
His hand drops between our bodies, and he brushes the pad of his thumb over my clit.
“Come for me, sweetheart.”
He thrusts once more, and I fall apart.
It’s so good.
So damn good.
Wave after wave of pleasure washes over me, and my pussy grips his thick shaft, squeezing, pulsing, milking him.
“God,” he chokes out.
His big body trembles, and a raw, guttural sound erupts from his throat as his cock kicks and his cum fills me.
Then he goes still.
My cheek rests against his shoulder.
Our harsh breathing the only sound in the room.
“Fuck,” he mumbles.
“Yeah.”
Look at us, the Oscar-winning screenwriter and best-selling author. So eloquent.