Chapter 22 - Jackson
I wake to warmth, a heat that wraps around me, heavy and safe, making me sink deeper into the sheets. I keep my eyes closed, letting myself feel his slow, steady breath against my shoulder, the weight of his hand resting across my waist like he meant to hold on even in sleep.
Then I open my eyes.
Isaac’s blinds are still drawn, but the room is a dim blue with early winter light.
His hair is a mess across the pillow, brown strands falling over his forehead.
Without the tight line of his mouth or the tension he usually carries in his shoulders, he looks…
peaceful. Young. Younger than the man who stood toe-to-toe with my father last night.
Younger than the professor who commands a room with nothing but his voice.
This version of him, soft and unguarded, is one I’ve never seen before.
It hits me then, so hard and so sudden that I don’t have time to doubt it.
I want to protect this.
I want to protect him.
I lie there for another second, memorizing the line of his mouth, the faint tilt at the corner of his lips, the way his eyelashes rest on his cheeks. I’m scared to ruin it just by breathing too loud.
Careful not to wake him, I slip from beneath his arm and out of bed. I find my underwear on the floor and wince as I slide them up over my ass, still sore from last night. As I walk out of the bedroom, I realize I’m sore everywhere. It’s like I can still feel him inside me.
The reminder only makes me smile.
The floorboards are cool beneath my bare feet as I pad down the hallway toward the kitchen. The bag I brought with me yesterday is still by the barstool where I dropped it. I pick it up and reach inside, pulling out the box wrapped in red and gold paper.
I carry it back to the bedroom, and when I step inside, Isaac is already stretching, his eyes blinking open when the floor creaks, first unfocused, then sharpening the moment they find me.
He smiles, soft and warm, like he’s relieved I’m still here.
“Morning,” he murmurs, his voice thick with sleep.
I climb onto the bed beside him. “Morning.”
He reaches for me, his fingertips sweeping over my hip like he wants to make sure I’m real. I lean down and kiss him, slow and unhurried. He cups the back of my neck, holding me close, clearly not caring about my morning breath.
When our mouths part, he whispers against my lips, “Merry Christmas.”
I smile. “Merry Christmas.”
His thumb brushes my throat, and for a moment, I forget how to breathe.
“Did you…” I swallow, unsure. “Did you have plans today? I hope I didn’t ruin them.”
“You didn’t ruin anything. I didn’t have plans to begin with. I’m glad you’re here.”
I let out a small breath of relief and move my hand from behind my back, holding the gift out to him. “This is for you.”
He sits up a little, surprise flickering across his face. “You didn’t have to—”
“I wanted to.”
He unwraps it carefully, much more carefully than the wrapping deserves, and when he pulls the book out of the box, he goes perfectly still.
It’s a hand-bound collection of The Epic of Gilgamesh and other Babylonian texts, the leather cover a deep oxblood red, the pages edged in gold.
Isaac runs his thumb over the spine like it’s something he’s afraid to break.
“Jackson, this is…” He looks up at me. Really looks. His expression makes my chest ache, like he can’t believe someone thought of him this way. He shakes his head slightly, emotion tightening his voice. “It’s beautiful.”
I shrug like it’s not a big deal. “It just made me think of you.”
He leans forward to kiss me again, and when he pulls back, he rests his forehead against mine. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” I whisper back breathlessly.
After setting the book gently on his nightstand, he reaches under the bed and pulls out a box of his own, this one wrapped much more neatly than mine in brown paper and tied with twine instead of ribbon. He hands it to me, and I’m just as surprised as he was.
My fingers tremble a little as I open it. Inside is a leatherbound journal in a rich, pine green and stitched by hand. I open it, the pages thick and blank and waiting.
“I thought,” Isaac says quietly, watching me, “your words deserved a nicer place to be written down than one of those cheap composition notebooks.”
“Thank you.” I swallow hard and reach out to lace my fingers with his. “It’s perfect. I love it.”
With his free hand, he brushes a strand of hair off my forehead and smiles. “The green reminded me of your eyes.”
Emotion swells in my chest, my throat so tight it almost hurts.
Setting the journal down, I lean in and kiss him again, slow and grateful, and he sighs into my mouth as his hand moves to the back of my head.
I let him take over, guiding me where he wants me as his tongue travels briefly past my lips for a quick taste.
He presses his lips to mine for one last kiss before pulling back.
“Speaking of green,” he says, lips curling into a faint grin. “How do you feel about what we did last night?”
I shift on the bed as the memory makes me flush and my cock threaten to fill with a rush of blood. Isaac rubbed some lotion on my ass as I drifted in and out of sleep last night, but it still aches a little. Oddly enough, it’s a good kind of ache.
“You really enjoy making my ass sore, don’t you?”
His grin widens enough to show teeth. “Very much.”
“I enjoy it too,” I admit with a quiet laugh. “I liked it all. What we did last night. A lot.”
“Good,” he says on a breath of relief. “We can talk more about it later. Just know I was going easy on you.”
I flop down onto the bed on my stomach and groan into the pillow. Then I turn my face to peer up at him, and the affection in his eyes almost seems to contradict his promise. “Do you really have a crop?”
He chuckles and lies next to me on his side. “And a cane.”
I bury my face in the pillow again, my voice coming out muffled. “Fuck. You weren’t kidding about the sadist thing, were you?”
“Don’t worry, sweetheart,” he says as I feel him brush his fingertips down the length of my spine, causing me to shiver. “I’ll always make it up to you with orgasms and food. How about some breakfast?”
I raise my head again. “You cook?”
“Sure.” He grins. “Not well.”
“So maybe I should do the cooking,” I offer, matching his grin.
“You cook?” he asks, sounding genuinely impressed.
“Don’t sound so surprised,” I tease. “My mom taught me some things.”
“How about we make something for breakfast together?”
I perk up at that. “Really?”
“Sure. Just…” He yawns and rests his head on the pillow, his eyes closing. “Five more minutes.”
I can’t stop myself from laughing again as I scoot a little closer to him, stealing some of his warmth. Propping myself up on one elbow, I rest my head in my hand as I stare down at him. “Not a morning person?”
His mouth turns down at the corner, his brows pulled together pensively. “I didn’t sleep much last night.”
“Should I not have stayed over?” I ask, suddenly feeling a little panicky. “I’m sorry I didn’t even ask. You could’ve asked me to leave or—”
His eyes fly open, and for a flicker of a second, they look angry. “That’s not it at all.”
He raises himself up and mirrors my position, reaching out to lightly trail his fingers down my side. His gaze finds a spot on my throat and sticks there. When he speaks, his voice is a whispered confession, like it’s one he has to force his lips to let go of.
“I kept waking up to check if you were still here.”
My breath catches, and I feel that swell of something warm and achy behind my ribs, stronger than before. It’s not uncomfortable, but it’s unlike anything I’ve ever felt before.
“You were worried I’d leave?”
He lets out a small, almost embarrassed huff.
“I hoped you wouldn’t. But hope isn’t exactly something I trust easily.
” The tips of his fingers dig lightly into my hip, and he keeps his gaze on my throat.
“Every time I opened my eyes and you were still here, I’d fall back asleep.
But then I’d wake up and check again. Over and over. ”
I reach for his hand. He lets me take it and hold it against my chest.
“Isaac.”
His gaze finally drifts up to meet mine, and there’s a crease between his brows that I wonder if I could kiss away. One night and one morning with this man, and I’ve already seen so many different sides to him. It’s this scared, vulnerable one that brings on those protective instincts the most.
“I’m not going anywhere,” I tell him. “Not unless you send me away.”
Turning our hands until he’s the one holding mine, he lifts them to his lips, pressing a slow kiss to the inside of my wrist.
“Never.”
I smile and shift closer, my legs brushing his before tangling with them. I drop my arm and lay my head back on the pillow. “Five more minutes?”
“Five more minutes,” he agrees with a grin as he lies down, wraps his arms around me, and pulls me into his chest.
I watch as his eyes slowly close again, as his breathing evens out. He keeps holding onto me even as he floats back into sleep. I let my eyes close too and decide to join him.
Maybe last night broke things open.
But maybe today we can start putting them back together.