Chapter 14
MAYA
His room is exactly what I expected. Sparse, clean, hockey gear in the corner, a framed photo on the dresser. The bed's unmade, sheets twisted like he was restless last night.
Jackson is standing in the middle of the room in pajama pants and a t-shirt that stretches across his shoulders. His hands are at his sides, not reaching for me, waiting.
"We don't have to do this," he says. "We can just talk. Or I can walk you back upstairs."
"I want to." My voice is steadier than I feel. "I need to."
"Okay." He moves to sit on the edge of the bed. "Come here."
I close the door behind me and lock it.
He's watching me carefully, not with hunger, though I can see want in his eyes, more like he's trying to read my comfort level, figure out where my boundaries are.
I'm suddenly aware of how little I'm wearing: pajama shorts and a tank top, no bra. The fabric is thin, and I can feel the cool air of his room against my skin.
“How do you want to do this?” he asks.
The question settles something in my chest. He’s giving me control, letting me direct this.
“Slow,” I say, my voice quieter than I want it to be. I step closer, stopping a few feet away. “I need you to keep checking in. Ask me if I’m okay.”
“I will.”
“And if I tell you to stop—”
"Then we stop. Immediately. No questions." His green eyes hold mine. "I mean that, Maya. The second you're uncomfortable, we're done."
“Okay.” Another step, and I’m in his space now. I can feel the heat coming off his body. “Can I… can I kiss you?”
“You can do whatever you want to me.”
I lean down, closing the last bit of distance, and press my mouth to his. He doesn’t move, doesn’t reach for me, just sits there with his hands on his thighs and lets me kiss him at my own pace.
I pull back. "Is this okay?"
"More than okay." His voice is rough. "Whatever you need, Stardust."
That name does something to me—tightens my chest, makes it hard to breathe.
I kiss him again, deeper this time, my tongue tracing the edge of his lips.
He opens for me with a low sound in his chest, but he still lets me lead.
My hands find his shoulders, solid under my palms, and I can feel his pulse racing against my fingertips.
"Can you take your shirt off?" I whisper.
He pulls back just enough to pull it over his head in one smooth motion and tosses it aside.
God. I've seen him shirtless before, years of living in the same house, swimming pools, casual moments. But this is different. This is mine to touch, to explore.
My hands flatten against the heat of his skin, learning the shape of him, tracing old scars and the hard lines of muscle.
"You're shaking," he says quietly.
"I’m nervous."
"We can stop."
"No." I meet his eyes. "I want this. I just… don’t want it to feel like before.”
“It won’t.” His hand comes up slow, giving me every chance to pull back. He cups my jaw, thumb brushing my cheek. “Because you’re choosing this. You’re choosing me. That’s the difference.”
My throat tightens. I blink hard.
“Can I touch you?” he asks.
"Yes."
His hands settle at my waist, fingers spanning the space there. “Is this okay?”
"Yes."
He pulls me closer, settling me between his legs.
"Tell me what you need, Maya.”
"I need… I need to feel in control."
"Then you're in control. You set the pace. You tell me what to do."
I kiss him again, harder this time. “Touch me,” I breathe against his mouth, “but ask first.”
"Okay." His hands slide up, thumbs brushing the bare skin just above my shorts. "Can I take your tank top off?"
"Yes."
He lifts it over my head, slow and careful. The air hits my skin, and I shiver, exposed under his gaze.
“Don’t look at me like that,” I whisper.
"I can’t help it.” His voice is wrecked. “You’re beautiful.”
"Jackson—"
"I mean it." His hands are back at my waist, thumbs brushing my skin. "You've always been beautiful."
Tears blur my vision, and I don’t fight them. Instead, I let them fall while I kiss him again.
"Can I touch you here?" he murmurs, hands hovering near my breasts.
"God, yes."
His hands cup them, gentle and warm, thumbs brushing over my nipples, and I gasp at the sensation. It's good, so good, nothing like before, nothing like being held down and violated.
This is mine. My choice. My pleasure.
"Is this okay?" he asks.
"Yes."
He leans forward and takes my nipple in his mouth. The sensation shoots straight through me, and my hands go to his hair, holding him there.
"More," I whisper. "Keep going."
He switches to the other breast, and I'm shaking but not from fear, from want, from need.
"Maya." He pulls back, breathing hard. "Do you want to keep going?"
"Please."
"Tell me what you need."
"I need to be on top."
"Okay." He shifts back on the bed. "However, you want this."
We move together, him lying back, me climbing over him. We're both still wearing bottoms, and it's too many layers.
"Can I take these off?" I gesture to his pajama pants.
"Whatever you need."
I hook my fingers in the waistband and pull them down along with his boxers. He lifts his hips to help.
His cock springs free, thick and hard and curving up toward his stomach.
"Is this okay?" he asks.
“Yes.” I reach out and wrap my hand around him. There’s a faint slickness at the tip, and when I run my thumb over it, spreading the wetness, he groans low in his throat.
"Fuck, Maya."
I stroke him slowly, learning the weight of him in my hand, the way he jerks when I twist my wrist, the way his breathing gets ragged when I squeeze just right. His eyes are closed, jaw clenched, and he's so beautiful like this, undone and vulnerable and trusting me.
"You're so hard," I whisper.
He exhales a shaky laugh. “You say that like it’s my fault.”
I stroke him a few more times, watching his face, memorizing every reaction. The way his abs tense, the way his hands fist in the sheets, the way he's letting me have this moment without rushing me.
"I need to take these off." I gesture to my own shorts.
"Okay."
I stand and shed my pajama shorts and underwear. The vulnerability of being naked should be terrifying, but it's not. Not with the way he's looking at me.
He's looking at me like I'm something precious, not with pity or discomfort, just want and tenderness and something deeper I can't name.
"You're sure about this?" he asks.
"I'm sure."
I climb back onto the bed and straddle him. His hands go to my hips, holding me steady but not controlling.
"Do you want me to—" He gestures vaguely toward the nightstand. "Condom?"
“Yes, please.”
He reaches over and fumbles in the drawer, pulls out a foil packet, tears it open, and rolls the condom on carefully.
I'm poised above him now, heart pounding, hands shaking. His cock is positioned at my entrance, and I can feel the heat of him, the promise of what's about to happen.
"We can stop," he says again.
"No." I lower myself slowly, just the tip at first. "I want this."
The stretch is immediate, and I pause, adjusting to the sensation.
"Are you okay?" His voice is strained, every muscle in his body tense with the effort of staying still. "Maya, are you okay?"
"Yes. Just give me a second."
"Take all the time you need."
I breathe and sink another inch. The stretch intensifies, and I stop again, my body adjusting to accommodate him.
"You feel so good," he murmurs. "So perfect."
I lower myself another inch, then another, taking him in small increments. It's slow and deliberate and exactly what I need.
Eventually, I'm fully seated with his cock buried inside me, and the fullness is overwhelming in the best way.
The tears come, not from pain but from release, from feeling in control of my own body for the first time in months.
"Maya." Jackson's voice is gentle, worried. "Talk to me. Are you okay?"
"Yes." I'm crying and laughing at the same time. "Yes. I'm okay. I'm choosing this."
"Do you want to stop?"
"No." I rock my hips, testing the sensation, and it sends sparks through my nerve endings. "No. I want to keep going. Please."
I lift up and ease back down, taking my time. The feeling is almost too much, every sensation amplified. I move again, finding a pace that works.
"Is this okay?" I ask.
"God, yes." His voice is wrecked, his grip on my hips tightening. "You feel incredible."
I move faster, more confident now, chasing the sensation building in my core. My hands brace on his chest for leverage, and I can feel his heart racing under my palm.
"You're so beautiful," he says, watching me with those green eyes. "So fucking beautiful like this."
I lean forward, changing the angle, and the new position has him hitting something deep inside that makes my breath catch.
"There," I gasp. "Right there."
He grips my hips tighter, helping to guide me back to that angle. "Like this?"
"Yes. Oh fuck, yes."
I ride him steadily, feeling the pleasure building slowly. Not rushed, not frantic, just steady waves building toward something.
"Jackson." His name is a gasp. "Touch me. Please."
One of his hands slides between us, brushing over my clit. The gentle pressure makes a low moan tumble from my lips.
"Like this?"
"Yes. Exactly like that."
He keeps the pressure steady, matching my rhythm, and the pleasure intensifies. I'm shaking, my thighs burning from the exertion, but I don't want to stop, don't want this to end.
"You're doing so good," he murmurs. "Taking what you need."
His words wash over me, grounding me in this moment. This is mine. My choice. My body responds to the pleasure I've chosen.
The sensation builds and builds, coiling tighter in my belly with each movement. I can feel every inch of him inside me, can feel his fingers working my clit, can feel the heat between our bodies.
"I'm close," I whisper. "So close."
"Take your time. I've got you."
I move faster, chasing the edge. The pleasure spirals higher and higher until I'm right there, teetering on the precipice.
"Come for me, Stardust," he whispers. "Let go."
The orgasm hits hard, and my mouth opens on a cry.
Jackson surges up, capturing my mouth with his, swallowing the sound as my body clenches around his cock and every nerve in me ignites.
He groans into the kiss, hips jerking up as he follows me over the edge, and I feel him pulsing inside me as he comes.
We stay like this for a long moment, mouths still pressed together, both shaking, both breathing hard through our noses. He finally breaks the kiss, his hand still between us, easing me through the aftershocks.
"Maya." He's still inside me, hands gentle on my hips. "Are you okay?"
"I'm okay." And I mean it. "I'm really okay."
I lift off him slowly, and the loss of connection feels weird but not bad. He disposes of the condom while I grab my clothes.
"You don't have to go," he says quietly.
But the rules are clear. No sleeping in the same bed after.
"I need to." I pull my tank top over my head. "The rules—"
"I know." He doesn't argue, just watches me dress with something sad in his eyes.
When I'm fully clothed, I pause at the door, looking back at him. He's still naked, sitting on the edge of his bed, and he looks beautiful in the dim light.
"Thank you," I say. "For this. For everything."
"Always."
I slip out and shut the door behind me. The stairs feel endless with how badly my legs are shaking.
Back in my room, Max is waiting. He meows his judgment.
"Don't start," I tell him.
I lie on the bed and stare at the ceiling. My body feels different somehow, like something fundamental has shifted.
I just had sex with Jackson Anderson. And it was my choice.
For the first time in months, my body feels like it belongs to me.