14. Ozzy
Ozzy
“ M orris,” I snap, slamming my tile tray onto the table, “you aren’t winning this one, old man. Lay down your pride and admit defeat.”
“No! Challenge!” he barks, stabbing a crooked finger toward the board like we’re engaged in a federal investigation.
“Oh for fuck’s sake,” I groan. “You’ve never heard of ‘a cup of joe’? It’s a thing. People drink it. You drink it.”
“I want a real dictionary. Not that bullshit Scrabble website you keep using.”
I lean back in my chair, crossing my arms. “You’re right, Morris. The makers of Scrabble are plotting against you personally. It’s a full-blown Scrabble conspiracy and I’m leading their operation.”
He grins, unrepentant. “Wouldn’t surprise me. You got that look about you—like you’d be the inside man.”
I look down at my vibrating smartwatch. “Alright, old man, this will be continued later. I have to go and make your lunch.”
He smirks.“Make sure you add seasoning this time. I could taste the poison in my eggs last night.”
“Perfect,” I mutter as I leave his room. “Exactly what I was going for.” I jog down the stairs and into the kitchen, only to freeze when I see Jackson leaning against the island, his shoulders slumped and his face paler than usual.
“Hey, Tink,” he greets me, but his voice… it’s not Jackson. It’s weak and scratchy, like sandpaper dipped in whiskey.
“Hey,” I respond slowly. “I was coming down to make your dad lun—Jackson, are you okay?” I step closer, eyeing the dark smudges under his eyes. His skin’s pale, jaw tight like he’s holding himself up with sheer willpower.
“Yeah, just tired. Not feeling great,” he mutters, then dumps a full plate of untouched food into the trash. His movements are sluggish, deliberate; like he’s fighting gravity just to stay upright.
My hand moves before I can stop it, reaching up to press against his forehead. His eyes flutter shut and he leans into my touch, like it’s the first comfort he’s had all day.
“You’re burning up.”
“I’ll be fine,” he murmurs, already reaching for his hat. “I’ve got work to do.”
“No, what you’ve got is a fever and a death wish,” I snap, stepping into his path as he moves toward the back porch.
“I don’t have time to be sick. If I’m not out there?—”
“This ranch doesn’t run? Oh my god, cue the tragic country ballad. Sit down, Superman, your martyr complex is showing.”
He tries to walk around me, but I block him again, and this time his whole damn body sways.
Jesus.
“If you don’t march your stubborn ass back inside right now?—”
“You’ll what?” Jackson attempts to taunt me. It’s the least threatening he’s ever sounded.
I lean in, slow and threatening. “I’ll follow you. All day. Everywhere. In front of your brothers. The ranch hands. Your mama. I will hover .”
His eye twitches.
“And every time you cough or sneeze, I’ll gasp dramatically and make everyone stop what they’re doing to ask if the big, strong cowboy needs a break.”
He glares at me, but there’s no fight left.
“I fuckin’ hate you,” he mutters under his breath as he turns around and stomps back inside like a grumpy, overcooked bear.
“You’re welcome,” I call sweetly after him.
I don’t miss the way he wobbles slightly at the top of the steps, and I trail behind just in case. Because if he face plants into a wall, I’ll never forgive myself. Or worse—I'll never stop laughing.
Taking a breath, I close my eyes and hit pause on my audiobook.
The intimate scene I just listened to fizzles into silence like static.
It was meant to be background noise. A distraction.
But now all I can see is Jackson—on the floor by his bed, his wrists bound, his mouth on mine like he meant to devour me.
God, the way he kissed.
Like I was water and he’d been crawling through the desert.
Biting my lip nervously, I slide my hand into my pajama pants. I don’t do this, ever. Orgasming was turned into a weapon, and I usually find the release triggering, so I usually hold off until I can’t anymore, like now.
But tonight…
Tonight something’s different.
My fingers ghost over my clit, just enough to feel a spark. A soft whimper escapes, chased by nausea. My stomach turns. My throat tightens. That old panic floods in like a riptide.
“Fuck,” I whisper, snatching my hand away like I’ve touched fire.
I nearly piss myself when my phone starts buzzing. Looking at the screen, I groan. Jackson. Perfect. My hand is on my crotch, and he is calling. Still trembling, I jam an earbud in and answer. “Jackson? It’s late and you’re literally upstairs. What do you want?”
He chuckles, low and gravelly. It’s like velvet rubbed the wrong way—smooth but dangerous. “I was calling because I’ve decided that maybe I’ll try some medicine, and I don’t know what to take.”
My breath catches. My hand is still hovering at the hem of my pants, like it forgot it was dismissed.
“You okay?” he asks. His voice sharpens. He hears it—the breathiness. The tension.
“Yep,” I answer way too quickly. “Yeah, I can bring you up some masturbation.”
Silence.
Oh my fucking god, I didn’t… I did NOT say masturbation.
“Medication!” I hiss. “Medication. Fuck me, I’m such a?—”
There’s rustling, the groan of bedsprings, and then him, his voice thick now. “Ozzy.”
“I didn’t mean it like that?—”
“Did I interrupt something?” His voice drops a full octave.
“Maybe,” I squeak out. I’m never going to be able to come out of this room again, ever.
“Jesus,” he breathes. “Baby… what were you doing?”
My eyes squeeze shut. I can’t. I shouldn’t. But the warmth in his voice—there’s no judgment. Just curiosity. Hunger. Care.
“Trying to feel something good,” I murmur. “Didn’t work and after this, don’t worry, I will never be doing it again.”
“Well, is there… something I can–”
“Stop. Talking.” My mortification can’t go any higher. I feel tears of embarrassment filling my eyes. “This was such a bad idea. Why I even thought I could do this is beyond me. I’ll grab you some medicine and leave it at your door.”
“Hey, hey, slow down. Talk to me. What’s wrong?” I hear him shift again in his bed. I’ll bet it’s warm and soft and smells like him.
“Nothing,” I whine. “Nothing I wanna talk to you about, anyway.”
“Well, I happen to know a lot about masturbation. I’ve been doin’ it on my own for nearly three decades,” he jokes, and I can’t help but crack up.
He makes everything so much easier. He makes me calmer.
His voice alone has the ability to calm me down and turn me on simultaneously.
“What’s wrong, baby?” he asks in that soft, alluring tone again, and I have to fight the urge to roll my eyes back in pleasure.
“Every time I try… to do that, I am reminded of the times I was hurt,” I admit softly. “I was trying to do it while distracting myself, but it wasn’t working, and then you called.”
He’s quiet for a moment. Then, soft as sin: “What were you thinking about when I called?”
I swallow hard. “Someone safe.”
“Am I someone safe?” he asks.
“Yes,”I manage weakly, my entire body on fire. “You are the only person,” I add because, at this point, why the fuck not?
“Do you wanna try again?” he murmurs. “With me on the line?”
I pause. My breath stutters.
“Yes,” I breathe out.
“Then let me help you, baby”
My fingers tremble as they slip past the waistband again. “I’m touching myself.”
“Fuck.” His voice cracks. “You wet?”
“Yes.”
“Rub it, real slow. Just enough to make yourself gasp.”
I obey. The moan that escapes surprises me.
“Good girl,” he groans. “Goddamn, I can hear it in your voice. That sweet little moan—fuck, Ozzy.” I hear rustling like he’s moving before his sinful voice invades me again.
“Now, pull those juices out of that pretty pussy, just one finger, one time, and rub it over your clit. Can you do that for me?”
Even though he can’t see me, I nod while inserting my middle finger into my wet center. I feel a rush of panic fill me.“Jackson,” I pant nervously.
“Shhhh… I’m here, baby. Take it out and rub your clit the way I know it’s achin’ to be touched.” I do as he says, letting out a low moan as my wet fingers find my bud. “Holy shit,” he pants out. “My god, the sound of your moan is enough to cause a man to go insane.”
I let out a breathy laugh before rubbing my clit again. “F-fuck, oh, Jackson.” His name falls from my mouth so effortlessly, like I’ve been saying it forever.
“Goddamn it, you’re doing such a good job. Rub faster and listen to my voice. I’m right here with you. It’s just me and you, Tink.” He pants, and it fills me with a sense of pride to know I’m having the same effect on him that he has on me.
I whimper. “What would you do if you were here?”
“Oh, baby,” he pants. “I would wrap those thick ass thighs of yours around my head while I tongue fucked that juicy little pussy until you forgot what fear was.”
“Jackson,” I moan.
“I want you to grind on my face. Make a mess of me. I want you to come in my mouth and scream my name until the walls shake.”
My breath shatters. “I want to ride you,” I pant. “I want to leave marks. I want you to feel me long after I’m gone.”
His growl is primal. “Then do it. In your mind, I’m right there. My hands on your ass, guiding you down on my cock. You’re so fuckin’ tight, baby. So warm.”
“God, yes…”
“You wanna hurt me, don’t you?” His voice is breathless now. Rough.
“Yes.”
“Then scratch me. Bite me. Carve that pain into me. I’ll take every fucking drop if it sets you free.”
My fingers move faster. My hips lift as I feel a fire igniting.
“You wanna choke me?” he breathes.
“Yes,” I pant.
“You wanna make me bleed, baby?”
“Yes,” I sob.
“Do it. Ride my cock and claw my chest until I’m bleeding for you. Until all that pain inside you has somewhere to go. I’ll take it, Tink. I want it.”
“I’m gonna come,” I whisper, frantic and trembling.
“Then fucking fall apart for me, baby,” he growls. “Let me hear it. I want your moans echoing in my goddamn bones.”
“Jackson,” I gasp, my body arching off the bed as the orgasm tears through me. “Fuck—Jackson!”