16. Jackson #2
“I’m sorry,” I say again, softer this time. I need her to feel it. Not just hear it— feel it.
“I know,” she replies, but her voice is too calm. “I’m not mad. I forgave you before I left.”
That makes me blink. “Then why did you leave?”
She shrugs like it’s nothing, like it didn’t gut her. “Because I’m starting to think we should separate a little.”
My stomach fucking drops.
“Why?” I whisper, stepping forward. “W-What about last night?”
“I think that might’ve been a mistake,” she murmurs, not looking at me.
And something inside me snaps .
“Don’t say that,” I whisper, stepping closer. “Don’t say it if you don’t mean it, because I did. I meant every goddamn second of it.”
“I just…” She exhales shakily. “Maybe they did break me, Jackson. You were right. I—I crumple.”
“No,” I cut in, closing the last of the space. “No, Tink. They didn’t break you. I’m the one who’s broken. I’m the one who panicked and lashed out because I’m fucking terrified. I’m losing my dad… and I’m feeling something for you that I don’t know how to hold.”
She sucks in a breath, her lips parting slightly. “Jackson… don’t.”
“Why?” I ask, voice raw. “Why not tell the truth?”
“Because when you say things like that, it makes it harder to remember why I should keep distance between us.”
We’re breathing the same air now, her eyes flickering over my face like she’s searching for a reason not to want this. And then I see it—that flicker. The tilt of her chin. The subtle lean in. She wants this.
“You know what?” I murmur, already moving. “Fuck it.” I crash my mouth to hers.
She gasps, and I swallow it whole. Her hands fist my shirt, dragging me closer, and fuck , her lips feel like sin. Like coming home. Like salvation wrapped in chaos.
She jumps into my arms and I catch her, her thighs tightening around my waist like she was made to sit there. Our tongues meet—slick, frantic, needy—and she moans.
That sound. That fucking sound.
“Jesus,” I growl into her mouth, slamming her gently against the side of the building. “You moan like the wet dream I’ve had since the moment I met you.”
“Mmm… Jackson,” she pants, rocking her hips against me, and fuuuuck , my cock twitches like it’s about to explode just from the friction.
“Baby,” I grit, grinding back against her, my voice feral now, barely human. “You keep doing that, and I’m gonna make a goddamn mess in my jeans.”
“Maybe I want you to,” she whispers against my throat before biting down, hard. I hiss, head dropping to her shoulder.
“Jesus fuckin’ Christ, you trying to kill me?” My hips jerk forward, seeking relief I already know is coming too fast. “Is this… is this too much?” I manage to ask, lips brushing her ear.
“No,” she gasps. “God, no. ” Her legs tighten, her fingers tangling in my hair, and she starts to grind against me .
It’s over. I know it.
I try to hold it off—I swear I do—but her scent, her heat, her mouth on mine again?—
“ F-fuck… Ozzy,” I groan, my body locking up, pleasure hitting me like a freight train. I slam a palm against the wall beside her head, panting like I just ran through hell barefoot.
And then…
Realization.
Oh my fucking god, I just came from dry-humping like a teenager.
My cheeks heat instantly as I gently set her down, avoiding her gaze like a damn coward.
“I… I gotta go.”
“Wait— what? ” she says, blinking up at me like I just told her the barn was on fire. “Why?”
“You know why,” I mutter, turning and heading toward the truck. I am not having this conversation.
Behind me, I hear the slap of her shoes against gravel. “Oh, come on,” she calls, catching up. “You blew in your pants. Big deal.”
“ Jesus fucking Christ, Tink,” I groan, tilting my head to the sky. “Can you not make this any more embarrassing? It’s bad enough it was like two fucking minutes.”
“I mean…it might’ve been two and a half?—”
“That’s not helping!”
“Plenty of guys can accomplish a lot in two minutes.”
I stop dead and round on her. “Oh, my god! Tink, I can last longer, alright? I just—shit. You’re too goddamn sexy, and my dick had a fucking panic attack.”
She throws her head back and cackles, full and loud and beautiful.
I scowl. “You really know how to build a man up.”
“I’m not laughing because you came,” she wheezes once we’re in the truck and she’s caught her breath. “I’m laughing because you’re so embarrassed.”
“Oh gee, that’s so much better,” I mutter, running a hand through my hair.
She turns to me, more serious now. “I liked that you came that quick.”
My head jerks toward her. “What?”
She shrugs. “Tells me you were nervous. Excited. Turned on as hell. Makes me feel… not so alone in this.”
I grip the wheel tighter, trying to breathe past the emotion in my chest. I reach out, slide my hand over hers where it rests on her thigh.
“Tink… you’re not alone.”
She smiles softly, lacing her fingers with mine.
“And for the record,” I add, giving her hand a squeeze, “you were right about Pops. I want to move him downstairs.”
Her head turns, eyes shimmering in the glow of the dash lights. “Good.”
“After this weekend’s fair, we’ll make it happen,” I promise.
She nods, and we ride in silence—our hands still joined, her laughter still echoing in my bones, and her body still seared into every inch of mine.