25. Ozzy #2
“I swear, Ozzy…” he murmurs, his voice full of things he’s still not saying, “I’m about to spend all night with my tongue wrapped around yours if we don’t get this date started.”
I laugh, my heart swelling. “Would that be such a bad thing?”
“Not even close.”
The stars are blinking above us, scattered across a velvet sky so wide it makes me dizzy if I stare too long. There’s music playing softly from Jackson’s phone, some acoustic guitar track I don’t recognize; the kind with just enough melancholy to make your chest ache in a good way.
The food was perfect—surprisingly perfect.
He didn’t just slap together some ham sandwiches and call it a night.
There were grapes and berries, hunks of sharp cheese, little crackers, and slices of cured meat so fancy I couldn’t pronounce half the names.
The sparkling grape juice made me feel spoiled, and the s’mores kit tucked beside the cooler made me grin until my cheeks hurt.
But this? This part right here—snuggling into the bed of his truck with his arms around me and my head resting against his chest, listening to the steady thump of his heart—is my favorite part.
The lights twinkle softly above us. The mattress is warm from our bodies, and everything smells like pine and sugar and the lingering scent of whatever cologne he’s wearing that I’m slowly becoming addicted to.
I’ve never felt like this with someone before.
Not even close. There’s no awkwardness, no pressure.
Just his hand in my hair, drawing slow patterns against my scalp, and the weight of his heartbeat under my cheek.
And me, not freaking out. Not scanning the area.
Not counting exits or rehearsing escape plans.
Just… being .
“Why a parking lot?” I ask, breaking the silence that’s settled between us like a blanket.
My voice sounds small in the open night air.
I’ve been lying here for at least fifteen minutes, perfectly content to let him hold me.
Which is weird. I’ve never been one for cuddling—not even before the attack.
Yet now, this is my favorite spot in the whole world.
Curled against his chest, like I belong there.
Jackson hums as his fingers drift down to the ends of my hair. “Told you already. No people, no tree line.”
I tilt my head to look at him, half-smiling. “You’re not worried about the cops coming by and saying something?”
His chest shakes with a low chuckle. “Small town, baby. Ain’t nobody worried about that shit. Besides, Leon owns this property. He runs The Spur. I told him I’d be here. If you would rather go?—”
“No!” I bolt upright, heart thudding. “No,” I repeat, softer now, as I stare at him. “This is actually the best date I’ve ever been on.”
His brows lift, and I can see the warmth bloom in his eyes.
“I just…” I trail off, cheeks hot, fingers fidgeting with the hem of my sweater. “I can’t believe you did all of this for me.”
He shifts, propping himself up on one elbow as he reaches for me. “Tink,” he murmurs, brushing his knuckles against my cheek. “Baby, there ain’t a fucking thing I wouldn’t do for you. Ask it, and it’s yours.”
My throat tightens. The words hit something buried so deep I didn’t even know it was still alive. “Why?” I whisper, my voice cracking. “I’m noth?—”
“Stop that.” His voice snaps sharper than I expect, but the edge is dulled by how soft his touch remains. “Ozzy, don’t. Don’t you ever say that again.”
I blink at him, breath caught in my throat.
“I would burn this fucking world to the ground for you,” he says, and I feel the promise of it in my bones. “So don’t you dare talk about yourself like that.”
“You would what?” I ask, barely able to breathe.
He sits up fully and pulls me into his lap so I’m straddling him now, his hands firm on my hips as he brings my face close to his.
“I would burn this fucking world to the ground for you,” he repeats, his voice low, even, and terrifyingly certain. “You want it, and you will have it.”
I stare at him, caught somewhere between swooning and panic-laughing, because that’s a lot, and my body is reacting in ways I don’t entirely trust yet.
“Oink like a pig,” I blurt out.
He blinks and pauses before letting out a soft chuckle. “Alright, Tink, I’ll play.” He gives me a small smile. “Oink.”
I bite my lip to keep from cracking, “Okay…sing me a song.”
Jackson groans, his eyes narrowing. “You’re a menace.”
I raise my brows. “You said I could have anything.”
“I said anything, I didn’t mean auditory torture.” But his cheeks are flushing, and he’s already stalling.
“Guess there’s a limit to how far you’ll go?—”
“Jingle bells,” he mutters in defeat, mumbling the first few bars like a teenager being forced into a school play. “Jingle bells, jingle all the—okay, you can’t laugh!”
I’m howling, doubling over in his lap with my face buried in his neck as I cackle. “Why that song?” I wheeze between fits. “You sing all the damn time around the ranch with your brothers, and you picked that?”
“I don’t like this game anymore,” he huffs, looking away.
“Okay, okay, okay,” I pant, wiping tears from my eyes. “Only one more.”
He glares, only half-serious. “If it involves some form of dancing, I’m throwing you off this truck bed.”
“No.” I inhale. “Have sex with me.”
His entire body stiffens and I watch the blood drain from his face. His mouth opens and closes silently. His hands tighten on my waist while his pupils dilate so fast it’s visible even in the dim light. For once, Jackson Rowe—Mr. Dirty Mouth himself—is fucking speechless.
I blink innocently. “You said anything.”
“I… Baby, if you’re testing me right now,” Jackson rasps, voice low and wrecked, “you gotta know—I was a C student at best. And I’m real close to failing whatever pop quiz you think this is, because if you honestly think I’m gonna say no?
That I’d tell you we shouldn’t? You’re going to be so fucking disappointed. ”
“I know what I’m asking,” I whisper, grinding slowly against the thick bulge in his jeans. The friction is enough to have us both gasping. I watch as he begins to unravel. His head tips back with a guttural groan, hands trembling where they clutch the blanket at his side.
“Fuck,” he releases a whimper. “Ozzy…”
I don’t wait for him to finish. I slide off his lap, moving slow and deliberately.
I slip my leggings down over my thighs, my skin prickling with cold of the night’s air.
My shoes are already off, so I peel off my socks and the skull-patterned stockings too, baring my legs to him. His eyes never leave me.
“Jesus Christ,” he mutters, his voice cracking. “You have the sexiest fucking legs known to man.”
I bite my lip, a flush rising in my cheeks. “Really?”
“Really.” His eyes drag up my body with pure worship. “I want to hold them. Lick them. Own them.”
That last word hits me square in the chest, a shiver racing down my spine. I toss him the blanket from the truck bed and begin peeling off my sweater dress. Goosebumps rise across my skin as the cold hits me, but the fire in his eyes is enough to keep me warm.
“If this is a dream,” he murmurs, “for the love of Christ, don’t wake me up.”
The bra is next. I unclasp it and toss it aside, my breasts bare and high in the moonlight. His hand is already pressing into the hard line of his cock through his jeans, and my whole body clenches at the sight of him so undone.
“Say something,” I whisper. He’s just… staring. Mouth parted and breath ragged. It’s unnerving yet intoxicating.
“I—” His throat bobs. “Where can’t I touch you?”
My heart melts at his sweet question. “No ass play. No choking.” He nods, but the darkness in his eyes deepens—he stores that away, and I see it. “So are you just gonna let me freeze out here alone, or…?”
That finally snaps him out of it.
“Fuck. Fuck, I’m sorry?—”
His shirt comes off in one smooth move, then the belt, then his pants drop low on his hips.
Jesus Christ, my mouth is bone dry.
He sees my expression shift and falters. “What?”
“Think it’s…” I scratch my temple, fighting a grin, “…big enough?”
A slow, wicked grin spreads across his face as he murmurs, “Come here.”
He wraps the blanket around both of us, pulling me into his lap as his eyes settle on my bare breasts like they’re the Holy Grail.
“Can I touch them?” he asks.
“Yes,” I breathe.
His large hands cup them—gently at first, then firmer—and the groan that slips out of me is raw. His lips press against my collarbone.
“W-wait,” I whisper, and instantly he pulls back, concern all over his face as his hands rip from me.
“I’m sorry. A-Am I going too fast?”
“No,” I shake my head. “I just…don’t touch me with your lips.” I see his confused expression and I begin to blush. “I mean… Kissing me on the lips or near my ear is fine, but… I need to hear you talking to me. It’s what’s keeping me grounded. Your voice…”
Understanding dawns in his expression. He nods and kisses my lips, slow and grounding. “Got it, baby. You’ll hear me the whole time. I’ll talk you through every second—h-holy shit!” I rock against his bare cock, and he gasps like I’ve punched the air out of him.
“So are you gonna put it in or what?” I smirk, dragging my slick, wet center over his aching dick.
“Ozzy… fuck, baby. I’m trying to go slow.”
I reach down and drag my slit along the head of his cock, gasping at how thick and hot he is.
“Don’t make me beg,” I murmur against his mouth. “You promised I’d never have to.” I run the ball of my tongue piercing over his bottom lip, causing him to shudder. His head drops to my shoulder, and he groans like he’s in pain.
“God help me,” he mutters before angling himself between us. His hand grips my hip while the other guides his cock to my entrance.
“You say stop,” he growls, “and I’m out. Instantly. I need you to tell me you understand, Ozzy.”
I nod, breath catching in my throat as he pushes in. “Y-yes, I understand…oh god…”