25. Ozzy #3
The pressure is immediate and intense—he stretches me wide, inch by inch, until he’s fully inside and stills.
“A-ah!” I cry, my breath hitching. It’s so full, I feel like I’ve forgotten what sex feels like.
“Breathe, baby,” Jackson grits out. Sweat slicks his chest as he restrains himself from moving. “Breathe. I don’t need you passing out on me.”
I do. I suck in a gasp, blinking back tears—not from pain, but from how full I feel. He shudders as I shift on his lap.
“Goddamn it,” he chokes. “Your pussy is a fucking miracle.”
I move slightly and we both release a moan.
“Say something,” I whisper, feeling the panic trying to creep in.
“Fuck, you’re so tight,” he pants, clutching at my thighs as I begin to ride him. “Do you feel that, baby? How your pussy molds to my cock like it was made for me?”
“Jackson—”
“You’re doing so good,” he praises, low and breathless. “Making me feel like I’m losing my goddamn mind. That’s my girl.”
I rock harder, chasing the pressure in my belly as his hand grips my thigh tighter.
“What do you need, baby?” he whispers while dragging his teeth over my bottom lip and pulling softly. “I’m willing to talk up a…fuckkk, a storm for you, Tink, but you gotta be…r-right there… goddamn…gotta be vocal, too." The last of his words are a near whimper as I continue to grind against him.
“C-clit,” I gasp between thrusts.
He shifts, spreading me wider so my swollen clit rubs against the ridge of his body with every thrust.
“Oh!” I cry, nails digging into his shoulders.
“That’s it. Fucking hurt me, baby. Let it out.” His voice is dark, low and sinful. “Scratch me up. You feel how hard I am inside you? That’s all you, Ozzy. You’ve got my cock fucking throbbing.”
I whimper, lightheaded, drunk on pleasure and praise. “Mmmhm…”
“You gonna come for me?” he breathes. “You gonna soak my cock like thegood girl I know you are?”
My hips stutter, the orgasm building like a storm rolling in.
“Jackson,” I pant. “Don’t leave me.”
He grabs my face, locking eyes with me. “You come on my cock, and it’s over. You’re mine. There’s no going back, Ozzy. I’m yours, always.”
It’s all I can stand. I shatter.
I scream his name as the orgasm slams through me, tears leaking down my cheeks as my pussy clenches violently around him. He growls, hips jerking, and I feel the hot flood of his cum fill me as he cries out my name like a prayer.
We collapse into each other, bodies trembling and breath ragged, the stars spinning above us in silence.
The truck bed is quiet now, nothing but our panting and the shifting of the blankets beneath us. I blink up at him, my heart stuttering.
We both know it. Something just changed. And neither of us knows what the fuck happens next. He said he’s mine. Did he mean it?
My body’s still shaking. Not from fear. Not this time, though. It’s from everything else. From pleasure and relief. From how deeply he saw me—and didn’t flinch. The way he held every broken, stitched-together part of me like it was treasure.
Jackson hasn’t moved. Hasn’t said a word.
He’s just watching me with this look that makes my chest ache. Like I’ve given him something holy. Like he wants to kneel and build a cathedral in my name.
I start to pull away, because I always do. Muscle memory. Panic. Guilt.
But his arms tighten around me.
“Hey,” he murmurs, voice hoarse, his breath brushing my temple. “You stay right here a little longer, yeah?”
I nod into his shoulder.
“Was it too much?” he asks, his fingers already smoothing over the lines I carved into his chest. “Did I push too far?”
“No,” I whisper. “No. You didn’t push me. I… I wanted that.”
His body eases beneath me, and I feel the weight of his relief as much as my own.
Then, without a word, he moves.
Careful and slow. Like I’m glass and he’s still learning how to hold me.
He lifts me into his arms, blankets still tangled around us, and eases me down onto the plush bed in the truck bed. He presses a featherlight kiss to the top of my head then reaches behind him and grabs a thermos from the cooler.
“You’re probably freezing,” he mutters, unscrewing the lid and offering it to me. “It’s hot cider. With cinnamon sticks. Courtesy of Indy’s picnic vision.”
I smile as I take it. The warmth seeps into my hands, into my chest.
He wipes me down gently with a warm cloth he must’ve prepped— he really thought of everything —never taking his eyes off me.
“Thank you,” I whisper, throat thick. “For everything.”
Jackson scoffs, but it’s soft and affectionate. “You think I deserve thanks for getting to be with you like that? For getting to see you… fuck, Ozzy. You are so goddamn beautiful. Strong. Brave. Everything.”
He strokes a hand down my thigh, then traces a line up the side of my torso like he’s memorizing it. Worshipping it.
“You let me be with you tonight,” he says in awe, voice low. “That wasn’t just sex. That was?—”
“More,” I finish, and he nods.
“Yeah. So much more.”
I curl into him, letting my cheek rest against his chest. His fingers play with my hair, brushing the strands back from my face. Every so often, he presses his lips to the crown of my head.
“You did so good, baby,” he murmurs. “You were perfect. You made me feel like a fuckin’ king. You always do.”
I close my eyes and breathe him in. Earth, sweat, and that scent that’s just… Jackson.
“Doesn’t it freak you out?” I ask quietly. “The way I get. What I’ve been through?”
His hand stills for a second, then slides under my chin, tilting my face up until I’m looking into those blue eyes I trust more than I should.
“Freak me out?” His voice is gentle, but firm. “Ozzy, it makes me wanna hold you tighter. But you didn’t break, baby. You survived. And now you’re mine to protect.”
My throat closes up.
“You’re not too much,” he insists. “You’re just… more than others could handle. And I’m not them.”
“I scratched the hell out of you,” I murmur, staring at the red trails across his chest.
“Good,” he smirks. “Means I get to feel you tomorrow when I move. Means I’ll remember every second.”
“Masochist,” I mutter, even as I tuck myself closer.
“Only for you.”
He lays down beside me, drawing the blanket tighter around our bodies, wrapping me in warmth and cedar and him.
“I don’t know what happens next,” I admit.
“You don’t have to,” he says, voice thick with sleep. “Whatever it is—we face it together.”
I fall asleep like that.
Tangled up in him. Full of him. Safe in a way I never believed I could be again.
His hand never leaving mine.