16. Jackson
Jackson
T he evening air chills my skin as I stand outside Tarryn's apartment building, waiting for her to buzz me up, her urgent text from earlier still echoing in my head.
Need to see you tonight. My place after work. Important.
The buzzer sounds and I make my way up inside. She opens the door, looking both exhausted and anxious as hell.
"Did you eat?" I ask, holding up the takeout bags I brought.
She smiles, some of the tension draining from her shoulders. "No. I've been too busy wearing a path in my floor."
"What happened today?" I ask as we settle at her small dining table. "Your text sounded urgent."
"I confronted Christine. Directly."
"You what?" I can't keep the surprise from my voice.
"I told her I know about David Richards," she says, crossing her arms protectively over her chest. "I told her I know what happened at Miller & Walsh and that I understand why she's doing this to us."
"How did she react?"
"Like I'd slapped her." Tarryn moves to her refrigerator, pulling out a bottle of wine with slightly trembling hands. "For a moment, her mask slipped completely. There was so much pain there, Jackson. So much raw hurt."
I take the bottle from her and pour us both a glass. "Did she deny it?"
"Not really." Tarryn accepts the glass I pour her, taking a substantial sip before continuing. "She tried to deflect, but when I pushed, she basically admitted everything. Then she said something strange."
"What?"
Tarryn's eyes meet mine, uncertainty flickering in their depths. "She said you'd offered to help her get Miguel's position in exchange for her silence about us. That you'd turn on me the moment you got what you wanted."
The accusation hits like a physical blow. "That's absolutely not true."
"I know that," Tarryn says quickly, though something in her tone makes me wonder.
"Do you?" I lean closer, searching her face. "Because it sounds like you're not entirely sure."
She avoids my gaze. "It's just… she was so convincing. For a second, I wondered?—"
"If I would sell you out for a promotion?" The hurt in my voice is impossible to hide. "After everything we've been through?"
"No, no, I don’t think that. But you have to understand that as a man?—”
"I'm not just any man, Tarryn. I'm the guy who's been in love with you since we were sixteen." The words escape before I can stop them, hanging in the air between us.
Her eyes widen. "That's not fair. You can't just throw that at me in the middle of an argument. Having both gone to law school, we know that it’s usually someone you know and trust who betrays you.”
"It's the truth." I move closer, frustration building inside me. "Which is apparently something we need more of between us."
She turns away, a defensive gesture I recognize from our past. "This isn't about us. It's about Christine and what she might do."
"This is absolutely about us." I follow her into the living room, unwilling to let her walk away from this conversation. "About what we are to each other. About what we're calling this thing between us."
Tarryn whirls to face me, color blazing across her cheeks. "We already talked about this. We agreed to an arrangement."
"The arrangement isn't working anymore." I run a hand through my hair, frustration making the gesture sharp. "At least not for me."
"You said you'd wait," she reminds me, her voice rising slightly. "You said you'd give me time to figure things out."
"And I have been." I step closer, watching her eyes darken despite her defensive posture. "I've been patient. I've respected your boundaries. I've kept things professional at work and never pushed for more than you were willing to give."
Her lips press together in a thin line. "So now you're throwing that in my face? Using it as leverage?"
"That's not what I'm doing," I say, my voice dropping lower. "I'm telling you I'm tired of waiting, Tarryn. I'm tired of pretending this is just physical. I'm tired of watching you keep one foot out the door."
"That's not fair, Jackson." Her voice wavers slightly, the first crack in her composure. "You said you'd wait until I was ready."
I step closer, close enough to catch the subtle scent of her perfume, to see the pulse fluttering at the base of her throat. "And how long is that going to be? Another month? Another year? Or are you just stringing me along until one of us gets the promotion and the complication resolves itself?"
Her eyes flash with genuine anger. "That's not what I'm doing and you know it."
"Do I?" I counter, frustration building inside me. "Because from where I'm standing, it looks like you're keeping me in this convenient limbo where you get all the benefits of a relationship with none of the vulnerability."
Tarryn crosses her arms, a defensive barrier between us. "You agreed to those terms. No one forced you."
"You're right. I did." I take a breath, trying to calm the emotions churning inside me. "I agreed because I thought it was a beginning, not a permanent arrangement. I thought you needed time to adjust, to get comfortable with the idea of us being together openly."
"And now you're changing the rules?" Her voice cracks slightly, betraying the emotion beneath her cool exterior.
"I'm done with half measures," I say, my voice dropping to that register that I know makes her pulse race.
I can see it in the slight dilation of her pupils, the quickening of her breath.
"I'm done pretending I don't want all of you, that I don't need everyone to know you're mine. Having you confess it to me while I make you come wasn’t enough.”
The word "mine" hangs between us. For a moment, she looks torn between anger and arousal, her body betraying what her words refuse to admit.
"You don't own me, Jackson," she says, though her voice lacks conviction.
I move closer, eliminating the remaining distance between us. "Don't I?"
The tension that’s been crackling is threatening to explode. Her eyes dart to my mouth, a tell she's never been able to control around me.
The dynamic shifts suddenly when I close the final inches between us, my hands framing her face with surprising intensity. "You are mine, Tarryn. You've always been mine. And it's time everyone knew it."
Her breath catches. I feel the war raging inside her, fighting against the undeniable pull between us.
"Jackson—" she starts, but I cut her off.
"Tell me you don't want this," I challenge, my thumbs brushing her cheekbones. "Tell me you don't think about me every minute we're apart. Tell me you don't wake up reaching for me in the middle of the night."
Her hands rise to grip my wrists, but she doesn't pull away. Instead, her fingers tighten, anchoring herself to me as though afraid I might vanish.
"I can't," she whispers, vulnerability flickering across her features.
It's the only permission I need. My mouth claims hers with a possessiveness I've been restraining for weeks, months—years, if I'm being honest. The kiss is raw, unrestrained, eight years of separation and denial finally combusting in a single, explosive moment.
Her response is immediate and overwhelming, arms winding around my neck as she arches against me, her body betraying what her mind has been fighting. I back her against the wall, one hand tangling in her hair while the other grips her hip, pulling her tighter against me.
"Jackson," she gasps when my mouth moves to her neck, teeth grazing the sensitive spot beneath her ear that always makes her shiver. "We should?—"
"Stop talking," I growl against her skin, feeling her pulse race beneath my lips. "For once, stop overthinking and just feel."
My hands slide beneath her silk blouse, finding warm skin that jumps at my touch. She moans when my fingers trace the delicate edge of her lace bra, her head falling back against the wall in surrender.
I lift her easily, her legs wrapping around my waist as I carry her toward the bedroom. Her mouth finds mine again, the kiss desperate and hungry as her fingers work at the buttons of my shirt with frantic urgency.
By the time I lay her on the bed, we're both half-undressed, skin flushed with desire. I hover above her, taking in the sight of her—disheveled, wanting, her careful defenses finally crumbling.
"Say it," I demand, pinning her wrists above her head with one hand while the other traces the curve of her breast through delicate lace. "Say you're mine. Not just in this moment but forever."
She arches beneath me, trying to increase the pressure of my touch, but I hold back, waiting.
"Jackson, please," she whimpers, frustration evident in her voice.
"Say it," I repeat, my fingers slipping beneath lace to circle her nipple without quite touching where she needs it most. "I need to hear you say it."
Something breaks in her expression—the last wall crumbling as her body surrenders what her mind has been fighting. "I'm yours," she whispers, the words catching in her throat. "Only yours."
The admission ignites something primal within me. I release her wrists to remove the barrier of her bra, my mouth replacing my fingers as I lavish attention on each breast until she's writhing beneath me, desperate for more.
Our remaining clothes vanish in a frantic rush of hands and whispered urgency. When I finally push inside her, it feels like more than physical connection. I’m marking her, letting her know she’s been mine since the moment I walked back into her life.
We move together with desperate intensity, my teeth grazing her neck just hard enough that I hope to leave a mark. She’ll be pissed, but I don't care.
“I’m—” she pants. “I’m coming. Fuck. Jackson.” Her words come out in sharp cries as she comes on my cock, sending me right after her.
“Oh fuck, baby. Oh, goddamn, you fuck me so good,” I groan so loudly with my release her neighbors definitely heard me. My eyes go dark, flecks of gold exploding as I empty every last bit of myself inside of her.
Afterward, as we lie tangled together in the darkness of her bedroom, I trace idle patterns on her back. The silence between us is comfortable, weighted with the significance of what just transpired.
"I meant what I said," she finally murmurs, her voice soft in the darkness. "I'm yours, Jackson. I have been since we were sixteen, even when I tried not to be.” Her eyes fall away for just a second before darting back, something still on her mind. “I—I’ve never stopped loving you.”
I gather her closer, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "I know, baby. Me too.”
She shifts to look up at me, vulnerability evident in her expression.
"I've been so afraid of losing myself in us. Of becoming just an extension of you rather than my own person. You have such a charming personality and you were born to be a lawyer.” She playfully smacks me when I flash her a smile. “Seriously, though, the fear of working my ass off just to be overshadowed by you… I’m not sure I could get over that. I think I’d end up resenting you. ”
"I know that too." I brush a strand of hair from her face, understanding the root of her fears. “They’re valid but you have to believe that you deserve the recognition, baby. If you get this promotion—and if I had to guess, you will—you will have earned it. That has nothing to do with me and loving me doesn't diminish you, Tarryn. I’m in your corner. I’m your biggest cheerleader.”
She considers this, her fingers tracing patterns on my chest. "I think I'm starting to understand that." A soft smile curves her lips. "It just took me a while to catch up."
"We have time," I assure her, though even as I say it, I know we're on borrowed time with Christine's threat hanging over us.
Tarryn seems to read my thoughts. "We need to talk to Miguel," she says, surprising me. "Tomorrow. Before Christine gets to him with whatever she's planning."
I study her face in the dim light filtering through her curtains. "Are you sure? Once we do that, there's no going back."
"I'm sure. Whatever happens with the promotion, with Christine, with any of it… this—us—is worth protecting."
"Together, then."
She nods, settling back against my chest. "Together."