23. Blakely
TWENTY-THREE
Blakely
I can tell something is wrong with Jackson from the second I get in the car. His eyes aren’t as bright, and even though he gives me that boyish grin, there’s something lurking, not letting the happiness reach his eyes. The entire drive, my stomach is tied up in knots, my brain racing with theories on why he’s acting so out of sorts. Wondering if it’s something I did. Worried that he changed his mind about us and is trying to figure out how to let me down easy.
But once we show up to the beach, there’s a shift. He goes from trying to appease me to staring out at the ocean with a tortured look in his eyes.
A look I often find in my own reflection.
And for some reason, that makes my anxiety ease, a need to help him heal taking its place.
I want him to know that I’m here for him, however he wants me to be. That I’m not just some young princess brat who has a crush and enjoys his company.
He’s been there to catch me every time I’ve started to fall and I want to be the same for him. His anchor .
Jackson surges down to kiss me just as my phone vibrates for the hundredth time, most likely Lennox. I’m tempted to turn it off, but the way Jackson’s lips feel against mine—the desperation—is enough for me to ignore it.
I don’t want to ruin the moment.
His grip is surprisingly strong, his passion evident in every swipe of his tongue, but still, I can feel the restraint in all of his movements. He’s clearly holding back. Going slow, just like I asked.
But my favorite part of Jackson is drawing up his rawness. Shedding his relaxed, charming demeanor until he shows me the man underneath. A shot of adrenaline hits me in the chest, wondering what it would take to make him lose it now.
Then worry creeps in, tightening my stomach. I don’t know the first thing about pleasing him. And that’s what I want— all I want in this moment—is to please him. To take away his worries and his heartache, let him funnel everything he’s feeling into me, instead.
Maybe it’s inappropriate, our passion spawning from his obvious heartbreak. Maybe it’s even worse that I’m getting attached to a guy who is quite obviously in love with someone else. But if this is what he needs, I want to be the one to give it to him.
I shift into him, pressing my body against his, the blanket scrunching in the sand underneath us. His legs tangle with mine, his knee pressing between my legs, forcing a gasp from my mouth as his thigh slips under my skirt, pushing against where I want him most.
The need to touch him becomes unbearable, my hand reaching between us to rub his length. It’s thick, and even over his jeans, I feel it jerk against my hand, a spike of arousal shooting through me.
A groan rips from his throat and he pushes his thigh harder against my center, his palm coming up to cradle the back of my head. His fingers tangle in the strands of my hair and he tugs, bending me until my back bows, his other hand wrapping around my hip to press me more firmly against his leg.
The shift in position is sudden and the firmness of his grasp, the way he’s able to mold me so perfectly into exactly what he needs, makes my brain buzz with satisfaction.
A wave of something sharp and hot spirals through me at his control of my body, a ripple of pleasure cascading through every single nerve.
I moan, my eyes rolling back when his fingers tighten in my strands.
“That’s right, princess. Get yourself off on my leg.”
His words send pinpricks of pleasure skittering along my skin, all of my senses heightened with every pass of my clit on his thigh. Relief flows through me, knowing that he’s going to tell me what he wants from me. He’s in control.
That thought is the last conscious one I have, my mind letting go completely, giving in to the sensations as they blanket every single cell.
His mouth leaves mine, lips trailing down the expanse of my throat, laving kisses along my collarbone as he bends me farther backward until the ends of my hair graze the ground.
My hips move under his command, the pressure building until it feels like I’m on the verge of an explosion. I grapple at his chest, finding purchase on the metal chain around his neck, the beads digging into my palm as I hold on, a helpless bystander to his control of my pleasure. Submerged in the solace that’s found from the absence of thought.
There is no anxiety.
No panic teasing my insides.
No obsession over what pose I’m in or what angle may be captured from the cameras. All that matters is the certainty I feel in my bones, knowing Jackson will keep me safe and give me what I need.
“Come for me,” he whispers against my skin.
His words sear into my brain and I detonate into a thousand pieces, waves of euphoria crashing through my body. I bite through the skin of my lip and copper floods my mouth. I swallow the tangy flavor, my core clenching and releasing, desperate to be filled as my body collapses farther into Jackson’s arms.
His hold is strong and sure and as the pleasure ebbs and flows, I faintly recognize the feel of his hand petting my hair, smoothing over the strands. Closing my eyes, I lean into his touch, a suspended type of bliss skating along my skin.
It could be minutes or it could be hours later when I finally come back to Earth, realizing at some point he shifted us so my head is in his lap. Opening my eyes, I meet his grassy-green gaze and my heart jumps, slamming against my chest.
No one has ever looked at me the way he is right now.
Like I’m the only thing he can see.
“That was…” I trail off, a dopey sensation making my brain fuzzy.
He grins, his hand coming up to brush the hair off my forehead. “Beautiful, Blake. That was beautiful.”
I smile up at him, a sleepy haze rolling through my limbs, making them heavy. My body relaxes farther into him as he smooths his palm over my hair, again and again.
My phone vibrates somewhere in the distance, but I pay it no mind. Instead, I close my eyes and fall asleep in Jackson’s arms.
Not a single worry in my head.