32. Jackson
THIRTY-TWO
Jackson
I hadn’t planned on coming back. Talked myself out of it a thousand times, listed off all the reasons why it was a bad idea. But I couldn’t get the vision of her crumbling out of my head. Of watching her try like hell to hold it together while nobody else gave a damn.
And once it was there, I knew the only way to find some peace was to make sure things were alright between us. So that I can be the person in her corner, propping her up and giving support, even when she swears she doesn’t need it.
Still, I waited until my feelings settled into something that was less hurt and more understanding. Besides, I wanted to give everyone else time to leave. We need to be alone for the things I want to talk about.
I pride myself on being able to read people easily, but Blakely has me second-guessing everything I thought I knew. She’s a master of deception, having fine-tuned her persona, threading it so tightly with who she really is that it’s almost indistinguishable.
Almost .
I know it’s unhealthy to be happy with the fact I’m the only one she shows her realness to. But it’s there, warming my insides whether I want it or not. I like being the one she runs to. I like being the one who loosens her stitching and lets the mask fall away.
But the problem is that the longer she wears the cloak, the more it sinks into her skin. Mixes with who she is and darkens her soul until she believes her own lies. Until she believes theirs .
My heart feels heavy thinking of all the effort she puts into appeasing the masses. Of obtaining this ridiculous standard of beauty—of life so other people will envy something that doesn’t exist.
And maybe that’s why, when I find her sobbing on the marble bathroom floor, there’s an overwhelming need raging through me to show her all the ways she’s truly beautiful.
The ways that can’t be shown with numbers or products or edited pictures.
My hands glide down her body, pointing out all the ways her soul shines through her skin, and as I do, the air charges with an electric hum, weaving its way between us, injecting the moment with a thick tension.
I feel her body relax more with every pass of my palm, and when I pause on her stomach, she twists in my arms, her eyes clashing with mine. There are a few moments of silence, her amber gaze sparkling with a watery sheen as she looks at me in a way no one else ever has.
My heart beats with fervor, ramming into my chest.
Her arms slide along my shoulders until her fingers tangle in the hair at the nape of my neck. My hands tighten around her waist, waiting for her to make the next move. It has to be her.
She rises on her tiptoes, pulling me in, her lips grazing against mine.
“Kiss me,” she breathes.
Our mouths collide in an explosion of heat. Groaning, I sink in deeper, my tongue tangling with hers, my fingers gripping her tight and dragging her into me.
My cock hardens when she presses her hips into mine, moaning as she grinds herself against me.
Months of pent-up tension collects at the base of my spine, begging for release. My intention wasn’t for this to happen, but I can’t help how my body responds when I touch her.
I thrust against her and she gasps, allowing me to dive in deeper until I can’t tell where she ends and I begin. I’ve never been a big kisser, but the intimacy of our lips melding together has desire twisting my insides and wringing them tight. Her mouth is the sweetest ambrosia coating my tongue.
Goddamn, she tastes delicious.
A groan rips from my throat when she palms my cock through my jeans, making it jerk against her, desperate for more friction.
“Blake,” I rasp, forcing myself to break away from her lips. “Wait, we should?—”
She shakes her head, her fingers tightening around me. My eyes flutter from the sensation of having her grip me, even through my clothes.
I’ve never gone this long without sex, and while I don’t miss the random hookups, my body misses the feel of someone else against it.
“I don’t want to wait, Jackson. Please .” She surges back up and meets my mouth.
My hands tighten, bunching up the silk fabric at her waist. “You wanted to take things slow,” I force out.
“We have been. If we go any slower, I’ll die,” she responds, her hand rubbing up and down the length of me. “I want you .”
I walk us backward, her lips never leaving mine, until my knees hit the edge of her bed. I fall to the mattress, her inner thighs bumping against my hips, making blood rush to my groin, my cock pulsing against my zipper.
“I saw this thing online.” Her cheeks heat when she says it, and then she sits on top of me, her chest heaving, lips puffy and red. “When I’m with you I get this…fuzzy feeling.”
“Fuzzy?”
“Yeah.” Her hips move back and forth over my growing erection, grinding slowly. I imagine her clit swelling with every pass over my dick and my eyes roll from the image.
“It said it’s something called subspace.”
I freeze. What?
“I don’t want you to be like…a dom or anything. But I think—” She bites her lip. “When I’m with you like this—when you take control. I like it. It relaxes my brain.”
My hands trail along her arms, fingers slipping under the straps of her tank top until they fall, her dusty-pink nipples pebbling when her breasts hit the cool air.
My mouth waters, stomach flipping at the view, and I trace along her skin until I’m cupping them in my palms.
Her hand reaches between us, the buckle of my belt clanking as she clumsily undoes it. She raises her hips off me, and I move to grab them, a protest on the tip of my tongue, but the words die when her chest dangles in my face. I lean up, sucking a nipple into my mouth and I hum, my dick jumping at her taste on my tongue.
She jerks, her hands stopping their task and grabbing my head to press me farther into her. My hands fumble as I rip my jeans down my thighs and kick them onto the ground.
My palms wrap around her waist and I sit up to get closer, my tongue still twirling around her breast, my teeth biting down lightly. She moans, her back arching, the chocolate strands of her hair tickling my hand.
Her hips continue working against me and heat coils low in my gut as I thrust between her silk-covered pussy lips. My mouth breaks away from her hardened nipples so I can tear my shirt off, desperate to feel her skin on mine.
The pressure that’s winding through my body tightens like a screw and my abs contort—I’m desperate to sink deep inside her and feel her come apart around me.
But a bit of sense sneaks through when I notice her face is drawn tight, eyes squeezed shut—like she’s concentrating.
Even in this moment, she’s focused on the control.
She wants me to take it.
Leaning forward, I connect our lips. My hand tightens around her waist, the other cupping the back of her neck, and I flip us, her body bouncing on the mattress.
I hover above her, my eyes drinking her in from our new position, soaking up every inch of her body. The longer I look, the more she fidgets, until her arms move to wrap around her stomach. She turns her head, pink creeping along her cheeks.
Sliding my hands down her body until my fingers entwine with hers, I raise her arms above her head. “Don’t hide yourself from me. Let me see you.”
Shifting our position, I place both of her palms together, wrapping my fingers tightly around her wrists, gliding my free hand down until it rests at the base of her throat. “Do you trust me?”
“Yes,” she whispers.
Her chest brushes against me with every exhale. My dog tags dangle on top of her and I watch her face closely as I thrust my hips against her center.
Her eyes roll, teeth sinking into her lower lip, and I swear to God, in this moment, she’s the most erotic thing I’ve ever seen.
I kiss my way down her body, touching every spot I showed her in the mirror, then doubling back and covering anywhere I may have missed.
Easing my grip on her wrists, I take the shirt bunched around her hips and move it down her thighs until she’s left in nothing but her small, pink shorts.
I graze my lips along the hem and then move lower, my heart beating in time to the throbbing of my cock, mouth salivating at the anticipation of having her explode on my tongue.
My thumb presses against her through her shorts, my balls tightening when I feel how damp the silk is.
Fuck.
I lean in, sucking the fabric into my mouth.
She jerks.
My eyes glance up at her, my thumb replacing my mouth and circling over her clit, her legs trembling around me. “Has anyone ever kissed you here?”
She shakes her head. “No.”
Lust floods my system. There’s something so primal about the possessiveness that overtakes me, knowing I’m the only man to have the pleasure of being with her like this. Of touching her. Tasting her. Fucking her.
My fingers wrap around her shorts and tug, pulling them down her thighs, following their path with my mouth, until I’ve covered the length of her legs with my lips.
She rises on her elbows, staring down at me with wide eyes and a flushed face.
My palm glides up her thigh, over her stomach, until I reach her chest, pushing her back to a lying position. Her legs drop open and my cock stiffens more at the view. I press my hips into the mattress to try and relieve the ache.
Her pussy is perfection, glistening with the arousal I caused. I lean in, blowing slightly just to see her reaction.
She gasps and my stomach clenches at how responsive she is.
I bury my face between her thighs, my tongue lapping at her juices and sucking her clit into my mouth.
Goddamn.
The second her taste hits me, I’m lost. Drowning in every whimper, every tense of her muscles, the way she tugs on my hair while she gasps out my name.
I tease her entrance with my fingers, spreading her wetness around and feeling her pussy spasm, her legs pressing in around my head.
“Oh my god , Jackson, I think I might…” She trails off, throwing her arm over her face.
My eyes stay locked on her through it all, needing to see the moment she comes apart under someone else’s touch. Under my touch. Her tits rise and fall with her heavy breaths and her legs tighten and shake, until suddenly, the world stills.
Her thighs clamp tight around my head and her fingers rip at my hair, making my dick jerk so hard I’m afraid I’ll come. A breathy moan spills from her perfect fucking lips and her back arches off the bed.
Her body shivers as she comes down and I kiss and suck all the way through it, not stopping until she pushes me away.
“Jackson, stop , it’s so sensitive.” She laughs.
I grin, crawling up her body, warmth billowing through my insides and blanketing every part of me.
It’s never felt like this.
Her smile softens as I stare, her hand cupping my jaw. “What are you doing?”
“Memorizing this moment.”
She swallows, her throat bobbing with the motion. “Oh.”
Her fingers wrap around my necklace, dragging my face down to hers, moaning into my mouth as she tastes herself.
My body drops down, my cock pulsing. I press into her, my eyes rolling as her hips push against me, and as much as I want to strip off my boxers and sink deep inside her—claim her for myself—I don’t.
That’s not what this is about, and I don’t want her to look back on her first time and have it tainted by the day. By the ridiculous headlines or how I found her crying on the floor.
I pull back, slowing down our kiss until I can move away.
“I’ll be right back,” I whisper.
She protests, but I just smile and stand, walking to her bathroom so I can grab a towel to clean her up.
I’m about to head back out when something catches my eye. It’s a clipboard, hanging above a scale. I didn’t notice it earlier because I was so focused on Blakely sprawled across the floor, but now curiosity pushes my legs forward until I’m scanning all the pages.
And when I do, my chest splits open, heart filling with lead and sinking into my stomach.
There are extensive notes.
Daily caloric intake. Daily caloric burn. Measurements. Morning, afternoon, and nighttime weigh-ins.
Suddenly, the conversation from earlier flows through my mind, and the aftermath I walked in on clicks into place.
All the times she’s been obsessively watching her food.
The three-hour workouts I’ve witnessed.
This is so much more than a simple overreaction or a panic attack from a headline she didn’t like.
Why has no one confronted her about this?
Walking back out of the room, a heaviness weighs down my shoulders and I rack my brain trying to think of the best way to address the situation.
I can’t, in good conscience, just ignore what I’ve seen.
But all my thoughts pause when I make it to the bed and gaze down at a sleeping Blakely. My heart stalls.
I lay the towel down on the nearest chair, sinking into the bed behind her and pulling her into my chest, ignoring the sadness that’s swirling in my gut and reaching up to squeeze my lungs.
I’m not sure what it is that she’s going through, but I vow to myself that she won’t have to go through it alone.
Not anymore.