66. Jackson
Jackson
I suck Ryan’s lip into my mouth, biting down to check this is actually real and he is here.
“I’m sorry I haven’t written lately,” Splash whispered against my lips, his breath hitching as he pulled back just enough to look at me, his fingers fisting my shirt.
“Everything just… it got so loud.” I squeezed his hand, the apology unnecessary but deeply felt.
“I’m just glad you’re here now,” I replied, my voice thick with relief.
The initial, desperate kiss didn’t last. I broke away first, my chest heaving, my eyes wide as I looked at the man I’d only known through ink and paper.
He was solid. He was here. I grabbed his hand, his skin was rougher than I imagined, calloused and warm, and pulled him away from the bar’s brick wall and the curious, probably gaping eyes of my teammates.
“We’re leaving,” I managed to choke out, my voice low and vibrating with a shakiness I couldn’t suppress. “Right now.”
The truck ride to my house in Tidehaven was a blur of neon lights and suffocating silence.
My hands were literally trembling on the steering wheel, a frantic kind of nervousness clawing at my throat.
I’d spent so long imagining this, but now that he was sitting in my passenger seat, the reality felt overwhelming.
I kept stealing glances at him, making sure he hadn’t vanished back into a desert ghost. The silence between us wasn’t empty; it was thick, heavy with months of shared secrets and an electric, terrifying need that made my heart hammer against my ribs like a trapped bird.
Once the door was locked behind us in the quiet of my home, the world narrowed down to just the two of us.
I didn’t hesitate. I couldn’t. I pulled him close, my hands finally allowed to roam over his shoulders and his back, confirming over and over that he was solid, that he was real.
My kiss was a lifeline, deep and affirming, a physical manifestation of every promise I’d ever written in those letters.
Clothes hit the floor in a frantic mess.
Being shirtless in front of him, the man who already saw every hidden part of my soul, felt less like a discovery and more like a long-overdue homecoming.
I reached out, my hand skimming over the hard, warm landscape of his chest. His skin was taut, a resilient layer over muscle forged in years of service that no gym could ever replicate.
I found the scar high on his shoulder, tracing the thin white line with a reverence that made my throat tight.
This was Splash. He was breathing beneath my touch.
“I just want to see you,” fuck he was so beautiful.
My fingers drifted lower, finally finding the defined contours of his abs.
His toned abs were breathtakingly firm under my palms, a beautiful, stark reminder of the harsh world he had endured, now surrendered entirely to me.
I pressed my mouth to that taut skin, tasting the faint salt of his sweat, a primal confirmation that he was finally here.
Ryan shuddered, a low, guttural exhale catching in his throat, a sound of pure, unarmored release.
I shifted, burying my face into his neck, letting the weight of his body and every breathtaking plane of him press against me.
We were finally beyond the letters, anchored only by the desperate, beautiful reality of each other’s skin.
“Please tell me this is real, please fuck Ryan, I’ve dreamt of this moment for so long. ”