Chapter 8 - June
*Please.*
The desperation in my voice surprises me. I've never begged for anything like this, never let myself be this vulnerable, this exposed.
Jackson's eyes lock onto mine, brown and fierce with desire, and something awakens in his expression. The restraint he's been holding onto shatters.
He kisses me. His mouth claims mine like he owns it, tongue sliding past my lips, teeth scraping my bottom lip hard. I kiss him back just as roughly, fingernails raking down his spine, and the groan that rumbles through his chest makes heat pool low in my belly.
"Need to be inside you," he says against my mouth. "Right fucking now."
"Yes." I spread my legs wider, feel the blunt head of his cock pressing against my entrance. "Jackson, yes—"
It's been seven years since I've done this, and Jackson's thick, thicker than I remember Tommy being, though comparing them makes guilt flash through me for half a second before pleasure wipes it away.
"Breathe," Jackson murmurs, holding still. "Relax for me, baby."
I try. Force my muscles to unclench, force my hips to tilt up and take more of him. He slides in another inch, and I whimper at the burn.
"Too much?" His voice is strained.
"No." I dig my heels into the mattress, trying to pull him deeper. "More. Give me more."
He groans and pushes forward in one long, steady thrust until he's buried completely. We both freeze: him because he's clearly trying not to come, me because I'm so full I can barely think.
His chest crushes mine, flattening my breasts. I can feel every breath he takes, every tremor in his muscles as he holds himself still. The scent of his skin, salt and motor oil, fills my lungs.
"Move," I whisper.
He pulls back slowly, the drag of his cock against my inner walls making my eyes roll back. Then he drives forward hard enough to punch the air from my lungs.
"Fuck," I gasp.
Jackson sets a punishing rhythm. Deep, powerful thrusts that make the headboard slam against the wall. I wrap my legs around his waist, heels digging into his ass, pulling him even deeper.
The sounds filling my bedroom are obscene. Wet slapping of skin. His harsh breathing. My broken moans. The creak of bedsprings that have been silent for seven years suddenly screaming under our combined weight.
"Look at me," Jackson commands.
I force my eyes open. Sweat drips from his temple onto my cheek. His jaw is clenched so tight I can see the muscle jumping.
"Want to see your face when you fall apart," he says, hips snapping forward. "Want to watch you come on my cock."
The filth pouring from his mouth should embarrass me. Instead, it makes me clench around him.
"Christ, June." He drops his forehead to mine, breath hot against my lips. "Do that again and I'm done."
I do it deliberately this time. Squeeze my inner muscles around his shaft and watch his eyes go dark.
"Fucking hell!" His control breaks. He thrusts into me harder, faster, chasing something we're both racing toward. "Not gonna last. Been dreaming about this for too fucking long."
"Then don't last." I slide my hands up his sweat-slicked back, feel his muscles bunching and releasing with each thrust. "Come inside me, Jackson. Fill me up."
He makes a noise like I've wounded him and buries his face in my neck. His teeth find the junction where my neck meets my shoulder and bite down.
Pain and pleasure explode through me. I cry out, back arching off the bed, and suddenly I'm right there on the edge.
"Jackson—oh God—I'm—"
"I know. I can feel it." He licks where he bit, soothing the sting. "Let go, baby. Come for me."
The orgasm rips through my body like lightning, making my vision white out, making every muscle lock tight. I'm distantly aware that I'm screaming his name, nails scoring down his back hard enough to draw blood.
Jackson fucks me through it, prolonging the pleasure until I'm shaking and sobbing beneath him.
"Perfect," he's murmuring against my skin. "So fucking perfect. Mine. You're mine now, June."
"Yours," I manage to gasp. "Always yours."
He pulls out suddenly and I whimper at the loss.
"On your stomach," he orders.
I'm too wrung out to question it. I roll over, face pressed into the pillow, trying to catch my breath. Jackson's hands grip my hips and lift, angling my ass up slightly but keeping my chest pinned to the mattress.
Then he's covering me. His full weight presses me into the bed, chest to my back, legs bracketing mine. I'm completely trapped beneath him, can't move an inch, and something about the total surrender makes fresh arousal spike through me.
"This okay?" His lips brush my ear.
"Yes."
He reaches between us and guides his cock back inside me. The new angle makes him feel impossibly deeper. I can feel him in my stomach, can feel every ridge and vein as he slides home.
"Fuck," I moan into the pillow.
"I know." He starts moving, hips grinding against my ass with each thrust. "Feel it too. So deep like this."
The friction is incredible. Every time he pulls back, his cock drags against that spot inside me that makes sparks shoot up my spine. Every time he pushes in, his pelvis grinds against my ass in a way that sends shockwaves through my whole body.
I turn my head to the side, gasping for air. The pillowcase smells like lavender fabric softener and underneath that, faintly, the perfume I wore yesterday. My own scent mixed with Jackson's sweat and the musk of sex.
This is my bed. The bed I shared with Tommy for fourteen years. And I'm in it with another man, getting fucked so hard I can taste blood where I've bitten my lip.
The guilt tries to surface but Jackson drives into me particularly deep and it dissolves into pure sensation.
"Harder," I hear myself beg. "Please, Jackson, harder! I never want to forget this moment!"
He braces his hands on either side of my head and slams into me. The new leverage lets him go even deeper, hit even harder. I'm making sounds I don't recognize, so desperate and raw.
"That's it." His voice is rough in my ear. "Let me hear how good I'm fucking you. Let the whole neighborhood hear."
I couldn't be quiet if I tried. Each thrust forces air from my lungs in broken moans. The headboard is hammering the wall so hard I'm pretty sure it's leaving marks. My fingers claw at the sheets, trying to find something to hold onto.
"Whose pussy is this?" Jackson demands.
"Yours." The word comes out garbled.
"Say it again."
"Yours!" I practically scream it. "Yours, Jackson, all yours!"
"Damn right." He bites my shoulder, licks the sting, bites again. "Mine. My pussy. My woman. Mine."
The possessiveness in his voice sends me spiraling. I come again without warning, clenching around his cock so hard he curses viciously.
"Fuck, June, I'm—" His rhythm falters. "Gonna come. Gonna fill this perfect pussy up…"
"Do it." I push back against him as much as I can in this position. "Come inside me. Want to feel it."
Jackson slams home one final time and goes rigid. I feel him pulse inside me, feel the warmth flooding deep, and it triggers aftershocks that make me whimper.
He collapses on top of me, crushing me into the mattress. We're both gulping air, hearts racing, skin slick with sweat. His cock is still inside me, softening slowly.
I've never felt more thoroughly fucked in my entire life.
"Holy shit," Jackson finally says.
I laugh breathlessly. "Yeah."
He pulls out and rolls us onto our sides, tucking me back against his chest. I can feel his cum leaking out of me, slicking my inner thighs. The wet, messy evidence of what we just did.
"You okay?" he asks.
"More than okay." I lace my fingers through his where they rest on my hip. "That was incredible."
"Yeah."
We lie there in silence. Outside, I can hear a car pass on the street. A dog barking. Normal life continuing while mine has fundamentally changed..
I just had sex with Jackson Reed. In my bed. In broad daylight. And instead of drowning in guilt, I feel...
Happy.
For the first time in seven years, I feel genuinely, completely happy.
"June." Jackson's voice is soft. "What are you thinking?"
"That I love you." I turn in his arms to face him. "That I'm terrified you won't come back tonight. That I'm also terrified of what it means if you do."
He cups my face. "What does it mean?"
"That we're really doing this. That we're choosing each other despite everything." I press my hand over his heart, feel it beating strong and steady. "That we're building something new instead of living in the past."
"Is that what you want?"
"Yes." No hesitation. "I want you, Jackson. All of you. Messy and complicated and completely imperfect. I want to try."
His eyes go bright with something that might be tears. "I want that too."
"Then come back to me tonight," I whisper. "Come back and we'll figure out the rest together."
"I will." He kisses me softly. "I promise, June. I'm coming back."
I believe him. I have to. Because the alternative is unthinkable.
We spend the rest of the morning tangled together in my bed, and it feels both surreal and inevitable. Around noon, Jackson gets hungry and I dig through my fridge to find sandwich ingredients. We eat sitting cross-legged on the bed, him wearing his briefs and me in one of his t-shirts again.
The domesticity of it: of sharing food, talking between bites, wiping mustard from the corner of his mouth with my thumb, makes my chest ache in the best way.
"Remember that time Tommy tried to cook Thanksgiving dinner?" Jackson asks, smiling around his sandwich.
I laugh despite myself. "Oh God. The turkey was still frozen in the middle."
"And he insisted it was fine, that we could just microwave slices." Jackson shakes his head. "We ended up ordering pizza and telling his parents the oven broke."
"Your dad knew we were lying." I set my sandwich down. "He looked at me and said, 'June, honey, ovens don't break by exploding cranberry sauce all over the ceiling.'"
Jackson's laugh is genuine, unguarded. "I forgot about the cranberries. Tommy put the can in the oven still sealed."
"Like a grenade." I'm laughing too now, remembering Tommy's face when it exploded. "We were picking cranberry bits out of the light fixtures for weeks."
The laughter fades into comfortable silence. Talking about Tommy doesn't hurt the way I thought it would. Doesn't feel like betrayal. It just feels like honoring someone we both loved.
"He'd really be okay with this?" I ask. "With us?"
Jackson sets his own sandwich aside, reaches for my hand. "Yeah. He would. Tommy wanted everyone around him to be happy. Used to drive him crazy when I'd work too much, when you'd stress about things you couldn't control. He'd want us living, not just surviving."
I squeeze his fingers. "I miss him."
"Me too." Jackson pulls me closer. "But I don't think we have to choose between missing him and being happy together. Both things can be true."
"Yeah." I rest my head on his shoulder. "They can."
We finish eating and Jackson clears the plates, insisting I stay in bed. When he comes back, he climbs in beside me and we just lie there facing each other, not talking, just existing in the same space.
Eventually his hands start wandering. Trailing down my side, curving over my hip, sliding between my thighs. I'm sore from earlier but I don't care. When he pushes inside me again, slower this time, gentler, I wrap myself around him and let the pleasure build gradually.
We make love instead of fucking. That's what it is this time. Soft kisses and whispered words and Jackson's eyes locked on mine as we move together. When I come, it's a slow rolling wave instead of a lightning strike. When he follows, he says my name like a prayer.
Afterward, we sleep. I drift off with Jackson's arm around my waist, his breath warm against the back of my neck, and for the first time in years I feel safe.
I wake to his phone alarm at 10 PM.
Reality comes crashing back.
He must leave. Must ride into danger. Has to risk everything we just found. Jackson silences the alarm and turns to me. The fear I've been holding back all day surfaces in full force.
"Two hours," he says.
I press my face into his chest and try not to cry.