58. JACKSON
FIFTY-EIGHT
JACKSON
God, he looks so wrecked. Those cheeks dark with a mauve blush he gets only during sex. His eyeliner is smudged, lids still hanging heavy in post-orgasm bliss, and it only fuels whatever’s building in my chest. Something new.
My attention skates over my backwards cap. Fuck me. He’s back to wearing a light beard again, and it only serves to highlight his high cheekbones and sharp features.
He’s otherworldly.
He’s mine.
That feeling in my chest ignites, and a growl rumbles from my throat.
Mine.
I stand and shove him to his knees.
He goes so willingly, looks up at me with those lust-glazed brown eyes. Waits for my command.
My dick’s hard and heavy, trapped against my thigh. Aching. I lick my lips. I can still taste him.
I shove my sweats and boxers down to mid-thigh, and his gaze locks on my dick springing free. He leans forward, hands going to my hips. But that’s not what I want. No. I grip his chin, stretch his neck back. Force his gaze up as I tower over him.
Never in my life have I felt what I do right now.
He turns into my hand, eyes still locked on mine. His tongue darts out to lick my palm, and I feel it on my dick. He keeps going, and my shaft pulses with every wet roll of his tongue. It knows what he’s doing. He grabs me by the wrist and pulls my palm just below his chin. And spits.
Getting me nice and wet.
I bring my hand to my dick and curl my fingers around myself. My hiss echoes around us. So slick.
My balls ache at the look he’s sending my way. All glittering gold and sinful sex.
I stroke faster.
I have to mark him.
Need.
Gold bursts into flame in those irises, and he lets out a satisfied purr. He likes what he sees.
It’s bone deep.
Animal.
Mine.
Heat climbs through my veins, consuming me. My gaze traces every inch of him. Lean, sharp-cut pecs, dusky rose nipples, coarse chest hair that I can almost feel tickling my jaw.
Lower.
Slim abs and a happy trail that leads down to those neatly trimmed black pubes. Spread thighs. Pretty dick doing its damnedest to rally for round two.
My stare flicks back up.
To that beautiful face.
Pressure coils tight in my groin, a hum building under my skin.
To those mesmerizing eyes that are full of secrets.
Secrets only for me.
Light flashes of pleasure sweep through me.
Sultry lips.
Parted and panting.
My abdominals clench, bliss hurtling in. It’s a bullet off the bat. But it stands no chance.
Mine.
I let go of his jaw, and my hand shoots to the island as my orgasm barrels into me.
It’s not soft, it’s not tender. No, this pleasure is white-hot and jagged as it tears through me, and I paint his chest with my cum.
I don’t recognize the growl that rips from me at the sight.
It’s born from my insatiable need for the man staring up at me. Claim, mark, mine.
My chest lifts in ragged bursts, and my head drops, my muscles finally going lax. I hover there, a foot above him, as I come back down. His hands are on my hips, bracing me. I hadn’t even realized. He always knows what I need.
My Frankie.
To cherish.
To love.
One of his hands falls away. Eyes locked on me, he brings it to his chest and rubs my cum into his skin.
My heart stutters.
“Yours,” he whispers.
Emotion rolls over me like a tidal wave, and I fall to my knees, crushing my mouth to his.
I don’t think I’ll ever stop being overwhelmed by how much I love this man.
I pull him onto my lap and tug him close until every inch of him is pressed to every inch of me.
A perfect fit.