Chapter 11 Jackie
Jackie
Jack was pounding into me like he meant it—like I wasn’t something fragile or broken, but someone who needed it like this. Someone who could take it.
And I did.
I braced my hands against the couch cushion, my body jolting with every thrust as he held me tight by the hips, slamming into me with that delicious rhythm that made my eyes roll back. My body was already shaking, slick and greedy, each thrust driving me higher.
But it wasn’t just the sensation.
It was the defiance.
I didn’t want pity. I didn’t want softness. I didn’t want anyone to look at me like I’d shatter if they touched me wrong. Not tonight—not ever again.
I wanted to be fucked mercilessly, thoroughly, until I couldn’t think.
Jack shifted behind me, his breath hot against my back as he leaned forward. One hand slid from my hip and came up across my chest, grazing my collarbone before moving higher. My heart jumped before his fingers wrapped gently around my throat, not squeezing, just holding firmly.
My breath hitched and my body melted instantly. I could’ve sobbed from the release of it, from the way my body surged toward the edge like it had been waiting just for that.
Jack growled low, pulling me tighter, his other hand gripping my hip hard.
I moaned loudly, shamelessly, but something pulled my attention from across the room.
Elliott.
He was with Hana now, her body folded beneath him, his thrusts deep and slow. I loved watching every second of it.
But his eyes weren’t on her—they were on me.
And even from here, I could see it, that flicker of hesitation, that familiar edge of worry.
He didn’t look angry. Instead, he looked like he was thinking maybe Jack had gone too far. Like maybe I didn’t know what I wanted.
Our eyes locked for a moment, and I tried to say it with my expression—I’m okay. I want this.
But deep down, I knew this wasn’t just about Jack. It was about him.
Michael.
The way he’d used control to hurt, not to love. The way he’d ignored my safe word. The way he made everything feel like it was my fault.
And now, even though I wanted this…I saw Elliott still struggling.
Jack’s hand clamped down on my hip, squeezing hard, his other on the back of my neck—possessive, rough, just how I liked it. I was bent over, bracing myself with one hand while the other dug into the couch. I felt his rhythm change, his pace deepen, and my body pushed toward it, greedily.
And still—I caught that look on Elliott’s face. That little furrow between his brows. The way his mouth had gone tense, like he was holding something back.
And suddenly, I wasn’t just feeling Jack behind me—I was burning with every unspoken word between me and the man I loved.
Because we’ve done this. We always did this. Fuck, Elliott has tied me up, dragged me to the floor with his hand over my mouth, chased me down in the dark, taken me hard and fast, called me his prey. He’s held me by the throat. He’s pinned me while I cried out for more.
He knows I like this. So why the fuck was he looking at me like I was breakable?
Because it wasn’t him doing it?
Was that it?
Did he only trust my pain when it came from his hands?
Or did seeing someone else treat me that way dredge up something darker, something leftover from Michael?
The thought made my stomach twist. I knew Elliott loved me. I knew he respected me. But I also knew that Michael had left bruises that didn’t show.
And maybe Elliott thought Jack would too. That if he looked away for too long, something bad would happen, that he’d fail me.
But I wasn’t that girl anymore.
And Jack wasn’t Michael.
This wasn’t violence. This was power given and shared. And I wanted every second of it.
Still, the tension on Elliott’s face lingered. I hated that I couldn’t reach out to him from here. I hated that I couldn’t make him see it—see that I wasn’t afraid, that I was thriving.
So I just nodded, as if that was my silent reassurance to him.
And I made sure he heard me when I moaned. I made sure he saw the way my mouth fell open, the way I pressed back into Jack’s thrusts.
If he was going to watch, I needed him to see. I didn’t want pity or doubt.
Just me—unafraid, insatiable, and in control of every inch of this.
* * *
The house had gone quiet.
Somewhere, Jack and Hana were probably curled together in bed, their energy spent and satisfied. But here we were—me and Elliott—alone in our room. The tense silence between us was palpable. Not cold or angry. Just…tense.
I sat on the edge of the bed, still naked and unabashed. He stood near the dresser, now dressed in his boxer briefs, his hand on his hip like he wasn’t sure if he wanted to sit or pace.
I waited for him to speak first, but he was silent. So I did.
“You’re mad.”
His eyes flicked up at me, and he shook his head. “I’m not mad.”
“But you’re something,” I said gently. “Because you haven’t looked me in the eye since we came in here.”
“I am looking at you,” he said, but there was a wryness to it, more of a deflection.
“Then why does it feel like you’re mad at me?” I asked with frustration.
He turned, finally sitting beside me.
“I’m not mad at you,” he said again, softer this time. “I’m mad at myself.”
I turned to face him. “Why?”
“Because I didn’t expect it to hit me like that. Seeing Jack with you…like that…it shouldn’t have gotten to me. I knew the boundaries. I agreed to this.”
“You still want it?” I asked, and my voice was quieter than I meant.
He looked at me then and I saw the war in his eyes.
“Yes,” he said. “But—”
“But you got scared.”
His jaw clenched. “I saw his hand on your throat, and all I could think about was him.”
I reached for his hand, and he held it back, squeezing it.
“I’m not that Jackie anymore,” I said. “And Jack isn’t him.”
He nodded slowly. “I know. But something about it just…triggered something. I hate that it did.”
I rested my head on his shoulder, the silence falling between us again. But this time, it felt different. Maybe warmer, like we were starting to understand each other through it.
“I don’t want you to see me as someone who needs protecting from her own pleasure,” I whispered. “I want you to trust me, to know I’d stop it if I didn’t want it.”
“I do trust you,” he said. “But I think part of me still wants to be the one who keeps you safe. Even from the things you want.”
Something gentle inside me gave way. Because it was so him. This man who’d watched me fall apart and still held all my broken pieces until I was ready to be put back together.
I kissed his shoulder.
“I don’t need to be saved,” I said quietly. “I need honesty. You, me, them—this only works if we’re honest with ourselves, and with each other.”
Elliott let out a long breath, and then finally pulled me into his arms.
“I can do that,” he murmured into my hair. “I want to do that.”
He held me for a long time, his strong arms holding me tight, and we sat there, letting the silence fill the room.
Finally, I leaned back just enough to see his face. His expression was softer now, less guarded. A little more like him again, like my Elliott who stared at me with awe and respect.
“I know tonight was a lot,” I whispered. “And I know seeing me like that with Jack wasn’t easy for you. But the last thing I ever want is for you to think I’m slipping away from you.”
His brows furrowed slightly. “I don’t think that.”
“You looked like you did,” I said gently. “And I don’t blame you. This—what we’re doing—it’s complicated. But we aren’t.”
He swallowed. “I guess I just didn’t expect to feel so much.”
I nodded, lacing my fingers with his. “Me neither.”
His hand lifted to brush a strand of damp hair from my cheek. “You were incredible tonight. Confident. Brave. You. I just…I think part of me got scared I’d lost the version of you that only comes alive with me.”
My chest ached a little at that. “You didn’t lose her,” I said. “She’s right here. She just grew.”
He smiled faintly, and it reached his eyes this time. “I don’t want to hold you back.”
“You never have,” I said. “If anything, you’ve been the one who gave me room to become this version of myself. I only know what I like—what I can take—because you were the first person who ever really saw me.”
He let out a long, steady breath. “I want to keep being that person for you.”
“You are.” I paused for a moment, almost feeling his hesitation. “If you need this to stop, tell me. That’s all it takes.”
His eyebrows furrowed, as if in deep thought. I almost expected him to say yes, that we needed to stop, that he couldn’t handle it. But instead, he shook his head. “No. I don’t want it to stop.”
I leaned in and kissed him again—slow, deep, passionate. It wasn’t about heat or hunger. It was about telling him how much he meant to me.
When we pulled apart, I curled back into his chest, and he wrapped a blanket around us both.
And even though the night had cracked us open in ways neither of us expected…I felt closer to him than I ever had.