14. Jackson
JACKSON
Ipause in the doorway, my muscles tensing at the sight before me. Aliyah sits cross-legged on my bedroom floor, surrounded by the contents of the metal box I keep locked in my closet. The box I haven't opened in fifteen years.
"What are you doing?" My voice comes out quieter than intended.
She doesn't startle at my presence, just lifts those calculating eyes to mine. "Learning about you."
The familiar rage should rise - the need to control, to dominate, to put her in her place. But watching her delicate fingers trace the edge of a worn photograph only stirs something hollow in my chest.
"You shouldn't be in here." I step closer, taking in the scattered remnants of my past. Report cards. Little league trophies. And there, clutched in her hand, the last photo taken before everything changed.
"Your mom was beautiful." Aliyah's voice lacks its usual sharp edge. "You have her eyes."
I clench my jaw at the mention of her. "Are you going to actually ask this time?"
I don't know why I'm encouraging her to. I shouldn't want to let her in. But I'm more than willing to give Aliyah anything she wants, and that is quickly becoming far too dangerous.
She asked last night if I'd answer questions. But she never asked them. And there's a small part of me, deep down, that wants someone to care. I've tried smothering it, but looking at these photos right now has that sliver of vulnerability that I've never been able to kill flaring to life.
"Why are these locked away and not with the others?"
For a moment, I debate snatching the box away. Nothing about my mom brings the good out in me. But I keep my calm demeanor as I answer, "Because I don't like to see them."
Her sarcastic little smirk is nowhere to be found as she looks back down at them. "Why?"
I'm not sure why, but I find myself answering.
This has always been a line for me, but perhaps the pain in her voice has me wanting to do anything for her.
"She left when I was eight." I keep my tone dry, the wound scabbed over twenty-four years later.
"Packed her bags while I was at school. No note. No goodbye. Just...gone."
Aliyah sets the photo down with careful precision. "To where?"
"Paris. With her yoga instructor." My jaw ticks. "Dear old dad tracked her down six months later. She'd already started a new family. Didn't want anything to do with her old one."
"That's why you keep everyone at arm's length."
And this is why I shouldn't have answered. She's too perceptive, sees too much. Just like last night with those damn photos in my office. Each discovery peels back another layer I've spent years fortifying.
"You need to stop digging, angel." The nickname slips out, but this time without its usual mocking edge. "Some things are better left buried."
She tilts her head, those gold-flecked eyes studying me. "Are they? Or is that just what you tell yourself?"
I should drag her out. Lock her back in her room. I already know that I've crossed too many lines with her and they are only hurting me. She doesn't care about me, not really. She treats me like a mark, and like a fucking masochist, I keep her here.
I let her burrow beneath my skin and flay me open just so I can breathe the same fucking air as her. I'm losing every semblance of control, and I don't know how much longer I can go on.
I watch as Aliyah rises with that lethal grace of hers, closing the distance between us. Her fingers press against my chest, and even through my shirt, her touch burns.
"You don't want distance. Not with me." Her words drip with certainty. "When are you going to drop this act?"
A snarl rips from my throat. I need control, and she's fucking shredding all of it. "Don't push me right now."
But she doesn't retreat. Those light brown eyes bore into mine, challenge written in every line of her body. The delicate key tattoo behind her ear catches my attention as she tilts her head, and something inside me fractures.
"You're a stupid fucking mistake." I grit the words out. "And I don't make stupid mistakes."
Her lips curve into that dangerous smile I've come to crave. "I do." She steps closer, until I can feel the heat radiating off her body. "If you want, I'll be your dirty little secret."
Before I can stop her, she presses those full lips against my neck. The contact sends electricity down my spine, and a groan escapes before I can trap it.
I'm spiraling. I know it, and I can seem to get a handle on what I need. The last thread of my self-control is already frayed and when her teeth scrape my skin, it snaps.
A deep rumble echoes through my chest, and I fist her hair. "Fuck it," I mutter, deciding that I can't hold back anymore.
I grab her face between my hands and drag her mouth to mine. The kiss is brutal, all teeth and tongue and pent-up need. She tastes like danger and promises I know she won't keep. Her fingers dig into my shoulders as she pulls herself closer, and I can feel her smile against my lips.
This woman will be my downfall. She's already dismantling every wall I've built, and I'm letting her do it. But with her body pressed against mine and her lips moving with such perfect synchronicity, I can't bring myself to care.
I crush her mouth against mine harder, desperate to taste more of her. Her tongue slides against mine, and the sensation shorts out every rational thought. She tastes like danger and sin, sweet with an edge that makes my blood burn. When she bites my bottom lip, a growl tears from my throat.
My hands slide down her back, gripping her thighs to hoist her up. She wraps those long legs around my waist, and I slam her against the nearest wall. The impact draws a gasp from her lips that I swallow hungrily.
"Fuck, angel." I break away to drag my teeth down her neck, and she arches into me. Her nails dig into my shoulders through my shirt, marking me. Claiming me.
She yanks my head back up, crushing our mouths together again. There's nothing soft about this kiss – it's all raw need and dark promises. Her tongue traces the roof of my mouth and my grip on her tightens enough to bruise.
I've never lost control like this. Never wanted someone so badly it made my chest ache. But Aliyah... She dismantles every defense I've built. Makes me forget why I ever needed them.
Her fingers tangle in my hair, tugging sharply as she rocks against me. The friction sends sparks of pleasure shooting through my body. I groan into her mouth, pressing her harder against the wall.
Just as I slide my hand under her shirt, feeling that smooth dark skin I've been dreaming about, my phone blares to life. Ryker's specific ringtone cuts through the haze of desire.
We break apart, both panting. Her lips are swollen, eyes wild, and I want nothing more than to ignore the call. But reality crashes back in as the phone continues its demanding ring.
"Fuck," I mutter, letting her slide down my body. The movement draws another groan from both of us.
I force myself to turn away from Aliyah, dragging my phone from my pocket. My cock strains against my zipper as I answer Ryker's call.
"What?" The word comes out rough.
"Change of plans. I won't need that safehouse for Naya after all." Ryker's voice holds an edge I don't have the presence of mind to deal with right now.
I grip the phone tighter, trying to focus on his words instead of Aliyah's presence behind me. "Fine. Anything else?"
"You sound off. Everything good?"
"Perfect." I end the call before he can ask more questions.
The room feels smaller when I turn back around. Aliyah hasn't moved from where I set her down, her chest still rising and falling rapidly. That conservative sweater I bought her is twisted up, revealing a strip of dark skin above her jeans. My fingers itch to touch her again.
But I can't. This - whatever this is - it needs to stop. Now.
"Get out."
Her eyes narrow at my tone. "Running scared, tough guy?"
"Don't push me right now, angel." I stalk to the door, holding it open. "Just go."
She brushes past me, close enough that her scent fills my lungs. My free hand clenches into a fist to keep from reaching for her as I struggle to regain my own control.
The rest of the day becomes an exercise in restraint. She's everywhere - reading in the living room, making coffee in the kitchen, walking past my office. Each time I catch sight of her, my body tightens with remembered pleasure.
She doesn't speak to me, but her silence says plenty. Those calculating eyes track my movements. Her tongue darts out to wet her lips whenever our gazes meet. She's playing a game, and I'm losing.
By evening, the tension has my shoulders knotted. I pour myself a drink, watching her curl up on the couch with a book. The sight of her in my space, wearing clothes I bought her, makes me feel even more possessive today.
The kiss replays in my mind - her taste, her heat, the way she fit against me perfectly. But getting involved with Aliyah would be like juggling lit dynamite. She's already too deep under my skin.
So I keep my distance, and she keeps her silence, and we both pretend we can't feel the electricity crackling between us.