Chapter 16
MAYA
Ican't sleep.
Jackson gets home tonight. Or this morning, technically. The team won both games. I watched them online, saw him score, assist, and command the ice like he was born to do it.
We've been texting. Casual, careful messages that reveal nothing and everything at the same time.
I miss him.
That's the problem. I'm not supposed to miss him. We're friends with benefits. Physical only. No feelings.
But I miss him.
Headlights sweep across the kitchen window. A car door closes. Keys in the lock.
My heart pounds. I should go upstairs, be in my room pretending to sleep, not sitting here like I've been waiting for him.
But I have been waiting for him.
The front door opens and closes quietly. The sound of bags being dropped by the stairs. Footsteps heading up, Chase, probably, going straight to Emma. Then more footsteps, these heading toward the kitchen.
Jackson appears in the doorway and stops when he sees me.
"Hey," he says quietly.
"Hey."
He's still in his suit from the flight. Tie loosened, top button undone, hair messy like he's been running his hands through it. He looks exhausted and wired at the same time.
"Couldn't sleep?" he asks.
"No."
We stare at each other across the dark kitchen. The air between us feels charged, heavy with everything we're not saying.
"You played well," I say.
"Thanks." He moves into the kitchen and sets his keys on the counter. "You watched?"
"Yeah. Online."
He’s close now, close enough that I can smell his cologne mixed with the faint salt of sweat, close enough to touch.
"Maya." My name sounds rough in his throat. "We should—"
I kiss him.
He makes a surprised sound at the back of his throat, then his hands are on my waist, pulling me closer.
"Is this okay?" he asks against my lips.
"Yes."
"Emma and Chase are upstairs—"
"I know. We'll be quiet."
His eyes darken. "How quiet can you be?"
"Very quiet."
He lifts me onto the counter in one smooth motion, and I wrap my legs around his waist.
"Tell me what you want," he says, hands sliding up my thighs.
"You. I want you."
He kisses me hard, tongue sliding against mine, and his hands are everywhere: my hips, my waist, up under my shirt. I arch into his touch, already aching for more.
"Can I take this off?" He tugs at my shirt.
"Yes."
He lifts my top over my head, and the sudden chill against my skin makes me gasp. His gaze lands on me, and a deep groan vibrates in his chest.
"Fuck, you're so beautiful. Every time I see you like this, I can't believe you're real.”
His hands cup my breasts, thumbs brushing over my nipples, and I bite my lip to keep from moaning.
"That's it, baby. Stay quiet for me. Can you do that?" His voice is low, commanding.
"Yes."
"Good girl." He dips his head to take my nipple in his mouth. "Is this okay?"
I nod quickly.
“Use your words, Maya,” he murmurs against me.
“Yes… yes, it’s okay,” I gasp.
He moves between my breasts slowly, his tongue and teeth dragging sparks across my skin. My hands tangle in his hair, holding him close as my hips shift toward him, catching the unmistakable hardness straining against his suit pants.
"I need more," I whisper.
"Tell me exactly what you need.”
"I need you inside me."
He pulls back, breathing hard, eyes searching mine. "I don’t have a condom on me."
"I'm on birth control. And I'm clean. Got tested after… after what happened."
"I'm clean too. We get tested regularly for the team." His hands grip my hips tighter. "Are you sure? Once we do this without a condom, I don't know if I can go back. Don't know if I can stop feeling every inch of you."
"Then don't."
Something flares in his eyes, possession or want or both. He kisses me again, deeper this time, while his hands work at my sleep shorts. I lift my hips, and he slides them down along with my underwear.
I'm naked on Emma's kitchen counter at 4:00 in the morning while Jackson's still fully dressed. It should feel wrong. Instead, it feels powerful.
"Your turn," I say, reaching for his belt.
He helps me, shedding his suit jacket, unbuttoning his shirt. I run my hands over his chest. When I reach for his pants, he covers my hands with his.
"Are you sure about this?" he asks again. "We can stop anytime. Just say the word."
"I'm sure. Are you?"
"More than anything."
I undo his belt and zipper, push his pants and boxers down just enough to free him. He's hard and thick, and I wrap my hand around him, stroking slowly.
"Fuck, Maya." His head drops to my shoulder, hips jerking into my touch. "You're killing me."
"Good."
I guide him to my entrance, and we lock eyes as he pushes inside, both of us watching each other's reactions. The stretch is intense without the barrier of a condom, more intimate.
"Is this okay?" he asks, buried fully inside me. "Talk to me."
"Yes, it’s okay. Please move."
He moves slowly at first, easing me into the stretch. His grip on my hips steadies me against the counter, and each roll of his hips sends a tight, rising wave of pleasure curling low in my stomach.
"You feel so perfect like this," he murmurs against my neck. "So tight and wet. Tell me what you need."
"I need it harder."
He covers my mouth with his, swallowing my moan as he picks up the pace.
The kiss is deep and consuming, his tongue mimicking the rhythm of his hips. I'm drowning in sensations: the stretch of him inside me, the scratch of his stubble against my skin, the desperate way he's holding me as if I might disappear.
He breaks the kiss, his forehead pressed to mine. "Touch yourself. Make yourself come."
I slide my hand between us, fingers finding my clit, and the added sensation makes my whole body tighten.
"That's it, Stardust, just like that. Fuck, you're so beautiful when you're close. I can feel your pussy gripping my cock."
He’s right, I’m close, so close, but I'm making noise, small whimpers I can't control.
Jackson kisses me again, harder this time, swallowing every sound. "Quiet, baby. Remember?"
I nod against his mouth, fingers working faster on my clit while he drives into me.
"Are you going to come for me?" he whispers against my lips. "Going to come all over my cock like a good girl?"
The endearment, combined with his words, sends me over the edge. I come hard, clenching around him, biting his lip to keep from crying out. He groans into my mouth, hips stuttering as he follows me over, and I feel the heat of him spilling inside me.
"Fuck," he whispers.
"Yeah."
"That was… fuck. I don’t have the words for what that was."
"Me neither."
He pulls out slowly, and I feel his release slide down my thigh. Something about it feels intimate, claiming. He grabs paper towels and cleans us both up gently.
"Are you okay?" he asks, searching my face.
"Better than okay." And I mean it. My body feels alive, powerful, mine.
He helps me down from the counter and steadies me when my legs wobble. We dress in silence, both hyperaware of the sleeping house around us.
"I should go," I say.
"I know."
But neither of us moves. We just stand here in the dark, looking at each other.
"Two days away was too long," he says quietly.
My chest tightens. "Yeah. It was."
We're breaking rules. Not the physical ones, those are fine. But the emotional ones. The way we're looking at each other isn't casual, isn't just friends with benefits.
"Goodnight, Jackson."
"Goodnight, Stardust."
I head upstairs on shaking legs, lock myself in the guest room, and lean against the door, trying to process what just happened.
We had sex on the kitchen counter. At 4:00 in the morning. Without a condom. And it was the hottest thing I've ever experienced.
I climb into bed, still buzzing with the orgasm. My body feels different, satisfied, powerful, his.
No. Not his. Mine. My body is mine.
But I want to be his anyway.
That's the problem. I've been in love with Jackson Anderson for years. I kissed him at my birthday party a year ago, and he rejected me, saying we couldn't because I was Emma's best friend.
Now we're sleeping together, and I'm falling deeper every time he touches me.
He doesn't feel the same way. He can't. He agreed to the rules and agreed to keep it physical. If he felt more, he would've said something, would've argued against the "no falling in love" rule.
But he didn't. Because he doesn't love me, he's helping me heal, being the steady, protective person he's always been. That's all this is for him.
For me, it's everything.
I stare at the ceiling and try to figure out if I'm making a mistake. Is it wrong to keep sleeping with him, knowing I'm in love with him? Knowing he doesn't feel the same way?
Dr. Mills said reclaiming my sexuality is part of healing, that choosing pleasure on my terms is powerful. And it is. Every time I'm with Jackson, I feel more in control, more myself.
But I also feel more in love.
And that terrifies me.
Because eventually this ends. The arrangement can't last forever. At some point, one of us will want more, or Emma will find out, or the rules will fail.
And when it ends, I'll lose him not just as a lover but as the person who held me together when I was falling apart.
I can't lose him.
But I don't know how to keep him either.