Chapter 18
MAYA
It's past midnight. Emma and Chase went to bed an hour ago, and Ethan is asleep too. The house is quiet, save for the dull hum of the refrigerator and Max's occasional, soft meow from somewhere upstairs.
I need to talk to Jackson. I need to understand what happened at the party, why he looked at me like that when we were alone on the patio, and why the air between us feels heavier every single day.
His basement door is cracked open, a sliver of light spilling onto the stairwell.
I descend slowly, each step careful and quiet on the worn wood. Maybe he's awake, watching game footage, or scrolling through his phone. We could talk, clear the air, and finally make sense of whatever this confusing thing between us is becoming.
I reach the bottom of the stairs and freeze.
His door is open just a sliver, and through the gap, I can see him.
Jackson is on his bed, head thrown back, one hand wrapped around his cock, stroking with a rhythm that steals my breath and sends a pulse of heat between my legs.
I should leave. I should back away quietly and pretend I never saw this, never intruded on his private moment.
But I can't move. My feet are glued to the floor.
Because in his other hand, he's holding a small piece of paper. A photo. Even in the dim light, even from this distance, I recognize it instantly.
It's me. From my birthday party a year ago, the night I kissed him.
He's getting off to a photo of me. Oh my God.
"Fuck," he groans, a ragged sound that cuts through the silence. "Maya."
My name. He just said my name.
I must have made a sound, a sharp, involuntary intake of breath, because his eyes snap open. He sees me standing in the doorway and instantly scrambles, dropping the photo, desperately trying to cover himself.
"Fuck. I'm sorry. I didn't—" He fumbles for his boxers, his face instantly turning a deep, mortified red. "Maya, I'm so sorry."
I step into the room, my focus entirely on him, and quietly close the door behind me.
"How long have you had that photo?" My voice is flat, devoid of emotion, and much sharper than I intend.
"What?"
"The photo. Of me. How long?"
He's still hard, still fully exposed, and mortified, but he doesn't shy away from the question.
"Since your party," he admits quietly, his eyes locked on mine. "Since the kiss."
"That was over a year ago," I state.
"I know."
My brain short-circuits. It feels like a fuse blowing. "You've had a photo of me for over a year? And you just, you were just—"
"I'm sorry," he repeats, getting his boxers on finally, though the evidence of his need still strains the thin fabric. "I know this is messed up. I should've thrown it away. I just, I couldn't. Every time I tried, I couldn't."
I walk further into the room, drawn by a strange, magnetic pull. I pick up the photo from where it landed on the bedspread. It's me, laughing at something someone said, before the kiss, before the crushing rejection, back when I still held onto hope.
"You kept this," I say, my voice now low, a thread of wonder woven into the shock. "All this time."
"Yes."
"Why?"
He stares at me like I'm a bomb about to detonate, trying to choose his words carefully, yet desperately. "Because I couldn't let you go, Maya. Even when I knew I should have. Even when I told you we couldn't be together, I kept it. I looked at it. I thought about you constantly."
"You rejected me."
"I know."
"You told me we couldn't because I was Emma's best friend."
"I know," he says again, his voice cracking.
"And you've been keeping my photo and… jerking off to it… for a year?"
He stands, rising slowly from the bed. He's no longer trying to hide, standing there in just his tented boxers, still hard, still utterly wanting. "Yes. Because I've been obsessed with you for years, Maya."
The words hang between us, heavy and impossible: Obsessed. For years.
My mind refuses to process it. I can't reconcile the brutal rejection at my birthday party with the raw confession on his lips right now.
"I don't understand—"
"Fuck it," he says suddenly, cutting me off, the words a desperate snarl.
Then he crosses the room in three strides, pulls me against him, and kisses me like he's been holding his breath for a year and can't breathe without me.
This isn't like our other kisses. Those were careful, controlled, almost polite, as if we were following a script or an arrangement.
This is desperate, consuming. His tongue is in my mouth, his hands are tangled in my hair, and his body is pressed against mine so tightly that I can feel exactly how much he wants me, the evidence of his desire grinding into my stomach.
He tears his mouth away just long enough to whisper, his breath ragged, his eyes searching mine for any sign of resistance. "Is this okay?"
"Yes," I whisper back, sinking into him, clinging to the solid strength of his shoulders.
He walks me backward until my legs hit the side of the bed. We tumble onto it together, his body covering mine. The kiss deepens immediately, turning into something raw and hungry.
"Obsessed with you," he murmurs, his mouth brushing my jawline, trailing fire down my neck. "For years. I've wanted you for so long, I've dreamt of you like this a thousand times."
His words send a white-hot, electrifying heat straight through me. He's not just saying this; I can feel the absolute truth of it in every touch, every desperate kiss, every single movement of his hands as they roam my body.
"Watching you heal," he continues, his voice rough with emotion as he peppers kisses down the column of my throat. "Seeing you take your body back, seeing you become so fiercely strong… You have no idea what that does to me."
"Tell me," I breathe, my own desperation matching his.
"It makes me want to worship every single inch of you, Maya. It makes me want to show you how fucking beautiful and desired you are."
His hands roam under my shirt, tracing the curve of my waist, before impatiently working the hem up. I help him pull it off, and my bra quickly follows. His mouth finds my breasts, his tongue, teeth, and raw heat driving me wild, a dizzying combination of tenderness and hunger.
"Jackson," I manage to moan, hands tightly tangled in his thick hair, urging him closer, deeper.
"Tell me what you want," he whispers, pulling back, his eyes burning with fierce intensity.
"Everything," I gasp, arching my back into his hands. "I want everything you've been holding back."
He strips me of my remaining clothes. My jeans and underwear are tossed aside, and then he's kissing down my body: stomach, hips, thighs. It feels like adoration, a ritual performed just for me.
He pauses, taking a deep, ragged breath. "Can I taste you?" he asks.
"God, yes," I gasp, my voice trembling, unable to hold back the sudden rush of tears brought on by how gently he asks, how much it means that he’s giving me a choice.
And then he dives in.
His tongue is relentless, hot, and probing, circling and teasing me with worshipful intensity, making me gasp and writhe on the bed. One of his hands slides under my hips, lifting me to give his mouth perfect access.
"You taste so fucking incredible," he murmurs against my skin, the sound vibrating deep inside me. "I've wanted this for so long. To have you this close, to feel you wrap around me like this. You feel amazing, Maya."
He sinks his fingers into me, two strong, calloused digits joining the exquisite pressure of his mouth.
He moves them in perfect sync with his tongue; every flick, every press, every swirl is a combination of filthy intent and adoring praise.
He's taking me apart, glorifying my body without ever once demeaning the experience.
“Jackson, please. I can’t hold it—just fuck me,” I gasp, my whole body shaking with how close I am.
He lifts his head, his lips glistening. He takes another long, slow breath, giving me a moment to gather myself. "Are you sure, baby? I want you to be ready. I want you to want this as much as I do."
"Yes," I gasp, arching into his touch, needing him to stop asking and just take. "I want you, Jackson, please."
His mouth returns to me, longer this time, harder, curling, sucking, lapping at me as my moans grow louder, muffled only by my hand.
He murmurs filthy, adoring praises against my skin, whispering how delicious I taste, and how badly he's wanted me for years, his desperation turning into pure devotion.
I shatter, coming hard, clenching around his fingers and tongue as my back arches.
He keeps going, not letting me catch my breath, pulling me immediately to a second climax with steady, adoring pressure.
My body shakes, hands flying to grip his hair tightly, and I cry out—a sharp, muffled sound that he quickly covers with his hand.
Finally, when he pulls back, his face is glistening, his breathing heavy. He climbs up my body, kissing me deeply, and I taste myself on his tongue. "You're incredible," he whispers against my mouth, his voice hoarse. "So perfect for me, Stardust."
He positions himself between my legs, his erection hot and heavy against my entrance, teasing me with the tip. He waits, not moving a muscle, his eyes fixed on mine.
"Can I, Maya?" he asks, his voice low, heavy with lust, yet still asking permission.
"Please.” I pull him down for a kiss. "Just fuck me."
He slides in, slow and deliberate, watching my face, making sure every inch is mine to take, every breath accounted for.
I remember every time he’s done this before—how he fills me, stretches me perfectly, how the intensity is always so all-consuming it robs me of my breath, no matter how many times we’ve done it.
“You feel… so good,” he groans, eyes squeezing shut, voice rough with need. “So perfect around me.”
He holds still for a moment, letting us both adjust, letting every inch of him settle. Then he begins to move again, a slow, deep pace at first, familiar and precise, making me ache with every thrust.
“Tell me if it’s too much,” he murmurs into my ear, still checking, still asking, even as his hips pick up a powerful, desperate rhythm. “Tell me if you need me to slow down.”
“Don’t stop,” I beg, legs tightening around his waist, pulling him deeper. “I want you. Just… fuck me, Jackson.”
The pace quickens instantly, turning desperate, hungry, and powerfully rhythmic.
"So good for me… you feel amazing… you're perfect… you're mine, Maya… all mine…"
I clench around him, shivering, moaning his name, undone by the combination of his words and his movements.
"Jackson, I… I can't…"
"Yes, baby. Yes, you can. Let go. Come for me," he growls, speeding up even more, pressing me toward the edge.
I come, hard, trembling, my body contracting tightly around him as the climax rips through me. He follows immediately, letting out a deep, guttural groan as he fills me.
We collapse together, both breathing hard, hearts hammering a frantic, dual beat, our bodies slick and trembling with the aftermath.
"Wait," I murmur finally, pushing the haze of orgasm and heat away. My brain is starting to work again. "What?"
"What?" he asks, his voice low, still heavy with spent lust.
"You said—" I push up on my elbow, bracing myself to look at him, needing to see his eyes. "You said you've been obsessed with me for years."
He meets my eyes, open and earnest. "I have been."
"But you, at my party, you rejected me. You told me we couldn't."
"I know."
"So I don't understand," I press, feeling the confusion and hurt from a year ago flare up. "If you've wanted me for years, why would you—"
"We need to talk," he interrupts gently, sensing the edge in my voice.
"About what?"
"Everything. The kiss. The rejection. Why I had your photo for over a year, Maya," he runs a shaky hand through his hair. "But not like this. Not when we just… we need to talk when we're both thinking clearly. Properly."
He's absolutely right. My head is still spinning, my body still buzzing from the orgasms, the confession, and the overwhelming intensity of everything that's just happened. We need to have this conversation properly, need to understand what this massive, terrifying truth truly means.
"Okay," I say, nodding slowly. "We'll talk. But Jackson—"
"Yeah?"
"You can't just say you've been obsessed with me for years and then not explain why you rejected me."
"I won't. I promise," he says, pulling me back against his chest, wrapping his arms around me. "Tomorrow. We'll talk tomorrow."
I know I should go back to my room. I should follow the rules about not sleeping in the same bed, especially after an encounter like this.
But fuck the rules. They've already been thoroughly broken tonight.
I settle against his chest, listening to his heartbeat slow, as his warm arms hold me.
He kept my photo. For years. The same man who rejected me at my birthday party can't let me go.
None of it makes sense.
But tomorrow, maybe it will. Maybe then everything will finally make sense.
And tonight… Tonight, I let myself forget everything else, letting his warmth, his obsession, his need wrap around me until the world narrows to just him.