Priya
I fly back to Thornhill three days early, on a red-eye.
I haven’t slept. Haven’t stopped thinking about Jackson, about the choice I made, about the future I want versus the future that’s expected.
I go straight to his studio. He’s there, painting angry strokes of red and black across a massive canvas. He doesn’t notice me at first, too absorbed in his work.
“Jackson,” I say quietly.
He spins around, surprise and hope and hurt flashing across his face. “Priya.”
“Can we talk?”
“I don’t know. Can we? Or are you going to tell me again how this is too complicated?”
I deserve that. “I was wrong.”
He sets down his paintbrush. “About what?”
“About everything. Choosing the safe path. About letting my mother’s expectations control my life. About walking away from you when you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”
“Priya—”
“Let me finish. Please.” I step closer. “I went home for spring break. I played the perfect daughter and I was miserable. Because none of it matters if I’m not living my own life. If I’m not with you.”
“So what are you saying?”
“I’m saying I love you. I’m saying I choose you. I’m saying I’m done hiding and pretending and letting fear control my decisions.”
“What about medical school? Your parents?”
“I’m deferring my applications. Taking a year off. Maybe traveling. Maybe just figuring out who I am when I’m not trying to be perfect.”
“And your parents?”
“My mother was furious. Said if I defer Hopkins, she’s cutting me off financially. So I’m cut off.”
“Priya, you don’t have to—”
“I do. I have to choose myself. Choose you. Choose a life that’s actually mine.” Tears are streaming down my face. “I’m terrified. I have no idea what I’m doing. But I know I want to do it with you.”
Jackson crosses to me, cupping my face in his hands. “You’re sure? Because I can’t do this back and forth. I can’t be with you if you’re going to run every time things get hard.”
“I’m not running. Not anymore. I’m staying. Fighting. Choosing us.”
“Good.” He kisses me, and it’s different from before. Deeper. More certain. Like we’re both finally admitting this is real and we’re all in.
“I love you,” I whisper against his lips.
“I love you too. So fucking much.”
We stand there in his studio, holding each other, both knowing this won’t be easy but willing to try anyway.
“So what now?” I ask.
“Now we figure it out together. No more hiding.”
“My TA position—”
“We’ll report the relationship to the dean. Accept whatever consequences come. But we do it together.”
“Okay. Together.”
He pulls back to look at me, a smile spreading across his face. “You really deferred Hopkins?”
“I really did.”
“That’s the bravest thing I’ve ever heard.”
“Or the stupidest.”
“No. Brave. Definitely brave.” He laughs with me, the sound low and warm, vibrating through his chest where it’s still pressed against mine.
His hands slide down my back, settling possessively at my waist as he leans in again, kissing me slower this time, deeper.
There’s no hesitation, just the easy heat of two people who already know exactly how to set each other on fire.
“You have no idea how much I’ve wanted this,” he murmurs against my lips. “Wanted you.”
I smile into the kiss, my fingers threading through his hair. “Then stop talking and take me to bed.”
He doesn’t need to be told twice. In one smooth motion he lifts me, my legs wrapping around his hips like they belong there. He carries me to the bedroom, kicking the door shut behind us. The moment my back hits the mattress, his mouth is on mine again, hungry and sure.
Clothes come off, his shirt, my top, jeans, everything tossed aside.
Skin meets skin, warm and hungry. He hovers over me for a moment, eyes dark with desire as he drinks me in, then dips his head to trail kisses down my neck.
His mouth finds my breasts, sucking one nipple deep while his hand palms the other, rolling it between his fingers until I’m gasping and arching beneath him.
He doesn’t stop there. His lips continue their path downward, over my stomach, until he settles between my thighs.
He looks up at me with that wicked little smirk I love before his tongue strokes over my clit, slow, teasing at first, then firmer.
Two fingers slide inside me easily, curling just right, stroking that sensitive spot while his mouth works me with practiced skill.
My hands fist in his hair, hips rolling against his face as pleasure builds fast and hot.
“Fuck, right there,” I moan. He hums in response, the vibration sending sparks through me, and I come hard, thighs trembling around his shoulders as waves of pleasure crash over me.
He rises, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, and kisses me deeply so I can taste myself on his tongue.
I reach between us, wrapping my fingers around his cock, thick, hard, and already leaking.
I stroke him slowly, twisting my wrist the way he likes, until he’s groaning into my mouth and thrusting into my fist.
“Need to be inside you,” he rasps.
I guide him to my entrance, and he pushes in with one long, deep thrust. We both moan at the perfect stretch, the way he fills me so completely.
For a moment he stays still, forehead pressed to mine, breathing me in.
Then he starts to move, slow, rolling strokes that drag against every sensitive nerve.
I wrap my legs around his waist, pulling him deeper. “Harder,” I whisper.
He obliges, picking up the pace, hips snapping against mine.
The room fills with the rhythmic sound of us, our mingled moans, and the creak of the bed.
He shifts slightly, hooking one of my legs over his shoulder, driving even deeper.
The new angle makes me cry out, pleasure bordering on overwhelming.
His thumb finds my clit again, rubbing firm circles in time with his thrusts. “That’s it. Let go for me.”
I shatter around him, clenching tight as the orgasm rips through me. He keeps moving through it, drawing it out, until his own rhythm falters. With a low, guttural groan of my name, he buries himself deep and comes hard, pulsing inside me.
We stay locked together as we come down, breathing ragged, bodies slick with sweat. Eventually he pulls out gently and rolls to the side, pulling me against his chest. His fingers trace lazy patterns on my back while he presses soft kisses to my temple, my cheek, my lips.
“God, I love you,” he whispers, voice husky. “Brave as hell… and all mine.”
I smile, nuzzling into his neck, feeling safe, sated, and utterly his. “All yours.”