Chapter Thirteen #3
They sat outside until the fire died down.
Rowdy and Jessica went into their respective tents.
She watched after them, and she thought it must be nice to have a friend who understood you so deeply.
Someone who had seen you through a change like that.
She’d never had a friendship like that. She’d never really had deep friendships.
The truth was, even after such a short time, Jax was maybe the closest thing.
And he was her lover, so she wasn’t sure that counted.
Lover. What a weird term. Descriptive and appropriate for the situation, certainly, but weird nonetheless.
He doused the fire, and the two of them went into their tent.
It was incredible. It had a queen-size bed in it, a bunk bed in the corner, a plush rug on the floor.
And it had a raised wooden floor, which was something she hadn’t seen in a tent before.
“This is really quite fancy camping.”
“This place is fancy,” he said.
“That is true.”
Suddenly, his demeanor shifted, his eyes darkening. Her heart leaped. “Do you know how long I’ve been waiting to get you alone?”
Her heart fluttered and there was a pulse pounding between her legs. He had trained her to respond to him. To know what was coming next. And she loved it. That he could so easily tap into this part of her. That it wasn’t a challenge. That it was only the most incredible, wonderful thing imaginable.
“I have a challenge for you,” he said.
“What is that?” She was all breathless.
“You have to be very, very quiet.”
Her stomach fluttered, and her insides were liquid. Then he reached out and wrapped his arm around her neck, pulling her in for a kiss. She could get used to this. She feared she already had. He was so perfect. So amazing. Wonderful in every single way.
His hands moved over her body, and the way he removed her clothes was so smooth, so perfect, she felt like she was in a dream. Or maybe one of her books. Like he was a dragon turned cowboy—which was an idea that maybe she should file away for future reference.
She pushed his shirt up, and traced the lines of the phoenix that went from his shoulder down to his pectoral muscle, that extended down his bicep.
She really understood what it meant now.
She understood what a phoenix meant metaphorically, obviously, and that wasn’t difficult to figure out, but really understanding it was something else.
Now she knew him. And how much it was true that he had risen up from someone else’s ashes.
That he had made something of his life in spite of everything. In spite of how difficult it all was.
He was incredible that way.
Truly.
She leaned in and kissed the tattoo, and then licked the line from there up his neck, capturing his mouth.
He was so… He was beautiful, strong and way out of her league physically—in her opinion, if she said that he would argue with her—and she cared for him so, so fiercely.
Because she had never felt so connected to another person.
It was the strangest thing. He was different.
He shouldn’t even be all that interested in anything she did.
In anything she was interested in, but he was.
And she was interested in him. All the things about his past, all the things about his present, and all the things about his future.
Oh, she cared enormously about his future.
About what he might accomplish here, about the healing that he would bring to other people, and the continued healing that he would find in himself. It mattered so much.
She trembled with it.
He brought her down onto the bed, kissed his way down her body.
“Remember what I said,” he whispered, his voice husky.
“Don’t scream.” And then he proceeded to do everything in his power to make her scream.
Ernestine pressed her fist to her mouth, and bit her knuckle while he licked her.
Ate her like she was a fancy dessert. Better than the hot cobbler they just had.
She whimpered, the stress of needing to keep quiet only amping up her arousal. Her desire.
And then she shattered, digging her teeth into her own skin as she lost herself.
Then he moved up to her, kissing her mouth as he entered her in one smooth stroke.
She was dimly aware that he had put a condom on, but everything was spinning.
And when she came the second time, he swallowed her cry with his mouth on hers.
When they were finished, she lay there, breathing hard.
“How did I do?”
“You’re a good girl,” he said.
She flexed her feet, pleasure rolling through her at the affirmation.
“You’re not so bad yourself.”
He kissed her head. “I try.”
He really did. She wasn’t sure if he realized that. That not only did he try really hard, and she could see it, but he succeeded. Continuously.
No, she was pretty sure he didn’t. Because part of him carried around darkness from his past. Part of him felt so marred by what had happened in his childhood, and the blood that he had in his veins, that relationship with his father that existed, no matter how much distance he put between himself and his childhood.
And she knew there was nothing she could say. Nothing easy or simple, anyway.
“You really are,” she said, insistent.
He didn’t answer. He just tightened his hold on her. And she let herself be held.