“Come on, Iz,” Jaxon says, his hand still extended. “Dance with me.”
Right. I can do this.
So, against my better judgment, I grab the proffered hand, and Jaxon pulls me closer to him, his right hand slipping around me to rest on my lower back.
We slowly dance to the music, Jaxon singing along softly to the song as we dance around the room time and time again. By the third song, he and I are firmly pressed together, my heart pounding at the nearness.
The slow ballad comes to an end, and Jaxon slowly spins me out before pulling me back into him. My hand lands on his chest, our bodies impossibly closer now. Tilting my head back, I meet his dark chestnut-colored eyes as he focuses entirely on me.
It's an odd feeling, looking into a face I've seen at least a million times before, but seeing something completely different this time. He leans down, his lips hovering inches from mine, giving me the chance to stop this.
I know it’s just for our deal. It’s just to make sure I don’t stop hanging out with him now that he’s writing music again, but there is something about it that feels…real.
Panic courses through me. This cannot be real. Jaxon will leave again, and I will be left behind in Wild Bluffs until he decides he needs me again.
“I said no romantic kisses,” I whisper, my lips so close to brushing his that I can almost feel them as I speak.
He nods, not moving back. And it’s like I’m the moon, desperately trying to float away from something I’m constantly pulled toward.
I’m not sure if we sway there for minutes or hours or days, his face inches from my own, when suddenly I’m being lifted off my feet.
Letting out a squeak of surprise, I wrap my legs around Jaxon’s waist, groaning at the hardness of him pressing into my core.
“Fuck.” Jaxon’s curse is almost so soft I miss it. His obvious pleasure ignites something in me, and all I want to do is take this to the bedroom.
Fortunately, Jaxon is carrying me that direction, his long legs eating up the ground beneath us as if he’s unaffected by the extra weight.
My hands explore the hard ridges of his back and shoulders until Jaxon stops at the end of my bed. He sets me down lightly, pressing a gentle kiss on my forehead.
“No forehead kisses,” I scold, trying to regain control of my body.
“That wasn’t a rule,” he says, tipping my head to the side and kissing his way up my neck.
“Forehead kisses are romantic. The giver gets nothing but the joy of showing their love for someone. They’re the most romantic of kisses.” I look him in the eye. “I mean it, Jaxon.”
“Fine, Iz. No forehead kisses.” He pulls something black out of his back pocket. “Put this on.”
“Is that a sleeping mask?” I ask, taking the small bundle of fabric in my hand.
“Yeah. I think it’s worth a try. Some people are overstimulated, so cutting off one of their senses helps.”
He clicks a few buttons on his phone, and music starts playing. “In the same vein, someone online recommended music you aren’t super familiar with. It’s all about limiting the number of possible distractions from your brain so you can focus on you and what you’re feeling.”
Oh God. He was googling this. He went into at least one forum on the subject where people could just leave their random thoughts.
It’s terrifying. And at the same time, kind of sweet.
And…I said I was doing this. I did the sex-toy thing; I can definitely handle a sleep mask.
“It’s worth a shot,” I say, feigning a confidence I certainly don’t feel as I pull on the mask but leave it sitting on my forehead.
“Climb to the top of the bed and then pull it down,” Jaxon says, tapping the mask.
I’m grateful he’s taking control again.
As I crawl into the center of my bed, I notice Jaxon’s stare has drifted, his eyes tracking the movement of my barely covered hips.
“Mask on,” Jaxon says as I lie on top of the comforter.
