God, I do.
I move again—harder, deeper, with a confidence that would make Nathan choke on his words. Jackson’s head falls back, a guttural sound tearing from his throat as he grips my hips like he’s holding on for survival.
There is no analysis now.
No hesitation.
No shame.
Just heat.
And hunger.
The two of us, burning through every inch of space between our bodies.
Jackson helps me, his hand anchoring my hip, guiding my rhythm. He watches me with a focused intensity that makes me feel exposed and protected all at once. He kisses my chest, my throat, his jaw clenched tight as he fights for control.
“Look at me,” he growls.
I open my eyes.
“You’re mine,” he says. “Right here. Right now. You aren’t analyzing this. You’re feeling it.”
“I feel it,” I gasp. “Jackson, I?—”
He changes the angle of his hips, just a fraction, hitting deep.
I shatter.
It hits me like a wave, crashing over my head, drowning out everything. I cry out, my back arching, my muscles clamping down around him.
The sensation of me tightening triggers him. He can’t hold back anymore.
He groans—a deep, animal sound of release. He thrusts upward, just once, hard and deep, burying himself to the hilt.
He shakes apart beneath me. I feel the pulse of him inside me, the warmth, the absolute surrender of a man who has held himself in check for a thousand days.
We stay there as the tremors subside. Me collapsed against his chest, him holding me with his good arm, his face buried in my hair.
The silence in the room is heavy, but it isn’t empty. It’s full.
Eventually, the cold air of the room starts to register on my sweat-slicked skin.
“We should move,” I whisper, not moving at all.
“Not yet.” He kisses the top of my head. “Give me a minute. My brain is still rebooting.”
I smile against his skin. “System critical?”
“System overloaded.”
Carefully, painfully, we disentangle. I help him stand, and we make our way to the bed. We don’t bother with clothes. We crawl under the heavy duvet, skin to skin.
I curl into his good side. He wraps his arm around me, pulling me tight against his chest. His leg hooks over mine.
He runs his hand down my spine, tracing the vertebrae one by one. He seems fascinated by the texture of my skin, the curve of my hip.
“You okay?” he asks.
