"That's it," he says, voice strained. "Ride me. Show me who you belong to."
"You," I gasp. "I belong to you."
"Damn right you do." His hand slides between us, fingers finding my clit, and I cry out. "And I belong to you. Have for years."
The admission, combined with his touch, pushes me closer to the edge. I'm already close, the combination of his cock inside me and his fingers and the overwhelming feeling of wearing his jersey, is threatening to undo me.
"Jackson—"
"I know, I can feel your pussy gripping me." His other hand slides to my hip, helping me move faster. "Come for me, Stardust. Come on my cock wearing my number."
The orgasm hits hard, waves of pleasure crashing over me as I clench around him. I bite down on his shoulder to muffle the sound, my whole body shaking.
"Fuck, Maya." He thrusts up hard, chasing his own release. "You're so perfect. So mine. All fucking mine."
He comes with my name on his lips, filling me as I'm still shaking from my own orgasm, and the feeling of him pulsinginside me sends another smaller wave of pleasure through my body.
We stay like this for a long moment, him still inside me, the jersey sticking to my sweaty skin, both of us breathing hard.
"That was—" I can't find the words.
"Yeah."
I climb off him carefully, and we clean up with tissues from his nightstand. When I reach for the jersey to take it off, he stops me.
"Keep it on. Sleep in it, and sleep with me."
"Jackson—"
"I know we're supposed to go back to separate rooms. But fuck that. Stay. Please."
I don't even hesitate. I climb into his bed and let him pull me against his chest, the jersey soft between us.
"You really have a thing for the jersey," I say.
"I have a thing for you in my jersey. There's a difference."
"Is there?"
"Yeah. Because any jersey would just be hot. But my jersey, with my number, with the C—" His hand slides possessively over my hip. "That's you telling the world you're mine. Even if the world can't know yet."
"I am yours."
"And I'm yours. Have been all these years. Will be for the rest of my life."
The words settle over us, warm and terrifying all at once.
He presses his forehead to the back of my shoulder, breathing me in like he’s memorizing this moment.
“Don’t run from that,” he murmurs.
“I’m not,” I whisper back.
And for once, it’s true.
21
JACKSON
