The only sounds were the steady rush of the lake and the unsteady rhythm of their breathing.
Jackson let her pull him deeper into the shadows. He would have followed her anywhere, but here, under the veil of moonlight and willow branches, felt like the only place that had truly ever existed.
“Jackson,” she said softly, her voice breaking. “I want you. Just you. Just us.”
He cupped her face again, brushing his thumb across her cheek.
“You’ve got me now. So let me love you,” he whispered.
The branches were closed around them like a curtain. The world outside faded; the wedding could’ve been miles away.
Jackson pressed Zoe back against the tree, his mouth finding hers again. Her lips were soft and insistent. He kissed her like a starving man, like he’d been holding back for years—and in truth, he had.
Her hands slid up his chest, clutching his jacket, then pushing it off his shoulders. He let it fall to the mossy ground without a thought. Her fingers worked at his tie next, fumbling, impatient. He caught her wrists gently, stilling her.
“Slow down,” he rasped against her mouth. “I want to feel all of this.”
She nodded, but her hips arched against him, betraying her urgency.
Jackson’s hands skimmed her sides, bunching the chiffon fabric until his palms found her bare thighs. He dragged the skirt higher, higher, baring skin that gleamed pale in the moonlight.
“Jackson…” Her plea was breathless.
He sank to his knees, kissing a trail up her thigh, her dress falling over his shoulders as he went underneath. The earthy scent of moss mixed with the faint perfume of her skin.
With a careful hand, he parted the lace of her panties, the backs of his knuckles grazing her thigh. He felt the tremor in her body, the way she leaned into the tree for balance, as he began to taste her.
Zoe’s gasp tore into the quiet, her hands clutching his shoulders as though she’d been waiting her whole life for this. Her fingers dug into him, and the sound of his name on her lips—shaky, startled, wanting—shot through him.
He didn’t rush. He drew her in with slow, deliberate strokes of his tongue, circling, retreating, then teasing again until her thighs quivered on either side of him. Every soft sound shemade, every shuddering breath, coaxed him deeper, slower, as though he were learning her body note by note.
She rocked against him, tentative at first, then helplessly, her hips seeking him. The sound that broke from her throat lit him on fire. He held her steady with his hands, guiding her as she surrendered to him.
When she finally cried out, breaking apart against his mouth, he held her firm, drinking in every pulse and quiver, unwilling to let her go until the last shiver had ebbed.
Jackson rose slowly, his chest heaving, his mouth finding hers in a deep kiss. He tasted her there, on her lips, and it wrecked him all over again. Every part of him wanted to bury himself inside her. But he forced himself to breathe, to wait.
“You’re incredible,” he murmured, brushing her hair back.
Zoe’s breathing steadied, but her eyes still shimmered with aftershocks of her climax. She lifted her hands to his chest, fingers fumbling with the first button of his shirt.
Jackson froze, then let out a shaky breath and nodded. He wanted this. God, he wanted her.
She slipped the button free, then another, her knuckles brushing over his chest. Each touch sent a jolt straight through him. His muscles jumped under her fingertips, betraying him, and a low sound escaped his throat.
Her hands roamed lower, spreading the fabric open, revealing inch after inch of skin. His abs tightened instinctively under her touch. Every nerve seemed to light up, as though her fingers were rewriting him.
She rose on her toes, kissing the hollow of his throat, her hand sliding across his chest. It felt so good—too good—being touched by her like this, after years of wanting. His body pressed harder into hers, desperate for more.
Zoe dropped to her knees, hands sliding over his thighs as she unbuckled his belt. Jackson’s breath caught, his head falling back against the willow trunk when she freed him.
“Jesus, Zoe…” His voice was hoarse.
The first slide of her mouth around him was fire and silk all at once. He groaned, low and guttural, his hands tangling in her hair. Every nerve lit up, pleasure shooting through him in waves.
He’d imagined her like this more times than he could count, but reality stripped him bare. He tightened his grip on her hair, just to keep himself from falling apart too quickly.
It was useless, as Zoe worked him so thoroughly, that despite how hard he fought back, how much he wanted to prolong the pleasure, he was powerless to stop her determination.
