Then, without warning, he scooped her into his arms. A startled laugh escaped her, breathless and shaky.
He carried her down the short hall, the storm still pattering faintly against the windows, and nudged her bedroom door open with his shoulder. The familiar space—her quilt pulled back, the lamplight casting warm pools across the room—suddenly felt alive, every detail magnified by the thrum in her chest.
He set her down gently, arranging her so her ankle was propped against a pillow before he stepped out of his wet jeans. Zoe barely had time to appreciate the view as he climbed onto the bed and began trailing kisses lower, lower, down her body. He pressed her knees apart with steady hands, careful of her injured leg, and his mouth found her with slow, devastating precision.
Zoe gasped, her head tipping back against the pillows. Every nerve ending lit up as he teased her with languid strokes of his tongue, circling, retreating, then giving her just enough to make her hips lift off the bed.
He didn’t hurry. He savored. Every flick, every glide, felt deliberate, fine-tuned to her. She fisted the quilt, her knuckles aching as pleasure gathered, unstoppable.
When release tore through her, it stole her breath, left her gasping his name into the quiet. He held her steady, coaxing her through every quiver, until she slumped back, boneless and undone.
Jackson rose, his mouth brushing hers, letting her taste the evidence of her own pleasure. His erection pressed hard against her hip, and heat flooded her all over again.
Jackson’s chest was broad and ink curled over his skin, the black lines and shapes stark and beautiful against his corded muscles. Her gaze lingered, tracing the tattoos, then caught on the scars. Pale lines. Faded marks.
Every inch of him was beautiful, not despite those scars, but because of them. They told his story, the one he carried quietly, the one he never boasted about.
And then his eyes lifted to hers. Dark, intent.
Her soldier, she thought. Hers.
Jackson leaned over her, and she instinctively shifted to rise, wanting to touch him, to worship him the way he had just worshipped her. But as she moved, her ankle gave a faint protest.
He noticed instantly. His hand came down, gentle but firm, against her thigh. “Easy,” he murmured, his voice thick with restraint. “I’ve got you.”
He pressed a kiss to her temple before carefully easing her back against the pillows.
“Tonight,” he said, brushing a thumb over her cheek, “you don’t have to do anything but feel.”
She swallowed hard, her chest tight, but nodded.
He bent to kiss her again, deep and slow, one hand braced beside her head, the other skimming down her side before settling between her thighs.
When he slid into her, her breath caught. He moved slowly and deep, filling her inch by inch until there was no space leftbetween them. Zoe’s head tipped back, a cry tearing from her throat as her body stretched around him. He stilled, forehead pressed to hers, his chest rising and falling in heavy breaths.
“You okay?” His voice was hoarse, barely holding together.
“More than okay,” she whispered, her hands clutching at his shoulders. “Don’t stop.”
He moved slowly and deliberately, careful of her ankle but unrelenting in the way he claimed her. Each thrust sent fire spiraling through her until the storm outside was nothing but memory.
Her body bowed against him, her injured ankle cushioned and safe, forgotten in the torrent of sensation. She could feel her desire gathering, wild and insistent, impossible to hold back.
When it broke, it shattered her completely. Her cry filled the room, her body clenching around him in tight, pulsing waves that dragged him under with her. Jackson groaned her name like a prayer, thrusting once, twice, before his body shuddered with release.
He stilled, buried deep inside her, his weight pressing her into the mattress, their ragged breaths tangled together. The storm outside had faded to silence, leaving only the sound of their hearts pounding in sync.
Zoe pressed her face into the slope of his neck, her lips brushing the warm, damp skin.
He shifted, easing onto his side and gathering her close, careful not to jar her ankle. The movement was protective without being possessive. His thumb traced idle circles along her back, and each slow stroke unraveled what little tension remained in her body.
Zoe felt cocooned in Jackson’s arms. She listened to the rhythm of his breathing until hers matched it, the quiet rising and falling in perfect time.
Minutes passed like that, slow and unhurried, until her thoughts blurred into contentment. When he brushed a kiss against her temple, she smiled against his throat, half-asleep and wholly at peace.
“Zoe,” he said finally. “I need to tell you something.”
She lifted her head.
