My chest tightens. Because the truth is, I’ve never been surer of anything in my life. But I also saw the hesitation in her eyes this morning. The fear. And I can’t push her. Can’t make her feel like she’s jumping from one relationship into another without processing the first.
“I’m sure that I want to try,” I say carefully. “I’m sure that what we have here is real, not just the storm talking. But, Sloane? If you need time, if you need space to figure out who you are without him first, I’ll understand. I don’t want to be a rebound. I don’t want to be the guy you run to because you’re trying to forget someone else.”
She pulls back to look at me, and there are tears in her eyes. “You’re not a rebound, Jax.”
“How do you know?”
“Because when I think about going back to Denver, when I think about what my life looks like now, you’re in it. Not because I’m trying to replace Chett, but because I can’t imagine not knowing you. Not having you in my life.” She takes a shaky breath. “That terrifies me. But it’s true.”
Something in my chest cracks wide open. “Sloane ...”
“I know I’m a mess. I know I have a lot to figure out. But I meant what I said earlier, but I’m scared.”
“I’m scared too,” I admit. “Terrified, actually. Because the idea of you going back to Denver and me never seeing you again, that’s not something I want to think about.”
“Then don’t.” She leans up and kisses me, soft and sweet. “Don’t think about it. Not today. Today, let’s just ... be.”
And fuck, I want that. Want to forget about phone calls from judgmental mothers and ex-boyfriends who don’t deserve her, and the fact that in a day or two, the roads will clear, and reality will come crashing back in.
So, I do what she asks. I stop thinking. I stand up, lifting her with me, and carry her to the bedroom. She doesn’t protest, just wraps her legs around my waist and buries her face in my neck. When I lay her down on the bed, I take a moment to just look at her. Hair spread across the pillow, cheeks flushed, eyes dark with want and something deeper. Something that makes my heart pound.
“What?” she asks, a small smile playing at her lips.
“Just memorizing this,” I tell her honestly. “In case I need it later.”
“You’ll have the real thing later.”
“Promise?”
“I’m going to try my hardest to make that happen.” She tries to reassure me. It’s not a guarantee. But it’s something. And right now, I’ll take it.
I make love to her slowly this time. Not the desperate, hungry sex of before. Not the playful fun of yesterday. This is something else entirely. This is me showing her, without words, what she means to me. How much I want this to work. How I see her, really see her, and think she’s incredible. I start by kissing every inch of her face. Her forehead, her eyelids, her nose, her cheeks. She giggles at first, but then her breathing changes, deepens.
“Jax ...”
“Shh. Let me take care of you.”
I work my way down, taking my time with her neck, her collarbone, the hollow of her throat. I can feel her pulse racing under my lips, and it makes me want to go slower, draw this out even more. When I finally get her shirt off, I worship her breasts with my mouth until she’s arching off the bed, her fingers tangled in my hair.
“Please.” She gasps. “I need more.”
“I’ve got you, sweetheart. I’ve got you.”
I strip off the rest of her clothes and then my own, and when I settle between her thighs, she’s already wet and ready for me. But I don’t rush. Don’t dive in. Instead, I kiss her deeply, thoroughly, while my hands explore every curve of her body. Learning her all over again. Committing it to memory.
“You’re killing me,” she breathes against my mouth.
“Good. I want you to remember this. Remember how I make you feel.”
“Like I’m the only person in the world,” she whispers.
“You are. Right now, you are.” And then I’m pushing inside her, slow and steady, and we both gasp at the connection. She feels perfect around me, hot and tight and absolutely right. I start to move, setting a rhythm that’s deep and measured. Nottrying to rush us to the finish line. Just enjoying the journey. Enjoying her. Her hands slide down my back, her nails dig in slightly, and I love the small sting of it. Love that she’s marking me.
“Look at me,” I murmur, and her eyes flutter open. “Keep your eyes on me.” We move together like that, eyes locked, and it’s the most intimate thing I’ve ever experienced. More than just physical. This is soul deep.
“Jax,” she breathes. “I’m close.”
“I know. I can feel it.” I reach between us, finding that spot that makes her cry out. “Let go for me, sweetheart. I want to feel you.”
