Jackson revealed his intentions when he moved his tongue on my lower lip, before letting it slide into my mouth.
His move was unexpected but pleasant. I ran the fingers of both hands through his soft, still-wet hair and tried to pull him to me to call the shots, maybe create the illusion that I could dominate him for once. But Jackson pushed me away. My back slammed again on the steel door, and before I could open my eyes again, he kissed me again, and I let out a moan that soon died in his warm, expert mouth. He enveloped my tongue with his and led it in a dance that made me lose my breath. Ever since our first kiss, I had wondered how Jackson had learned to be such a good kisser.
I knew for sure that he’d never had a girlfriend or boyfriend.
Maybe he was born with it, I thought, as a pleasant shiver reawakened all my senses. A weird sense of emptiness tickled my stomach when his hand left my throat and his fingers speared his shirt, taking it off in front of my eyes.
I was speechless in total adoration. A tense grimace appeared on my face when I noticed that his porcelain skin was marked with bluish bruises.
“When did you get those?”
“Shut your mouth,” he whispered flushed, before assailing my mouth with kisses again. The skin on my lower stomach started to burn, right where Jackson pushed it against his erection. He did this forcefully, like he needed me to feel how the situation was turning him on.
Or maybe it was an invitation?
In doubt, I didn’t move a muscle. Why should I have? I was supposed to be waiting for my dad outside his office and going to the psychologist appointment to talk about the panic attacks, and instead I was here, out of breath with the best quarterback on the football team’s body towering over me.
He went back to squeezing my throat with his left hand, but I was distracted by his right hand pulling down his shorts, allowing me to catch a glimpse of his hard protuberance. “What’d you have to say to James?” he then asked, intent on taking a breath between one kiss and another. I felt drunk, inebriated by his firm touch and arousing kisses, but I could sense a hint of jealousy.
“Nothing.”
His jaw seemed to clench so much that it forged a tense line ready to explode. The question remained the same: Was he jealous of me or of James?
Any perplexity was swept away when his erection found space in my hand.
I gulped, then armed myself with courage and grabbed his lower lip with my teeth, demonstrating a bit of audacity. The sensual gasps of pleasure he let out in response made me feel heavenly. I tried to tighten my grip around his length, but my hand didn’t seem capable of containing all of his arousal. He liked it. It was a new sensation, and the idea of having that effect on him almost made me come in my pants.
I continued to press the rhythmic movement onto his erection, and for a moment I imagined the tables being turned. If it was Jackson doing something like that to me, I probably wouldn’t be able to contain my moans while he seemed controlled. It didn’t matter how indecent our kissing had become now.
“Blaze.”
He never said my name, and hearing him say it with his aroused, deep voice left me breathless. I increased the rhythm, and when he stopped kissing me to throw his head back and close his eyes, I realized that gushes of sperm were staining his abs, which contracted from pleasure.
I was still stunned by the intense sensations I felt. Jackson, on the other hand, seemed to immediately find his usual restraint again.
“You had to wash so much, huh?” he breathed, pointing at my shirt, dirtied by him just like my hands were.
And if I was a disaster then, he managed to dazzle me with his beauty. I bowed my head, as if I wasn’t worthy of admiring the powerful chest that disappeared under the T-shirt he put on. The adrenaline was still rushing and throbbing through my veins, but the question remained: Did he like me or not?
I pointed at his abs, referring to the bruises I’d just seen.
“What did you do, Jackson? What the fuck did you drag Hunter into this time?”
“The usual,” he spat, grabbing his letterman’s jacket.
“What do you mean?”
“We stopped by the club before coming here,” I heard him murmur.
“Why?”
Jackson grumbled without answering me.
“Please tell me,” I begged him.
“Last night, Ethan Austin’s brother roofied Tiffany’s drink.” My jaw dropped, but I was at a loss for words. What kind of people were they dealing with?
“June had some too,” he added.
