The door clicked shut behind me, and then it was just us. Maggie and I, standing in her living room, the air thick with six days of pretending.
She crossed her arms. "So."
"You don't have to need me, Maggie." I closed the distance between us, stopping just short of touching her. "You can just want me. That's allowed."
"Is it?" Her voice was barely a whisper. "Because it doesn't feel allowed. It feels dangerous."
"What does?"
"You." She reached up, her hand hovering near my chest without making contact. "The way you look at me like you actually see me and not just what I can do for you."
"I do see you." I caught her hand, pressed it flat against my heart. "I've seen you since Wild Creek. The woman underneath all the armor. And I like her, Maggie. Every stubborn, sharp-tongued, beautiful inch of her."
Her eyes drifted shut. "Jack…"
I lowered my head, bringing my mouth close to her ear. "Let me show you how much.” I placed a gentle kiss on the curve of her jaw. A breathy sigh shuddered past her lips. Her other hand settled on my chest for balance. “How much I’ve missed having you like this.” She whimpered when my hands settled on her hips, her nails digging into my chest. “Say yes, Maggie. Tell me you want this as much as I do.”
“I want it,” she whispered. “I want it all.”
I kissed her.
Not gentle. Not the careful, questioning kiss of Wild Creek. This was the week I spent thinking I’d never see her again,six days of professional distance, and everything that had built between us during. All of it came crashing together into something I couldn't have controlled if I'd wanted to.
Maggie kissed me back with equal force—her hands fisting in my shirt, pulling me closer, making a sound against my mouth that was half relief and half fury, like she was angry at both of us for taking this long.
I knew I was.
I walked her backward until we hit the wall, caging her with my arms, giving her nowhere to go except into me. She arched against me, and the contact—her body pressed full-length against mine—sent a jolt through me that wiped out whatever was left of my restraint.
My hands found the hem of her t-shirt, slipping beneath to touch the warm skin of her waist. She gasped, her nails digging into my shoulders, already trying to pull me closer, already trying to set the pace—because that's what Maggie did. She ran things. Took control before anyone else could.
Not tonight.
I caught both her wrists in one hand and pinned them against the wall above her head. Not rough. Not punishing. Just—mine.
Maggie's breath caught. Her eyes went wide, then dark, then liquid—a progression that told me everything I needed to know about what this woman wanted and had never let herself ask for.
"Here's how this works," I said against her mouth. "You don't get to manage this. You don't get to rush it. You don't get to run the show." I pressed my hips into hers, slow and deliberate so she could feel just how hard I was for her, and watched her eyelids flutter. "Tonight, I'm in charge. And you're going to let me take care of you the way I've been wanting to since I laid eyes on you at that bar.”
She made a sound—not words, just a raw, desperate exhale that vibrated through her whole body.
"Tell me you understand, beautiful."
"I—" Her voice cracked. She swallowed. Tried again. "Yes."
“Yes, what?"
Her chin lifted. Even now—wrists pinned, back against the wall, trembling under my hands—there was defiance in her. Fire.
"Yes, Jack.” Christ. My name in her mouth like that nearly undid me. The woman who didn't bend for anyone bent for me. And there was something about that that made me feel invincible.
I released her wrists. Stepped back just enough to see all of her—flushed, breathing hard, lips swollen from my mouth. Her hands stayed above her head exactly where I'd left them.
That trust—freely given by a woman who didn't give it to anyone—hit me harder than anything physical could.
"Good girl," I murmured, and watched the words roll through her like a shiver.
I took my time after that.
