"Christ, Maggie."
I smiled, breath already uneven. "That a good Christ, Maggie or?—"
He kissed me again, hard enough to steal the rest of the question, his mouth claiming mine like he'd reached the end of his restraint. He unhooked my bra with ease and tossed it across the room.
And then—oh.
I glanced down, noticing the unmistakable press against his jeans. Heavy. Promising. Very much there. A flicker of nerves hit me, and my breath hitched, realizing just how big he was. Excitement tangled with something dangerously close to awe.
But then his mouth slid down my throat, across my collarbone, lower, and any lingering terror burned off into pure want.
I arched into him, fingers digging into his shoulders. "Jack?—"
"I've got you," he said roughly, like it was a promise he fully intended to keep. "Let me take care of you, gorgeous."
He lowered me onto the bed, his body following, covering mine. The weight of him felt grounding. Safe. His mouth continued its path down my body, mapping every inch, finding places that made me gasp and writhe and forget my own name.
My jeans came off. Then his. Then everything else.
And when there was nothing left between us, he paused again. Propped himself up on his forearms, looking down at me with those warm whiskey-colored eyes.
"Tell me what you want," he said.
"You." I pulled him down to me. "I want you."
He gave me everything.
Slow at first, achingly slow, until I was begging him to move. Then faster, deeper, his eyes never leaving my face, watching every reaction like I was something precious he wanted to memorize.
I came apart in his arms. Shattered into a thousand pieces and let him hold every single one.
And when I finally caught my breath, when my heart stopped racing, and my body stopped trembling, he started all over again.
I woke before dawn.
Gray light leaked through the curtains. The bed was warm, the sheets tangled, and there was a man sleeping beside me who I'd known for less than twelve hours.
I lay there for a moment, taking stock.
My body felt loose. Liquid. Every muscle was relaxed in a way they hadn't been in months.
I felt good.
Not guilty. Not ashamed. Not panicking about what this meant or where it was going or how it complicated everything.
Just... so good.
I slid out of bed carefully, not wanting to wake him. This didn't need to be awkward. It didn't need to be anything. We'd given each other exactly what we'd both needed—escape, connection, release—and now it was morning and real life was waiting.
I found my clothes scattered across the floor and dressed in the dim light. Grabbed my keys from the dresser. Caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror and almost laughed at the woman looking back at me. Blonde hair a mess. Lips still swollen. Eyes bright in a way they hadn't been in months.
At the door, I paused and looked back.
Jack was still asleep, sprawled across the bed like he owned it. I let myself admire the view one last time—the broadshoulders, the strong back, the way the sheet draped low across his hips.
Thanks for that, I thought. For all of it.
Then I walked out with a huge smile on my face, feeling victorious.
