Chapter 21
Jackson
Ican’t believe I’m here. I’m finally touching her, loving her, doing everything I’ve been dreaming of doingwithher. I stand in just my boxer briefs and brush my hands across her collarbone. With a fingertip, I trace the cups of her bra. Her breath catches, pumping her breasts up further.
I reach around and undo her bra, letting it fall and lean down to capture a nipple with my mouth. All I care about right now is getting my mouth on her. I suck and twirl until it’s a hard nub. Then I release it and apply the same attention to the other one. Her hands are in my hair and our moans mix together, making a sweet melody.
I back her up to the bed and lay her out in front of me, blissfully unaware I was climbing onto the bed with her, getting closer. Her body is relaxed, her eyes are closed and she’s so soft and open, letting me explore without a fight. I kiss down her neck, biting and nibbling as she softly says my name over and over.
She’s my undoing.
“I’m here, baby girl. I’m here.”
She reaches for me, grabbing hold of my cock through my boxers. I growl and push into her hand. “Easy baby, or this will be over before it starts. I’ve never been so hard,” she smirks and continuesto stroke me. I pull away and push up over her. I link my thumbs at the side of her panties and pull down, slowly kissing as I go.
I pause, my breath leaving me in a rush. I lean closer and take a mental picture. A football with my number 5 in it, the size of a quarter right along her bikini line. I get closer, tracing it with my tongue. I kiss it. I am so in awe she would mark her body.
For me.
I know the instant she realizes I found it. Her body tenses and her eyes snap open. They connect with mine and I see fear. Embarrassment. Guilt. What the hell?
“Don’t.”
“Jackson, I?—”
“Don’t Francesca. Don’t take this moment from me.”
Her eyes soften slightly, but her body is still tense and there are questions all over her face.
Keeping our eyes locked, I kiss the tattoo again. “I love it.”
She gives a small smile and tries to scoot away from me. I let her go a little distance, so she feels more comfortable. But I follow and lean down next to her, propped on one arm, and trace the tattoo again with my other hand. “When did you get it?”
She covers her eyes and tries to pull her knees in close, shaking her head. “Oh my God, you weren’t supposed to ever see that,” she gives a nervous laugh.
I gently pull on her hands. “Hey, don’t hide from me.” I let her keep her knees up slightly. If she needs a little barrier to get through this conversation, so be it. But I am going to hear it.
“It’s embarrassing. I feel like a groupie.”
I stay quiet but gently shake my head, dismissing her groupie statement, willing her to continue.
“Britt and I went to the shop and got them after your first game.”
I raised a brow. My sister knew about this? “This season?” I ask.
“No, your first game in the league.”
I hold her eye contact. I remember my first game; how could I ever forget? My mom, my sister and her whole family were there. The owners got them a box, something they do for every rookie’s first game butthey refused it saying they wanted in on the action. Chess’ dad bought tickets on the 50-yard line behind our team bench. Just a few steps and a jump up the wall and I could touch her.
Just like in high school.
She was wearing my jersey and seeing my name and number on her was a whole unique feeling. Possessive. Ownership. Of course, if I ever told her that, she’d cut my balls off. But she had such a look of pride at seeing me on the field. I’ll never forget that look on her face. I was good enough, and I had made it. Thatwemade it, because without her brother, without her family, I wouldn’t have been there. Everyone thinks I picked the number 5 because it’s my birth month, May. But Chess’ birthday is December fifth. When asked what number I wanted, I shouted out five before I’d even realized why.
And now knowing that she has permanently branded her body for me; I can’t fathom this new feeling. It’s like a drug. I want more. I want to see it again. I want to be there while she’s branded again and again. It’s more than lust. It’s… love.
Mine.
She is mine.
