“I need you,” he said. “Jackson, please.”
I grabbed the lube from the nightstand and took care of what needed taking care of, working him open slowly and thoroughly while he moved under my hands and made the sounds that I’d decided early on I would do just about anything to keep hearing. He gripped the sheets. His back arched.
“More,” he said. “Please.”
“I’ve got you.” I pressed deeper, watching his face, finding the place that made him gasp and working it until he was saying my name over and over like a prayer.
When I finally lined up and pressed forward, he let out a long, broken sound, and his legs wrapped around me, pulling me in. I gave him a moment to adjust, one hand braced beside his head, watching him, and when he was ready, I began to move.
Deep, steady strokes. Not rushed. Our gazes locked and I kept them there, kept that connection, because I wanted him to feel seen. I felt him shudder under me.
“Right there,” he said, gasping. “Don’t stop.”
I didn’t stop.
I shifted my angle and heard him cry out. I reached between us and wrapped my hand around him and stroked him in time with my thrusts, and he went rigid, his hands flying to my shoulders, gripping hard.
“Jackson… I’m—”
“I’ve got you,” I said. “Let go.”
He came apart in my hands with a sound that I felt in my chest, his whole body arching up against mine. I drove into him through it, watching every second, until I buried myself deep and came with a low groan that I didn’t bother trying to hide.
I held him through the aftershocks. Stayed right where I was, one hand in his hair, my forehead against his, both of us breathing.
After a long moment, I rolled to the side and pulled him against me. He came easily, tucking himself against my chest, his hand spread over my ribs. His breathing was evening out. Mine was getting there.
“Leaving is still the last resort,” I said, after a while.
He let out a laugh that was still a little ragged. “You already said that.”
“It’s worth saying twice.”
His hand moved slowly on my ribs. “I believe you, you know. That you’d go with me.”
“Good,” I said.
“I just don’t want you to have to.”
I pressed a kiss to the top of his head. “I know you don’t. That’s one of the things I love about you.” I felt him go still in a good way at the word, the quiet way he received things that mattered. “Get some sleep, baby boy.”
He was quiet for a moment. “I love you, Daddy.”
“Yeah,” I said. “I love you, too.”
He settled against me, and after a while his breathing went slow and even against my chest, and I lay there with my hand in his hair and the city doing its quiet thing outside the window. I thought about Wyatt, who would understand, and the camp that would still be there, and the last resort, which wasn’t going to be necessary.
And I thought about Noah asleep in my arms.
Worth it. Every single bit of it.
Chapter twenty-six
Noah
We were almost back at HQ after spending the day at the camp when Jackson’s phone rang. It had been a good day. One where nothing happened except that we were somewhere together and that was enough. I’d spent the morning arranging flowers we’d bought at the local garden center in hanging baskets for the porch. In the afternoon, we’d walked the property trail that ran along the eastern edge of the woods where the creek cut through the low ground.
Jackson glanced at the screen, and his expression shifted.
