Page 178 of Deacon

“You. Now. Please.”

He entered me slowly enough that every inch became something I could choose. My head fell back against the pillow, the stretch of him pulling a gasp from me that held no fear.

“Okay?” He stopped halfway, trembling with the effort of holding still.

“More.” I could feel exactly how much he was holding back, and the restraint that had protected me all morning was starting to make me crazy.

“You sure?” Worry still beat hunger in his face, even now.

“Jackson!!” Exasperation finally broke through my breathlessness, and that almost made him smile. Worry won anyway. He sank deeper, forehead dropping to mine, and began to move with careful restraint.

“Don't,” he whispered when I hooked one leg around his waist and tried to pull him closer. “Let me—let me take care of you.”

“You are.” I met him as much as my body allowed. “Jackson, you are—”

The tension built low and tight as he adjusted his angle without twisting my shoulder. I clung to him with my good hand while his control started fraying around the edges.

“Come here,” I breathed. “I need you closer.”

He lowered himself just enough for me to feel more of him without taking his weight. His mouth found mine, and when I came apart again, the cry disappeared into his kiss. Jackson followed seconds later, shuddering against me with my name buried against my throat.

For a while neither of us moved. The silence held more than either of us was ready to touch yet.

Jackson’s hand tightened carefully at my hip. “I found you,” he whispered finally, his voice frayed. “I found you before—” I stopped the rest with a kiss before he could finish whatever memory had caught him.

A muted clink from the kitchen pulled us both out of the quiet. Something scraped against the counter, followed by the unmistakable sound of somebody moving around my apartment.

Jackson lifted his head. Every trace of softness disappeared from his face as he listened. “Stay here,” he said.

I blinked at him. “What?”

“Stay in bed. I’ll go see who it is.”

He had already started shifting away when I caught his wrist with my good hand. The reach tugged at my ribs, but I ignored it. “I’m not staying here while you go out there alone like there’s some mystery person in my kitchen.”

His jaw tightened. “Lila.”

“I need water anyway,” I said, because he was already preparing an argument. “And pain pills. You said Blue left me some pain pills to take.”

Jackson stared at me with the expression of a man being asked to negotiate with someone he knew was going to ignore him. “That does not mean you need to come investigate the damn kitchen with me.”

“It means I am getting up.” I looked toward the door before meeting his eyes again. “Also this is my apartment, Jackson. If somebody is in my kitchen, I’d like to know who.”

He held my gaze for another second, clearly weighing the consequences of trying to physically stop me. “Fine,” he muttered. “But you do exactly what I say.”

I almost smiled. “You say the sweetest things.”

The look he gave me promised I was one smart remark away from being tucked back under the blankets by force. He pulled on his jeans without bothering to button them, then found my robe and helped me into it with enough concentration to make the task feel surgical. He eased fabric around the sling, tied the robe for me, and frowned when I winced. “I hate this,” he said quietly.

“I know.” The anger in his face had nowhere useful to go, so I let my hand rest against his chest for a second.

He slipped an arm around my waist. “Lean on me.”

I did, and coffee reached me before we reached the kitchen, familiar enough to loosen something in my chest. The apartment still felt fragile around the edges, every shadow holding too much memory from the night before, and Jackson kept himself half a step ahead of me as we moved down the hallway.

Matty stood at the counter with a mug in one hand and the coffee pot in the other, rumpled enough to look like he had slept exactly where he claimed. Jackson stopped short. “Matty, what the fuck? What are you doing here?”

My brother turned and looked us over. His gaze traveled from my robe to Jackson’s unbuttoned jeans, then back to my face. The twitch at the corner of his mouth warned me before he ever spoke.