“What time is it? I saw you lie back down.”
Oh.
“Uh, I don’t know. I didn’t check.” I squeezed my eyes tighter because there was something about his voice, some new weight to it, plucking different strings in my heart. It unsettled me. Compartmentalize and set aside.
He paused, his body still behind me. “Do you want to go back to sleep?”
“No. I’m not sleepy.”
“Hey. Can you turn around?”
Uhhhh.
What if I did, and he could see that I loved him? What if Jackson could tell just from looking at my face and he didn’t feel the same? That would be completely devastating. I wasn’t ready to be devastated.
“Are you okay?”
Chill, Rae. Just chill. Compartmentalize and set aside.
Sucking in a deep, silent breath, I forced my eyes open and pulled slightly away so I could lie on my back. Meanwhile, Jackson placed his elbow on his pillow and propped his chin and cheek in his hand. I felt his attention on me as I settled.
I blinked once, shoving anything and everything chaotic waaay down, and then looked at him. His eyes were sleepy, but also happy, and their trademark intensity remained undiminished by either sleepiness or happiness.
“Hi,” he said.
“Hi,” I said, allowing myself to get lost in his closeness and warmth, and definitely not the fact that I looked at him now with the knowledge that I loved him. I was in love with him. But everything was just fine. Everything was wonderful.
Everything hurts.
“Are you hungry?”
I shook my head. How do you behave with someone when they hold your future in their hands? Obviously, you stare at them, mutely, and hope you don’t fuck anything up.
“You’re quiet,” he whispered, his eyes moving between mine as a soft, teasing smile curved his lips. “Do you want to talk?
I shook my head again.
“Oh?” His smile grew, as did the sharpness behind his gaze, and his hand resting on my stomach moved to where I still held the covers gripped to my chest. Bending closer, Jackson kissed my collarbone, scraping his beard against my shoulder, and whispered hotly in my ear, “What do you want to do?”
My toes curled, my stomach twisting warm and tight, and I raggedly whispered, “You decide.”
I didn’t want to direct traffic. I didn’t want to make any decisions. I felt too overwhelmed, paralyzed by how inexplicably big and important this moment felt, and how big and important and frustratingly uncontainable my feeling were. They didn’t want to be compartmentalized or set aside. They wanted to become nudists, cover themselves in honey, and take a baseball bat to a wasp’s nest while shouting proudly, LOOK AT US! HERE WE ARE!
“Whatever I want?” Jackson smiled. I felt the curve of his lips against my neck just before he placed achingly gentle kisses beneath my ear, my jaw, the corner of my mouth, making my legs tense and flex. He’d barely touched me, and I was already on fire for him.
Perhaps being in love with someone did this. Love was an aphrodisiac that sat on the backburner, waiting for Jackson’s touch—and only Jackson’s touch—to turn up the heat.
Jackson stared down at me, warm and hazy, yet also searching. “What’s wrong?”
I shook my head. “Nothing,” I said, forcing out the reply. My heart lodged itself in my throat, my breathing increased in tempo, and I told my hands to stop white-knuckling the covers.
His eyebrows pulled together, and he tugged at the sheet, slowly sliding it down the front of my body to pool at my waist. I shivered, but not because I was cold.
“Are you having second thoughts?”
A short, slightly hysterical laugh bubbled up and out of me, and inexplicably I felt like crying again. I didn’t want to cry. If I cried, then I would have to tell him I loved him. And if he didn’t love me, the chances of us doing anything else today dropped to a big, fat zero percent.
I grabbed his face and kissed him. He immediately responded, and the hot interior of his mouth felt like heaven, like home, fueling the fire inside me to a raging inferno and drowning out all my doubts and fears. Jackson slid his hand beneath the covers and hooked his fingers behind my knee, pulling it toward him, opening me. I was already dizzy from the mating of our mouths when he skimmed his fingertips along the sensitive interior skin of my thigh. I sucked in a breath, prickly with agonizing anticipation just before he touched me there.
Jackson lifted his head, his eyes seeming to ignite and spark as he made contact, circling me with frustratingly unhurried strokes. He gazed at me, like he wanted to study my every reaction, and I felt like I was being teased, fondled for his pleasure.
I didn’t want to be fondled or teased. I didn’t want him to draw this out. A burst of unwieldy and unsteady emotion had me closing my eyes. I couldn’t watch or look at him. I couldn’t talk. At most, I could only lay back and hope these feelings and sensations didn’t crush me.
Whether he sensed my mood or felt similarly inclined, Jackson said nothing, but I sensed the heat of his attentive gaze move over my bare skin. The bed depressed, shifted, and I felt him climb over me, holding himself above to nip and tongue my breasts as his fingers coyly caressed between my legs. He was playing with me. At least, that’s what it felt like, and my hands fluttered at his shoulders. I couldn’t quite bring myself to touch him in any meaningful way, probably because I wanted to touch him so badly.
His kisses, our bodies moving against the crisp sheets, and our mingled breathing were the only sounds between us. Abruptly, he withdrew, ending his teasing, and though it had been torture, I instantly missed it.
I felt him rise to his knees. I heard the sound of foil being ripped. I bit my lip. I held my breath. And then he returned, his body covering mine, the friction of his chest and legs a sweet torment. He left no space between us. But he didn’t enter me.
“Rae.” His voice was a beseeching rumble, and his nose slid against mine. “Open your eyes, Rae.”
I tried distracting him by lifting my chin for a kiss.
His mouth retreated but he rolled his hips, sliding his erection along my clit. I shuddered, my hand lifting to grip his sides, my fingers digging into his body, trying to pull him down.
“I want your eyes,” he said, his voice more of a rumble now and less beseeching. “And I’m asking.”
I wanted to say no. I didn’t want to open them. If I opened them, then he would know. There was no compartmentalizing and setting this aside. I should have left when he was asleep. I should have left and returned to Los Angeles. Today. I could have avoided all of this if I’d left. Love is the worst.
Eventually, Jackson’s hips stopped moving, and I knew he was looking at me, his waiting turning to worry. I felt the shift in him before he shifted off of me.
And then he cursed. And then he was gone.
My eyes flew open then, and I found him sitting naked at the end of the bed, his back to me.
“Jackson?”
“All you have to do is tell me to stop, Rae. I will listen, and I will stop.” He twisted at the waist, his eyes locked on mine, and the self-loathing I saw there felt like a punch to my stomach.
I scrambled to my knees, reaching out for him. He stood from the bed, evading me. Acting on instinct, I chased him, grabbing his wrist, and forcing him to face me. Thank God this cabin is so small.