I can’t even remember how we found this place. It’s a hidden gem in this hill country, and it holds a special place in my heart. Jackson’s too, it seems.
“Is this okay?” he asks, his hand hovering over the ignition. He’ll back up and leave if I want him to.
I look out at the water, the sunlight bouncing off it like a trampoline.
“Did you bring towels?”
He tilts his head toward the back seat. “I’m not an amateur.”
My gaze lingers on his t-shirt. I remember what he told me the other day, about not swimming. He wants to, with me. He’s willing to let me see his scars. A warmth blooms in my chest, and I’m struck by the need to reach out and hug him.
Jackson doesn’t seem to notice that I’m over here having a revelation. He grips his door handle and says, “I’ll race you.”
It takes a second for my brain to catch up, but I jump out of the truck and run toward the water, shedding my clothes along the way. My jeans are traitorous bastards, tripping me as I shimmy out of the right leg.
Jackson taunts me, laughing as he rushes ahead. A step or two later, fate smiles down on me when he topples over into the grass as he attempts to remove his shorts. I let out a yell of sheer glee, victory is in sight. My shirt whips behind me as I sprint with a single-minded goal, and I peel it off and toss it behind me. I pound down the pier and yell, “I won!” while jumping into the water.
Thankfully it’s not freezing. Going all in was a rookie move.
When I surface, I push my hair out of my face and see Jackson flinging his shirt into the grass before he follows me in.
The two of us swim together, splashing each other and having fun. Jackson stays neck-deep in the water, but sometimes he launches me up into a flip off his shoulders like he used to. I pop out of the water a few feet away, he reaches out and pulls me back. We tangle our bodies together, holding each other as we float. Jackson kisses me sweetly, rubs his hand up and down along my spine. It’s nice being held, feeling weightless.
I press my lips against his collarbone, where his skin is salty and warm from the sun. I’m lulled into this intense relaxation, and rest my head in the crook of his neck. It’s been so long since I’ve laughed this much, been this kind of happy.
When we get tired, Jackson and I swim over to the tiny pier. He pulls himself out of the water, then reaches down and helps me up. I drop my gaze to the wooden planks beneath my feet to keep from seeing the scars that litter his body. Looking would feel like a violation somehow.
He grabs the towels he brought and lays them out across the pier. We stretch out under the sun like a couple of cats.
“That was fun,” I say with a contented sigh.
“It was. It’s been a long time.”
I roll over and look at his face. He’s lying on his back, his eyes closed. Relaxed.
“Yeah. You said the other day that you don’t swim much anymore.”
“At all, really. People would stare and I’d get self-conscious. It wouldn’t be fun.”
“Has anyone…seen?”
He brings his hand up to his forehead as a makeshift sun visor. “My doctors. You.”
“I haven’t looked,” I admit.
“Scared that I’m hideous?” He’s teasing, but the underlying insecurity there peeks through.
I lean over and kiss him, my lips lingering. “You could never be hideous.” I say the words right against his mouth, hoping he’ll breathe them in so they become a part of him and he never thinks that again.
“You can look if you want to,” he says with an easy smile.
“I don’t want you to feel like you’re a piece of meat being examined or something. Talk about making someone self-conscious.”
He laughs and takes my hand, kissing the palm of it. “I’m not self-conscious with you.”
Jackson sits up with graceful ease, resting his arms on his knees. From this vantage point I can make out the mottled skin along his side. There are jagged scars and raised skin in places he’s obviously had operations. My fingers ache to reach out and place soothing touches there, anything to take his pain away.
This has to be overwhelming for him. I give him a minute, then I slide forward and turn until we’re facing each other. When Jackson’s eyes meet mine, I hope he sees nothing but openness and honesty without a trace of judgment. He’s been through so much…those marks are badges of honor, not something to hide. I understand, though, how that’s difficult for him to see.
He reclines back and props himself up on his arms, his chest fully on display.
Of course I would never admit this, but I’ve thought about Jackson naked a lot in the years that we’ve been apart. Despite knowing what kind of trauma he’d been through, I never imagined his scars. I thought of him looking the same way he always did. Tanned, taut skin, muscles for days, an absolute pleasure to look at.
He’s different now, but still Jackson.
This must be so difficult for him, leaving himself open, baring his biggest insecurity to me. I swing my leg over his until I’m straddling him. I rest my weight on his thighs. The only move he makes is bringing his left hand to rest on my side, his skin on mine burning hotter than the sun.
I lean into that warmth, needing more. My hand hovers above an angry pink scar that starts on his right pec and ends somewhere below his ribs. “Is it okay if I…”
He nods, squeezing my hip.
I trace my fingers along the scar tissue. His muscles twitch, his skin blooms with goosebumps. He takes in a long, ragged breath and licks his lips as I explore.
I bite back a smile.
My hands glide along his sides, along the mottled skin just above the waistband of his swim trunks, along the scars littering his abdomen. They deserve soft, tender touches. I want to bring pleasure to all the places he’s endured so much pain.
Jackson stays so quiet, letting me move at my own pace. When I finish my first pass, making sure every bit of skin gets my full attention, I sit back and watch him. I’ve never seen him so still.
I reach out and touch the soft pink fullness of his bottom lip. His warm breath puffs against my skin. The ligaments in his neck are stretched tight, like he’s holding himself back but ready to snap.
With a gentle tug, I pull him in close so that we’re chest to chest. He cradles me tightly against him, his hands splayed out in a possessive grip across my back.
“I think you’re beautiful,” I say as I plant sweet kisses across his face. “I always have. What you’ve been through, Jackson, what you’ve overcome…I’m in awe of you.”
He cradles my face in his hands like I’m a precious, rare stone. He kisses me like he knows he has a limited supply and wants to make every single one count.
We make out like teenagers until the sun gets too hot to bear. Despite coming dangerously close to losing control a few times, we manage to keep our suits mostly on. But that’s only because we nearly got caught having sex here once by a tourist who’d ventured off the main roads.
I peel myself off of Jackson and hold out my hand, teasing him with a groan as I leverage my body weight to help him to his feet. We grin at each other like idiots as we pluck our discarded clothes from the grass and pull them back on.
When we get back to the truck, Jackson powers on the engine and reaches for my hand. We lace our fingers together as we make our way back to the B&B. Everything goes just fine until a driver who’s probably used to having these roads to himself drifts into our lane at the end of a sharp turn.
Jackson rips his hand from mine, gripping the steering wheel with white knuckles. He draws long, labored breaths as his panic sucks all the air out of the truck.
I know how he feels. Sometimes it still hits me when I’m riding in the back of a cab. A car cuts too close in the congested street, and I toss a twenty at the cabbie just to get my feet back on solid ground and my life out of someone else’s hands. Focusing on Jackson is probably the only reason I’m not freaking out alongside him.
/> “I gotta pull over.” His voice is low and embarrassed.
He navigates the truck into the grass and hops out the second he puts it in park. I watch as he walks back and grips the bed of the truck, bending at the waist and dropping his head down low. Even from here I can see the rise and fall of his chest from his labored breathing.
I’m not sure what to do. I’ve never been around him when he’s having a panic attack. When I’m in the middle of one, I’m usually alone. But I’m here with him now, so there’s no reason he should be out there by himself.
I hop out and walk around the back of the truck. I reach out to him slowly, like he’s a frightened animal.
“I’m sorry,” he says, like he’s truly ashamed. “I hate this.”
“Hey,” I reply, coaxing him to look at me. “Jackson, c’mere.”
It takes a few seconds, but eventually he straightens, and I cling to him in the world’s biggest, tightest hug. My ear is pressed right against his breastbone, his heart pounds against my skin. Something about it is reassuring.
“You don’t have anything to be sorry for.”
“I should be able to drive a car without breaking down.”
“Other people should be able to stay in their lane. That’s not your fault. Besides, you’re driving, and that’s more than some people could manage after what you’ve been through.”
He sighs. “I’m usually fine, but sometimes it just bowls me over.”
I tilt my head up, resting my chin on his chest. “It’s understandable. It happens to me sometimes too, and I don’t even drive anymore. Sometimes I’ll be in a cab and there will be a close call and I just…bam. Bolt right out.”
His heartbeat slows.
“Of course, I also do the same thing when my favorite bakery has warm chocolate chip cookies, so…”
Jackson laughs, a warm, bright rumble beneath my cheek. It’s the happiest sound.
It’s nice being here for him, easing some of his burdens.
He kisses the top of my head as I snuggle in tight and think, I could get used to this.
Chapter Fourteen
After dinner, Jackson walks me back to my cabin.
“I could get used to this,” I tell him as he holds the door open for me to step up onto the porch. “Being accompanied home for the evening, the chivalry. It doesn’t hurt that, you know, you look like that.”
He takes a step forward, and I take one back. My butt hits the cabin’s siding, and I lean against it. Jackson has this hungry look in his eyes that makes my knees a little weak. Might as well let a wooden structure pick up the slack.
“Like what?” he asks with a flirtatious smile. He’s fishing for compliments, and I’m gonna let him catch a few.
“Strong.” I place my hands on his chest and express my appreciation for everything he has going on there by copping a feel. My fingertips skitter across his biceps, his skin breaks out in goosebumps. “These look like they can handle a lot.”
He places his hands on either side of my head and leans in close, muscles flexing. “They can.”
His voice is rumbly and low. It’s a definite turn-on, I want to hear more of it, please.
“Your face is pretty great. Your eyes get this soft look to them when you smile at me. And…speaking of smiles, yours is also pretty great.” I trace the soft curve of his full, pink bottom lip with my index finger. Without even meaning to, I move closer, drawn in by this crackling, electric energy between us.
“These lips of yours are amazing at what they do.” My words sound light and airy, like I’m about to float away.
Jackson kisses me to prove a point, and it revs all my cylinders into high gear. He starts to pull away, thinking he can tease me, but nuh-uh. I grab his shirt and pull him right back in. He smiles, and we’re both laughing and kissing, the best combination.
Jackson’s hands slide down the curve of my ass, and he lifts me up without warning, not even breaking our kiss.
“That kind of skill is just unfair,” I complain, even though it’s benefiting me immensely at the moment.
“It’s not skill,” he breathes. “I just wanna kiss you and never stop. That’s a motivator.”
I squeeze my legs around his waist, making him grunt. He pulls away, his hair all tousled from my hands, his eyes half-lidded with want, his lips kissed dark pink.
“So don’t stop.”
I reach back and twist the doorknob.
Jackson walks us inside.
* * *
For a long time, Jackson and I just make out on my bed. I’m planted in his lap, giving him free rein to touch wherever he pleases. He takes full advantage of the situation, letting his hands wander. He slides his palm across the small of my back, lets his thumbs graze the sides of my breasts. Sometimes he cups my face and places soft kisses on my eyelids, my nose, my cheeks, my lips.
It’s slow, perfect, and satisfying.
We’re both fully clothed, in no rush to do anything other than make each other feel good, to warm each other up for more.
Everything about the two of us like this is familiar, but not. There’s an intimacy here that was missing before, an aching tenderness in our touches born from four years of doing without. Four years of thinking we would never have this again. It’s a physical thing I can feel in this room, a heady buzz that settles on my skin, electrifying it, kicking every sensation up a couple of notches.
Jackson starts unbuttoning my shirt, his fingers sure and steady, slipping one button through its hole and moving on to the next. One right after the other until he pushes it open and down around my shoulders.
I’m wearing this pretty pink bra, one that looks kinda like a favorite of his when we were together. His face lights up like he’s seen a long-lost sexy friend.
Maybe I packed for this trip with some deep-seated hopes and intentions.
His fingers trace the delicate lace around the cup. He admires me as he touches, leaving me feeling treasured and beautiful. It’s one of the things I always loved about Jackson: as insecure as I was as a teenager, I always knew I had his whole heart. I could see it every time he looked at me, and I felt it every time he touched me, especially when we were together like this.
“Do you remember our first time?” he asks as he slides off my shirt and tosses it aside. His eyes are soft and loving as he leans in and kisses his way across my chest.
“Of course I do.” I tangle my fingers in his hair, and he hums contentedly against my skin. “I was nervous and scared you wouldn’t like what you saw. You made me feel beautiful.”
Jackson presses a kiss to the valley between my breasts. “You were beautiful. You still are. I was so unsure of myself back then.” He looks up at me with a grin that brings out flashes of the 18 year-old boy I fell so head-over-heels in love with.
“I don’t remember having any complaints,” I tease.
He reaches around me and deftly unclasps my bra, removing the lacy fabric he was admiring earlier. It falls onto the floor.
“You made me want to be better. Always have.” He cups my breast, leans in and wraps his lips around my nipple. His warm mouth and the texture of his tongue on me make my head drop back as I make noises that would probably embarrass me if I was with anyone other than him.
Even though it kills me to pull him away from me, I reach out and cup Jackson’s face. He seems melancholy tonight, tender and contemplative. He’s had a lot to process today, between our time at the lake, his panic attack in the car, and now this.
“Are you okay?”
He kisses me, soft and sweet. “Of course I am. I’m with you.”
He’s making me fall in love with him all over again, and he’s not even trying. I want to wrap my body around his, hold on tight and never let go, find some way to melt into him so I can be with him always.
Maybe he’s not the only one who’s feeling tender and contemplative tonight.
I lift up his shirt with a lot less finesse than he used on me, desperate to feel more of his
skin against mine. He gets what I’m going for and helps me along, peeling it off quickly. He cradles me close against his body, holding me tight before he lifts me up and lays me down on the bed, my hair fanned out across a pillow.
He makes quick work of my jeans and undies, removing them with the fast precision of a starved man on the verge of tasting something sweet. He peels off his pants too while he’s standing, giving me the chance to admire every chiseled thing about him. The cut of his thighs, his abs, his arms that hold me so, so tight. His hands—callused and strong—that always make me feel treasured.
He looks down at me with all the love in the world.
“C’mere,” I say, crooking my finger at him. I need to feel his weight on top of me. He lowers himself down easily, and my legs fall open to accommodate him. We’re so close, chest to chest. His skin is soft and warm, and I can’t stop touching it, pressing feather-light kisses everywhere I can.
He cups my breast, kisses his way down my stomach. He rubs his stubble across my inner thighs, a move that always made me crazy for him. Goosebumps flame out across my body.
I’m a puddle of anticipation and need, gripping at his hair as he leans in and licks. My head falls back and I drift away in the soft pleasure of his tongue. He’s always known exactly how to push my buttons, when to apply pressure, when to speed up, when to take his sweet time to push me higher and higher and higher.
When I’m drunk on him and close to my breaking point, I tug on his hair and sigh a quiet, desperate more.
He kisses me slow and dirty as he pushes inside, then rests his forehead against mine as we both adjust to the overwhelming, soul-shattering joy of being together like this. Again. After everything.
An impossible dream coming true.
We both moan as Jackson rocks his hips. My nerves are raw and exposed to him, everything he does sends jolts of orgasmic electricity shooting across every part of my body, leaving me breathless. He whispers my name and buries his head in the crook of my neck, kissing the skin there like it was made just for him.
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