Totally Folked

by Penny Reid

  His bare leg moved, brushing against mine. I held my breath. When he didn’t move again, I breathed out.

  Listen, I knew Jackson wanted me, liked me, respected me, appreciated me, and was with me. He wasn’t with anyone else. Being jealous of relationships that ended years ago was silly. Logically, I knew this. And yet I was jealous.

  Now that I’d realized my feelings; now that I’d named this raw, desperate wanting, and fear, and protectiveness; and especially since I didn’t know whether he felt similarly, how was I supposed to behave? Did I tell him and hope for the best? Would that be pressuring him? And if he didn’t reciprocate? How did that work?

  Aaaaahhh! Love is stressful and scary. Plato had it right, love is a serious mental disease.

  I turned my head, looking over my shoulder at him, my thundering heart stuttering at the sight of his sleeping face. How many people had loved me?

  Admittedly, foolishly—before this summer, before watching Sienna with Jethro and their kids, before spending time with Charlotte and her kids, and before irrevocably falling for Jackson—I’d thought the adoration and admiration of my fans was love. It wasn’t, and it isn’t. It can’t be love if you’re always on the receiving end and never on the giving, and vice versa. And you can’t love someone you don’t know.

  They didn’t love me.

  My mother did when I was younger for sure. I remembered her cuddling me and kissing me. But as I aged and tried to become my own person, I felt that affection diminish by degrees until it had become what it was now: reminders that I was my own person, that I was on my own.

  My paternal grandparents had loved me, but my father never had.

  Did Harrison ever? Or my high school boyfriend? . . . no. Nor, obviously, had Lina.

  I’d never taken stock of my life this way before, not consciously. I’d never measured myself by how or whether others loved me. It made me feel small, enormously sad, and lonely—all the feelings I’d been running away from in LA. Apparently, I hadn’t left them behind on the West Coast but had simply distracted myself with new scenery instead. Same feelings, different geography.

  You’re a mess, Rae.

  Pressing my lips together, I swallowed several times and blinked the building tears away. I breathed in through my nose and out through my mouth until the wave passed. Swallowing once more with effort, I closed my eyes and slowly, slowly reclined, giving Jackson my back, acutely aware of everyplace our bodies touched. I needed to . . . chill. Just chill. I needed to figure this out.

  So what if no one loved me? So what if I was in love with Jackson? Couldn’t I just decide it didn’t matter? Did being in love with someone really change anything? I didn’t think so. For example, I was fairly certain I loved Charlotte and Sienna—or I was falling for them—and nothing had changed between us because of it. Perhaps I could love Jackson and not say anything. I could pretend—

  No. No more pretending.

  I cursed quietly, working to ignore the sharp ache in my chest.

  “Rae?”

  I stiffened at the sound of Jackson’s sleep-roughened voice. But in the next moment, the way he slid his arm to my stomach, pulling me fully against his chest, and lifting his head to kiss the rise of my shoulder, had me melting. The tower of tension I’d been building within me crumbled, mostly, leaving only the foundation and the first floor. Basically, my anxiety lowered to a simmer instead of a boil. I didn’t need to say anything now. I could figure this out later. This wouldn’t be me pretending. This would be me compartmentalizing and setting aside my feelings until they could be addressed at a more convenient time and location at some point in the very distant future.

  “Rae, are you up?”

  “Yes?” I tried for light and carefree. Instead, the single word sounded like a croak.

  “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.

  “No, no. Jackson. I didn’t want you to stop. I want you. I wanted to—”

  He wasn’t looking at me now, and he exhaled a short, disbelieving breath. Grabbing his other wrist, I tried moving into his space to kiss him, but he lifted his chin.

  “Don’t,” he said, twisting his arms to force my hands off.

  “Jackson,” I pleaded. “Wait. Wait. Just wait.” He still had the condom on. He was still urgently hard. We could still make this happen.

  He didn’t wait. He turned for a drawer and pulled out a pair of boxer briefs. “I’m not angry, Rae. I promise. I just need to know that if you’re not into it—”

  I snatched his boxers, holding them hostage behind my back. “I am. I am so very into it. And I’d love nothing more than for us to get back to it.”

  “Then why don’t I believe you?” Finally, Jackson gave me his eyes, and I could see that he wasn’t angry. He was hurt. “Why wouldn’t you look at me? What did I do wrong?”

  Ugh. I tried swallowing. I couldn’t. “Jackson—” Oh no.

  I was going to tell him. I was going to say it.

  Don’t! Don’t say it. No one loves you. He won’t either. He won’t—

  He lifted his hands like he was going to touch my arms but then drew back at the last minute, instead wiping a palm over his face. “I need some air. Will you give me back my boxers, ple—”

  “I’m in love with you!”

  AAAAHHHH!!! STOP!

  But I couldn’t stop. Now that the words were out there and I was naked, bared to him, my feelings wanted to grab the baseball bat and knock down the wasp’s nest. “I’m in love with you, and it’s okay if you don’t feel the same, but I’m terrified that you don’t, but it’s okay if you don’t because that would seem to fit within the scope of feelings people have for me, so again, it’s totally fine . . . if you don’t.”

  I shut my eyes as soon as my clumsy confession lost steam. Just barely, barely resisting the urge to go jump in the lake and swim away from whatever the repercussions of those words would be.

  He breathed out again, another short sound of disbelief, but the sound wasn’t as sharp. I waited. And I waited. And I felt his gaze on me. And he said nothing.

  Tears built behind my closed eyes and closed my throat. I felt my chin wobble, but I nodded. Okay. “Okay.” I supposed that was that. No point in holding his underwear hostage anymore, so—

  His hands grabbed my face and his mouth crashed down on mine, and we were kissing before I realized we were kissing. He backed me up the single step to the bed, his marauding mouth moving like a starved man, teeth and tongue and lips overwhelming my senses. His hands were now everywhere, like he didn’t know where to touch first. Like he wanted to hold all of me at once.

  I dropped his briefs and gripped his upper arms to keep my balance. Still connected, still kissing each other with absolutely frantic abandon, Jackson laid me back on the bed and followed me down, kneeing my legs apart. His body came over mine, and still we kissed. He reached between us, fingering my slick opening, sliding two inside with absolutely no resistance, his thumb circling me and stoking the frenzied fire higher. I moaned. I whimpered. And still we kissed.

  I turned my face to breathe, but he allowed only two gasping breaths before he claimed me again, removing his hand, positioning himself, and sliding right in with one forceful thrust.

  My head pressed back against the cushions at the sudden invasion, my pelvis tilting instinctively to receive him as a sense of glorious fullness coiled and uncoiled the pooling warmth in my lower stomach.

  Then and only then did he lift his mouth, muttering a curse, taking the Lord’s name in vain, and pressing our foreheads together as he moved with the grace of someone who was exceptionally skilled—or perhaps possessed innate talent—at making a woman lose her mind.

  He didn’t pound or piston into me, but stroked in this indescribable way, his pelvis reminding me of an ocean wave with each return and retreat. I listened to us, the quiet, gentle sounds we made as we joined, our kisses, his breath, my sighs.

  “You feel so perfect,” he whispered, his eyes closed, his mouth moved to my neck to suckle and sip. “I want to stay inside you forever.”

  “Please do,” I gasped, trying to mimic his expert movements, but I wasn’t as good at this. My attempts felt inelegant and grasping compared to the artistry with which he used his body. I wasn’t going to last. This felt—this felt—

  “Jackson!” My hands slid along the hard planes of his back, and I tried to stop my nails from digging into his skin, but I needed to grab something, or bite something. I felt stretched and full to bursting everywhere, like I might tear starting at my chest, and the sensations felt so painfully good, both bliss and agony.

  My back arched, all the muscles in my body flexing at the same time, and my mouth opened on a soun
dless scream as white bursts of light blinded my vision.

  Jackson shifted positions. I felt him rise up to his knees and lift my hips, widening my thighs that wanted to clamp together, and that’s when he pounded. That’s when he pistoned, hitting just the right spot over and over and over, and that’s when my screams were no longer silent.

  Grabbing fistfuls of the bedcover, I tumbled into complete and utter mindlessness, where I was nothing but sensation and feeling, and my body and all of it hurt so fucking good. This was a place I’d never visited, didn’t know existed, and I knew it was no accident I’d found it with Jackson.

  “I love you,” I heard myself say. I couldn’t keep it inside me.

  Jackson came as soon as the words left my mouth, and I knew he came because his careful, meticulous movements meant to maximize my enjoyment became something altogether not meticulous or careful, but greedy and graceless. And yet somehow more than perfect, and so damn sexy.

  He seemed to spiral down from his high all at once, returning to my body with hungry, biting kisses for my stomach and breasts, shoulders and arms. He nuzzled my neck, giving me his weight and pressing his hips forward. He was still inside me, and a growly, grumbling sound reverberated from his chest.

  “We’re not leaving this cabin today,” he said, sucking my earlobe into his mouth, sending wonderful shivers racing to my toes. How my nerve endings still functioned after the intensity of those orgasms, I had no idea.

  “We’re not?” I hadn’t yet caught my breath, I felt like I’d run a million miles.

  “No. Not until you believe and accept how much I love you.”

  My body stiffened, and I pulled my head to the side, staring at him, shocked. “You love me?” My voice cracked on the question, betraying the enormity of my current feelings on the subject.

  His eyes softened as they held mine. “Rae, that you even have to ask means we’ll be here for a while.”

  This was the first time someone had touched me and it felt important. The way he looked at me, the way his eyes traced my nose to my lips. How he smiled when I smiled and frowned when I frowned. It all felt important. Like I should be taking notes for a later test, or filming it all for later review. I needed to keep it, hold it close, far from everyone else. I needed to keep it safe and protected. But I also wanted to take an ad out in Variety and scream about it from the tallest building, I love this man, he is important to me!