The Reality of Everything (Flight & Glory)

by Rebecca Yarros

  “You have the restraint of a saint.” I rolled my eyes, knowing he could have taken me four different ways last night and I would have loved every minute of it.

  A millisecond later, I was yanked against Jackson from chest to thigh, his hands like soft vises on my hips and his very large, very hard erection straining between us.

  “Does that feel saintly?” he asked at my ear before running his tongue along the shell. “Because the things I want to do to you definitely put me in the sinner column.”

  “Unh.” I couldn’t even make an intelligent sound as he kissed his way down my neck. I was all about the sinner column.

  “How the hell do you smell so good?” he muttered. “God, I love waking up to you in my bed. We need to make this a regular thing.”

  “I have my own house, you know.” My thighs shifted against his as he found a spot that turned me on like a freaking light switch.

  “Fine.” He nipped at the base of my throat, and I slid my thigh over his. “We’ll sleep here when Fin’s home and at your place when she’s not. See how good I am at compromise?”

  “Uh-huh. Is she used to seeing women in your bed?”

  He flipped me to my back and rose over me with a look of pure disgust. “Hell no, she’s not. She’s never seen me in bed with a woman who wasn’t her mother, and it’s been so long since that happened, I doubt she even remembers, since she was probably about eighteen months old. I don’t bring women home, Morgan. Not here. Not ever. This is where I raise Fin.”

  “But I’m here, and I qualify as a woman.”

  He cocked an eyebrow. “Yeah, which should tell you that this means something to me. You mean something to me, and it’s not casual.”

  My breath caught.

  “I thought we were in an exclusive non-relationship.” I raised my hand to his cheek and lightly stroked my palm over his raspy, unshaved skin. Sweet heavens, I was going to drown in his eyes if he kept looking at me like that.

  “You can call it whatever you want, Kitty. Labels don’t matter to me unless they matter to you. I know what we are, and like I said—it’s not casual.” He settled between my thighs, and I hooked my ankle around his waist. His gaze dropped to my lips as his breath hitched. “I’m all in.”

  That sweet ache in my heart devoured my common sense, and I pressed my lips together to keep the ill-advised words behind my teeth where they belonged.

  “What’s wrong?” Concern filled his eyes.

  I shook my head and pressed harder.

  “Morgan. You gotta talk to me.” He lifted his thumb to my chin and gently pressed down so my lips parted, then touched the barest of kisses to my mouth.

  “I think I’m falling for you,” I admitted in a rush, then prayed that the words had slurred or come out in French, Japanese, Russian, or any other language he didn’t speak.

  He smiled, and it blew the previous, sexy, sleepy one right out of the freaking water. I was in trouble. So, so, so much trouble.

  “Well, say something!”

  The look he gave me was so tender, it made my eyes burn. “I don’t need to think. I already know. I’m just glad you’re catching up, because I am so far gone for you that I can’t even see the shore anymore.”

  Oh. I pounced, claiming his mouth in a kiss as I grabbed onto whatever parts of him I could reach. The nape of his neck and the smooth, firm skin of his back became my only anchors as he parted my lips with his tongue and sank inside.

  He kissed me so long and so hard that by the time he lifted his head, we were both panting, watching each other with lust-glazed eyes before diving in for round two. I was never going to get enough of this man. My need for him only grew each time he kissed me.

  My hips arched against his, and the hard length of him stroked over the lace of my thong with enough force to push the fabric against my clit. “Jackson,” I moaned as the sensation rocketed through my body, prickling my skin.

  His hand clenched my hip to hold me still as he repeated the motion.

  We both groaned.

  Two pieces of cloth separated our skin, and it was too much. I wanted him naked so I could feel every inch of him against me. I wanted him inside me, hard and deep. The muscles of my core clenched with a need so intense that I whimpered. This wasn’t just four years of pent-up sexual need talking—this was all because of Jackson. Just Jackson.

  His shirt had ridden to my waist, and he tugged it up and over my breasts before lowering his head to one peak and teasing that nipple until it pebbled, and then the other, all while thrusting against me in a painfully, deliciously slow rhythm that had my nails digging little half-moons into his skin.

  He moved like we had all day—like we had an eternity in this bedroom. His touches were unhurried and deliberate as he kissed every exposed inch of my skin. The man drove me insane. Every sensation pounded through my veins before it gathered low in my belly where it built a maddening tension.

  “Jackson.” I grabbed his hand and slid it down my stomach, between our bodies, and pressed it against my center.

  He rose slightly, just enough to look in my eyes with a question.

  “Please,” I reiterated.

  Without looking away, he pushed the lace aside and swept his fingers from my opening to my clit.

  I gasped but held his gaze.

  “Fuck, Morgan. You’re so wet for me.” His jaw clenched and his brow furrowed with the effort of restraint.

  If I hadn’t been wet before, the combination of those words and his sandpaper-rough voice would have gotten me there.

  He repeated the stroke and swirled his fingers around my clit, bringing every nerve to life without giving me the very thing I needed.

  I arched my neck, and my eyes slid shut at the exquisite pleasure his hands gave.

  “Stay with me,” he demanded.

  My eyes flew open, and I saw it, a tiny flicker of apprehension in his depths. What would make him worry even the slightest bit when his hands were on me? Stay with me.

  That ache in my heart sharpened with realization, and I gripped the back of his neck. “I’m right here, Jackson.” I knew exactly who I was with.

  He brushed his lips over mine, then plunged two fingers inside me, keeping his eyes locked on mine. The pleasure stole my very breath.

  I cried out as he plunged again and rubbed his fingers against the front of my walls before withdrawing only to repeat again and again. Every stroke pitched me higher. The pleasure sharpened, and the tension within me wound tighter.

  “More,” I demanded, riding his hand with greedy rocks of my hips.

  “You feel so damned good.” He flicked over my clit with his thumb, and I moaned. It was too much and yet not enough. “Wet and slick and so fucking perfect.”

  “You’re killing me.” His words, his touch, the very way he looked at me had me poised on a razor’s edge.

  “Then you know exactly how I feel.” He thrust again. “Do you know how good we’re going to be together? How hard it is to touch you like this and not replace my fingers with my cock?”

  “Who’s stopping you?” I challenged, rising to kiss him.

  He groaned, consuming me with his kiss as his fingers stroked me to the edge of reason.

  “Jackson.” My fingers tightened at his neck as that tension rose to consume me.

  “That’s it, Kitty. Right there.” His thumb worked my clit, and as my thighs locked, he pressed on that bundle of nerves and sent me flying.

  I screamed his name as the orgasm washed over me in a tsunami of pure bliss only to ride out the next wave and the next, until my body fell limp against the sheets and my breaths came in heaving gasps. Did it last minutes? Hours? Who cared?

  “I could watch you do that all day,” he said against my lips as his fingers withdrew.

  “I want you.” I gripped his ass and brought our hips flush so
he wouldn’t mistake my meaning.

  “Kitty,” he groaned, dropping his mouth to my neck.

  “Now.” Now, before I could overthink my choice or give in to the guilt that was sure to follow.

  He lifted his head and had the nerve to smirk, but there was a fine tremble in his arms. “Demanding little thing, aren’t you?”

  “Yes,” I replied with a grin.

  He laughed, and it was the best sound I’d ever heard. “And you’re sure about this?”

  “Sure enough to tell you to get a condom.” I’d never wanted anyone like I wanted him. Only him. Not even—don’t go there.

  His eyes darkened.

  Footsteps sounded in a steady run, sounding like they were heading up—

  “She’s coming up the stairs,” Jackson finished my thought. “Shit!” He yanked his shirt down to cover my breasts and whipped the comforter over us.

  I hadn’t even noticed we’d thrown it off.

  The door burst open, and Finley appeared. “Hi, Daddy!”

  Kill me now. Right now, Lord. Mortification heated my already flushed cheeks. I was literally under her father.

  “Hey, baby. What are you doing home?” He propped himself up on his elbows and grinned.

  How the hell did he sound so calm? Why wasn’t he panicked and scrambling? Why was he holding me prisoner so I couldn’t panic and scramble?

  “Mommy brought me! She has an audition, so I got to come home early!” She bounced with excitement and waved at me. “Hi, Morgan!”

  Strike me dead this very moment. Can this possibly get any worse? “Hey, Fin,” I managed with a shaky smile. I would have waved, but my hands were currently pinned between my body and her father’s, not like I was telling her that.

  Jackson barely disguised his confusion. “An audition, huh? Well, I’m just happy to have you home. You know, Cousteau could probably use some breakfast.”

  “Right! I’m on it! One fishy breakfast coming up!” She turned and ran smack into Claire. “Sorry, Mom!”

  Yep, it’s worse.

  Claire stared at us with an open mouth, a mixture of hurt and shock twisting her features for a heartbeat. Then her eyes raked over us and narrowed in a rage so palpable the hairs on my arm stood up. “What the hell are you doing, Jax?”

  He tilted his head. “What does it look like I’m doing, Claire? Better question, what are you doing in my bedroom?”

  “It looks like you’re confusing the shit out of our daughter, who definitely didn’t need to see this. How could you?” she snapped, ignoring his question.

  Jackson didn’t even huff. “Funny, I could have sworn I locked the front door last night.”

  She snorted. “I used my mother’s key. Trust me, honey, if I’d known you’d be up here getting your dick wet with the next-door neighbor, I would have called first.”

  I cringed.

  Jackson tensed. “And now you’ve pissed me off, so you can get the fuck out, Claire.”

  “Why would you talk to me like that?” She pressed her hand to her heart.

  “You’re lucky Fin is down the hall or I would have said far worse, far louder. Now get out of my bedroom.”

  She blinked, as if just realizing she’d overstepped her bounds. “I need to talk to you about our daughter.”

  “Great, and we can do that downstairs. You’re not welcome on the second floor. Now. Get. Out.” His voice dropped to a dangerous chill that I never wanted to hear used in my direction. Ever.

  She glanced between us and sighed. “Fine. I’ll meet you downstairs. And just so you know, there’s a line of people at the bottom of the stairs waiting to see you.”

  A line? My friends. Were they still my friends? Crap, there went my buzz.

  “Out!” Jackson snapped.

  She fled.

  His eyes were nothing but gentle when he turned them on me. “You okay?”

  “You know that nightmare where you’re naked in the hallway of your high school and you’ve forgotten your homework?”

  “That bad?”

  “Worse. But I’m fine. You go handle your baby mama drama, and I’ll find some clothes.”

  He pressed a kiss to my forehead. “I’m wild about you. You know that, right?”

  “I know.” I stroked my fingers down his back. “Clothes, Jackson.”

  He sighed in sexual frustration. “I really hate her right now.”

  “She’s five,” I teased, knowing full well that he meant Claire.

  “Smart-ass,” he quipped but rolled out of bed. “Wear whatever you want if you don’t feel like wearing yesterday’s clothes,” he told me after he yanked some shorts up over his boxer briefs and tugged a T-shirt over the carved lines I’d had yet to play with.

  We really needed to remedy that soon.

  “Get out of here,” I chastised, still sitting in the middle of his bed.

  He flashed a grin at me and vanished through the doorway.

  I’d barely set my feet on the ground when I heard him bellow, “She’s my girlfriend!”

  Guess we were labeled now, huh?

  I walked into his closet and marveled at the neat, organized rows he kept his clothes in. The man might be laid back in some departments, but apparently he liked his stuff tidy. I selected a soft T-shirt and settled for yesterday’s shorts. I could tie the shirt, but there was no way anything of Jackson’s was going to remotely fit my bottom.

  Once I was appropriately dressed and had popped my head in to see Fin lost in her seashell collection, I headed downstairs and found Jackson trying his darndest to get Claire out the door while my friends pretended not to hear anything from where they sat around his dining room table.

  I wasn’t sure if I should kick them out or laugh at how awkward it all was.

  “I’ll be right in. And don’t be mad at me. They looked like little lost puppies,” Jackson explained from the doorway. “I couldn’t leave them out in the rain.”

  “Uh-huh.” I shook my head at him. “It’s lovely to see you again, Claire.”

  She muttered something before Jackson closed the door, sealing them outside.

  Sam was the only one to approach me as I made two cups of coffee, searched for Jackson’s creamer, only to realize he didn’t have any, and settled for milk, which was not the same.

  “Give them a chance,” she said quietly as I stirred in my sugar.

  My stomach twisted, unwilling to face the can of worms I’d opened yesterday. But I was the one who’d lost my temper, which meant I owed them their say, too.

  “Okay,” I finally answered.

  She let out a breath of relief and walked to the table with me.

  I took the vacant seat at the foot of the table, and Sam slid into the empty one on my right. Paisley sat to my left with Jagger, who had Peyton on his lap. Josh took the head of the table, Ember to his left, next to Sam. Each one of them looked at me with resignation and a touch of fear.

  I was hit with an immediate longing for Grayson, who was the most even-tempered of us all.

  “I’m sorry,” Paisley started, already tearing up. “I’m so sorry for abandoning you when you needed me most. I can make a thousand excuses, but the truth is I should have been the one to call you. I should have been the one to sit with you and comfort you…and, well, I should have done a lot of things. I knew how much you loved him, and I had hoped that you two would have a future. I so wanted that for you. And you’re right. It isn’t fair that you never got that chance, and it isn’t fair that I wasn’t there for you, especially when you’ve always been there for me.”

  The pure misery in her voice hurt my soul. Regardless of the last two years, she was my very best friend. Two years of neglect didn’t negate a lifetime of love and support.

  Jagger reached for her hand and laced their fingers on the tabletop.

 
“I know you had your hands full,” I said softly, warming my hands with my coffee mug. “Jagger’s health was your first concern, as it should have been. No one could expect you to balance a wounded husband, pregnancy, and a grieving best friend.”

  “You could have.” She shook her head. “You should have. And I’m sorry for what I said to Josh that day in the cemetery. I tried to soothe his guilt, and instead I hurt you immeasurably with incredibly thoughtless words. You have my deepest apology, Morgan.”

  I swallowed the lump in my throat, but it wasn’t anxiety. “Thank you.”

  “There are so many things that I need to apologize for, and I hope you’ll give me that chance. I love you. You’re the only sister I have left.” She swatted away a tear.

  “I’m sorry for unleashing my temper on you yesterday.” I turned the cup in a nervous fidget.

  “No,” Ember chided. “It was a long time coming, and we deserved every word of it. I just wish you’d lost your shit on us two years ago. I’m so sorry that I didn’t see how much pain you were in at the funeral. That I didn’t see it at my wedding, or Sam’s.”

  The lump in my throat grew. “That’s not your fault.”

  “I’m mostly sorry that I didn’t tell you that I talked to Will right before he came down to see you.” Her face contorted as she struggled for control. “I should have told you that he said you were perfect. He told me you were funny, and gorgeous, and reminded him who he really was underneath everything else.”

  My chest constricted, and my nose started to burn.

  “I don’t think he took so long to come around because he didn’t want to be with you,” she continued. “It was because he thought you deserved someone who had a whole heart to give. He was trying to protect you. He wanted to be certain that he could love you the way you loved him, and when he left that night, he was hopeful about a future with you.” She smiled, but it was shaky. “I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you that sooner.”

  I tried to straighten my puckered, crumpled face and failed. “Thank you for telling me now.” It was so similar to what he’d said that night. To what he’d said in the video.

  “I’m sorry I’m here and he’s not,” Jagger admitted in a near-whisper.