Page 28 of Always You (Guardian Hall #1)

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Alex

The kisses deepened, each more urgent than the last. Long ago, I might have taken these moments with Jazz for granted, but now, each one was precious. I savored every contact, determined never to overlook these seconds we shared.

“Wait!” Jazz broke the connection. As he moved off me, he left me off-balance, and I scrambled to get off the bed.

“Fuck, I didn't mean to push,” I said, my voice laden with guilt at how I was messing up. I respected Jazz's boundaries and would never overstep, and I'd promised myself I would take everything slow and get back to being best friends before I even imagined a next step.

“No, wait,” Jazz responded. He walked over to the bedroom door and clicked the lock. Then, he checked the patio door, ensuring it was also locked, before pulling the drapes shut. As the room grew dark, he flicked on a lamp, filling it with light.

Then, he turned to face me, and in that gentle illumination, he was beautiful. Gone was the boy I'd loved. This was a grown man, and I wanted every inch of him. His hair was tousled, falling onto his forehead, and his shirt outlined the more muscular lines of his body since he'd been eating well and using the basement gym. His beard was bushy and soft; I couldn't imagine him without it now.

“I didn't ask you to go,” he said, his voice soft, yet firm.

I closed the distance between us, drawn by the certainty in his voice. “I know. I just… I don't want to assume, to push for more than you're ready for.”

“I want this,” he assured me, his eyes holding mine with a clear invitation.

Jazz reached out, his hands finding mine, and pulled me toward him. Our bodies met, aligning effortlessly, and he was still hard, and my body reacted. “You're not taking anything,” he said, “please.”

The room's soft lighting enveloped us, causing everything outside to fade away. He kissed me again, and the world vanished. I allowed myself to become lost in the moment as he pulled me back to the bed and laid me down. This was where I belonged.

He settled between my legs, propped himself up on his elbows, cradling my face, and he smiled.

“Do you remember the first time we made love?” he asked.

I couldn't help but smile back, the memory vivid. “After school at my house, we were racing against the clock with my parents due home any minute.”

Jazz chuckled, his hand squeezing mine. “We were so daring back then. I remember sneaking into your room, both of us listening for the sound of a car in the driveway.”

“Your idea, as I recall,” I teased, nudging him with my elbow. “You were always the brave one.”

“It seemed like a good plan at the time,” Jazz admitted. “We barely got through the door before you pulled me in for a kiss.”

The thrill of that afternoon rushed back to me. We had thrown our school bags down anywhere, our teenage nerves on edge, buzzing with excitement and fear. The house was quiet, without a sign of either housekeeper or parents, making every sound we made louder and every touch more intense.

“And then, there was the mad dash to hide when we heard the garage door,” I said, shaking my head in disbelief at how bold we had been.

Jazz laughed, the sound warm and resonant. “I've never fixed my shirt that fast in my life. You shoved me into your closet when you heard your mom say she'd forgotten her purse.”

“We thought we were so busted.”

“It was terrifying. Exhilarating all at the same time,” Jazz said. “After she left again, I remember how you looked at me with this wild grin and knew we had to keep going.”

The risk of getting caught had somehow intensified the whole experience. We were clumsy and inexperienced, but it was everything we wanted.

“Even if we had to hide you in my closet, it was worth every second. That afternoon might have been reckless, but it was also when I knew I was completely in love with you,” I said, my voice soft with the weight of the memory.

His smile slipped a little, but it wasn't denial or shock; it was all seriousness and focus. “Alex…”

“I will always love you, Jazz.”

Jazz smiled, then, and rested between my legs, as hard as me, close, his breath warm against my cheek. “I felt it then,” he murmured before kissing me. “And I still love you now. I never stopped. I just thought I'd never have the chance to?—”

I kissed him. Neither of us had thought we'd have a chance to be together again, but dwelling on the what-ifs and maybes would end up being too much and sour anything good we were trying to create.

He kissed me then, rocking his hips, and the slide of him against me was too much.

“Clothes,” he murmured.

Between us we somehow managed to take our shirts off, and for a moment, we were lost in kisses before something changed.

Was it me who backed away? Was it him? Either way, we stopped, and he stared down at me.

“I have scars,” he whispered.

I leaned up to trace a line across his skin. “You're beautiful,” I reassured him. I reached out, my hand covering his, feeling his memories' rough and smooth textures under my fingers.

“Scars inside as well. In my heart.” He dropped to rest his forehead to mine.

“I haven't seen war, but I'm not a teenager anymore, Jazz. We've both changed.” I needed to lighten the mood. “I have a soft belly,” I admitted with a chuckle. “Nothing like the scars of war, but I'm not?—”

Jazz pressed a finger to my lips, and his gaze was steady. “I haven't done this in forever,” he confessed.

“Neither have I,” I responded, my voice steady despite the rapid beating of my heart.

“We're so much older.”

“I know.” I traced a path to the tie of his sweatpants and loosened it until I could slide inside and cup his erection. He arched into my touch and whimpered. “We'll have to relearn each other, find all the soft bits, mend the broken parts.”

We pressed together, and Jazz’s weight on top of me was intoxicating, his warmth surrounding me, grounding me in the moment. I touched instinctively, trailing down his back, feeling his muscles ripple as he moved above me.

Alex stripped his pants, and our hips aligned naturally, and the slide of our erections against each other sent a sharp jolt of pleasure through me. The friction was exquisite, each shift sparking heat low in my belly. Jazz’s ragged breaths spilled against my neck, mingling with the sound of my own as we found a rhythm, rocking together in perfect sync.

I wrapped my legs around his waist, pulling him impossibly closer, needing more of him and Jazz braced himself on his forearms, his gaze locked onto mine.

“God, I missed you,” he murmured, his voice hoarse, every word a caress. His hips rolled in a steady, deliberate rhythm, each movement sending shocks of pleasure through me.

I arched up to meet him, desperate for more, my hands roaming his sweat-slicked back, memorizing the contours of his body. I moaned into the kiss, the sound swallowed by his hunger.

The pressure between us built, rising with every frantic motion, every desperate grind. I could feel every ridge and vein of his cock against mine, the sensation almost too much to bear. Our pre-come mingled, easing the friction and making every touch smoother and more intense.

Jazz’s movements became erratic, his breathing shallow and uneven. “I’m close,” he panted against my neck, his words a plea and a warning.

“Me too,” I gasped, tightening my legs around him, pulling him into me as if I could fuse us together.

With a low groan, Jazz buried his face in my neck, his hips jerking uncontrollably. I felt the hot spill of his release between us, the heat and wetness adding to the mess of our bodies. The pulse of his cock against mine was my undoing. Pleasure surged through me in overwhelming waves, and I clung to him as my release took me, my cry muffled against his shoulder.

We stayed entwined and panting, the room silent but for our slowing breaths. Jazz’s touch softened, his lips brushing over my neck and jaw. I slid my fingers through his damp hair, savoring the weight of him pressing me into the bed, unwilling to let the moment go.

After a long pause, Jazz lifted his head to look at me. His eyes searched mine, a flicker of something more than satisfaction there. “That was…”

“Yeah,” I whispered, a smile curving my lips as I met his gaze.

In the quiet aftermath, Jazz exhaled a soft, almost awestruck, “Wow.”

“Yeah,” I agreed, feeling a mix of contentment and disbelief at the intensity of it all.

I lay there wrapped in Jazz’s arms, the rush of the orgasm leaving me breathless and tingling. My breathing was still erratic; every exhalation was a sigh. Jazz's hold on me was secure and gentle, a firm presence grounding me as I relaxed.

The warmth of his skin against mine felt like the only real thing in the world at that moment, a reminder that our connection went beyond the physical. As my heart gradually found its rhythm again, and I nestled closer into his embrace, a sense of peace washed over me. It was as if all the noise of life, the challenges, and the uncertainties were muffled, pushed outside the boundaries of our shared space.

I brushed my lips over Jazz’s chest, feeling his breaths rise and fall.

He gently kissed my head, and I closed my eyes, savoring the affectionate touch. Jazz’s fingers traced lazy patterns along my arm, sending shivers across my skin that had nothing to do with cold and everything to do with what we'd done.

We didn’t need words.

Jazz was the other half of me, not just as a lover but deep in my soul, and I wanted to cry that, after all these years, we were together.

We were meant to be.

“It was always you,” I said.

We both chuckled, the sound echoing in the room. A comfortable silence settled over us. It was a perfect, unguarded moment when everything seemed to stand still, and I was so desperately in love with Jazz and needed him so much I could have cried.

We had to clean ourselves off. Would Jazz want to talk? Did he regret any of this?

“I want to do that again,” Jazz joked, his voice still breathless as he smiled and stretched.

I groaned. “I'm not a teenager anymore.” I propped myself up on one elbow to look at him better. “You'll need to give me a minute.”

“A minute?” Jazz raised an eyebrow, his smile turning playful. “Should I take that as a promise for round two?”

“Only if you're up for it,” I teased back, feeling a warmth that had little to do with the physical and everything to do with the man beside me.

“With you? Always.”

Jazz's hand found mine, and his tone grew cautious. “We should probably have the condoms, lube, tests chat, right? Not that you need me to tell you about my tests; I guess you know all about me.” He sounded defensive, and I didn't want him to think I knew things he never wanted me to know.

“Marcus might know because he's the doc here, but your test results aren't public knowledge to all the staff, not even me.”

“Okay.”

“It’s probably a good idea to talk to Marcus anyway, so he knows…we’re… y’know…”

“You’re okay with me telling him?”

“Always.”

He nodded then. “We need to get lube and… “ He stopped, then shimmied off me to one side. “I don't want to hurt you, and you need to know I don't have nightmares every night, but we should…”

“It's okay. We'll talk,” I finished, and at last, he relaxed. “For now, I just want to hold you.” This was where I wanted to be: scars, soft bellies, and all.

“I love you,” he whispered.

“I love you,” I answered.