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Chapter Forty-Two

Alex

There have been two times in my life that I knew I well and truly fucked up.

The first was when Vance took out my fucking knee, and the second was about ten minutes ago. When Jordan flipped the switch.

I should have known that he’d fuck me until my brain melted, which is exactly what happened the minute he told me I was doing so good.

My heart’s still racing, even though he’s fast asleep. It won’t stop beating like a freight train as I stare at him, moonlight pouring in from the window and flooding over his perfect body. There’s no sound but that of his steady breathing and my racing heartbeat.

This is going to hurt when it ends. Because it will end.

It has to. I have to go home, eventually.

Back to PA. Back to the Rioters. Back to my life, whatever that is.

Whatever it was, I don’t remember. My life was full of so much darkness before I found my way back here.

With him. But I’m not Jordan’s end game, even if I wish I was.

What we did is wrong. So fucking wrong. But nothing has ever felt so fucking right. No one has ever felt so fucking right. Part of me wants to get up and leave this bed, if only to soften the blow of what I know is coming.

The morning after.

The fall.

But I don’t want to leave. I want to stay here forever.

I push back the tears that want to escape, knowing they’ll do no good.

Only you.

I’m not sure he understands the depth of those words, their truth lost in the haze of sex.

But he’s always been the only man I’ve ever truly wanted.

And now…

I get up, careful not to wake him. It’s not late by any means, but he has to get up early, and I need to do something to ease my mind of the racing thoughts.

Thoughts I don’t want to poison what was by far the hottest fuck of my life.

I pull on my shorts, not bothering with underwear. I’ll shower in the morning.

The living room light is still bright, and I stare up at the chandelier’s ornate vines and shards of glass. It really is stunning amidst all the dark wood paneling and the backdrop of the red cabinets.

I pad over to the kitchen and pull out a piece of cold pizza from the box left on the counter before I put the box in the fridge.

I clean up our plates, busying myself with the motions.

I need to stay moving, even though I’m fucking exhausted.

If I stop, I’ll feel the pain, and for the first time in my life, I don’t want to feel it.

A grunt pulls me from my thoughts just as I’m finishing up wiping the counter.

“Hey,” Jordan mumbles sleepily. “You okay?” He rubs his eyes, his body shifting closer to mine.

“Mhmm,” I say. “Go back to sleep.”

He stares at me for a moment and I think he’s going to do as I say. Turn around and leave.

I want him to, but I also don’t want him to.

Jordan is like that. He makes me feel too much. But it’s also not enough. I need more.

He takes two steps forward, and I realize he’s still naked. I fight the urge to stare at him, but I lose.

“Come on,” he says, reaching one hand out and settling it on my hip to tug me closer to him.

If I told him no, he wouldn’t fight me. He wouldn’t ask questions. He’d just say okay and let me be.

I glance at him, then at his bedroom, and I realize that apart from Vegas and my meltdown a few weeks ago, I haven’t shared a bed with anyone in years .

I’d grown used to being alone. To being left alone. Discarded after I gave people what they wanted from me.

What I should do is make a clean break. I can’t get attached if I put up the wall. If I distance myself.

Problem is I don’t want to be alone. I don’t want to distance myself like I know I should.

I look back at him, feeling more exposed than I did when I was naked and bent over in his bed.

He must sense my fucked up feelings, because a second later his hand is on my cheek.

“Hey.”

I blink, licking my lips as he tilts my face up. His thumb brushes over the column of my throat gently.

It’s strange, knowing not that long ago, those very same hands were harsh and rough and hot as hell, and now they are soft and warm and feather light.

He holds my gaze steadily, his dark eyes full of something I can’t quite comprehend, but that makes my blood rush all the same.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he says, bringing his lips to mine.

My body crumbles, and I fall into him without thinking.

He slides his tongue into my mouth, his hand sliding over my ass, but this time he squeezes it lightly.

When he breaks away, his lips graze mine, and he leans his forehead against mine.

“You don’t need to run,” he whispers .

And maybe it’s the weird post-sex brain chemicals or maybe it’s the warmth of his palm on my ass, or maybe it’s just that I’m so fucking tired of waiting for things to blow up in my face, but I can’t help it when the words fall out of my mouth.

“I don’t know how to stop running away.” I feel the tears building up again, and the last thing I want to do is cry and ruin everything with my stupid fucking traumas.

“Simple,” he says. “You catch your breath.”

His voice is strangely firm yet gentle. It’s fascinating how this man can be so many things at once.

“I don’t know how.”

I look up at him, his gaze steady, strong.

“You’re doing a good job so far.” He smirks. “You’re still here.”

I know he means I am still here in Ashbourne. Still working on my recovery. I’m still here, with him, in this house. But I can’t help but feel the weight of his words because I realize he’s right.

I am still here.

Despite being out of commission for the season.

Despite my issues with my family.

Despite surviving Vance.

Despite the pain and my own damn bullshit…

I’m still here.

I hang my head, smiling .

“I guess you’re right,” I say as he catches my smile with one of his own.

“Damn right I am. Now come on.”

His hand drops to mine, and he grabs it, twisting his fingers between mine. I breathe a sigh of relief. Jordan is holding my hand, and it feels really fucking good.

It’s warm and soft and strong.

So I let him pull me through the kitchen back into the bedroom. When we get to his bed, he stops, places his hands on my hips and pushes my shorts down.

“This okay?” he asks, bringing his lips close to mine.

I nod, my gaze drifting to his perfect mouth.

“More than okay,” I whisper as I kiss him, pulling him into me. I lean back, finding the bed with ease, and he follows me wordlessly.

He presses himself on top of me, his kiss slow and torturous.

He kisses my mouth, the corner of my mouth, my jaw, my neck, my collarbone.

Everywhere his mouth can reach. I close my eyes, relishing in the sweet warmth of his lips on my skin.

His hands find my hips as he settles on top of me and his hardness slides against my own. Fuck, how does he do it?

How does he manage to get me so hard with just a touch or a kiss?

His hands travel over my body, over my muscles almost reverently .

“Can I fuck you again?” he asks, his voice a whisper against my mouth.

I’m taken aback by his request if only because no one’s ever asked me before. No one’s ever stayed long enough to ask that.

I nod, feeling my throat tighten. Words are suddenly very difficult. He kisses me, grinding his cock against me.

“I need to hear you say it,” he whispers.

“Yes.” My voice is barely audible and it shakes like hell. “You can fuck me whenever you want, Jordan. You don’t have to ask.” And then I say the thing I should not fucking say. “I’m yours.”

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fucking hell, Alex!

He smirks, the sight downright sexy as all hell as he licks his lips.

“Damn straight you are. Which is why I’m going to fuck you so good you won’t be able to walk into therapy tomorrow.”

I laugh. “Seems counter-productive, don’t you think?” I tease.

He kisses me with a laugh. “Who’s the one with the degree?” he snarks.

“Right, I forgot. You’re the boss.”I feel his dick pressed against mine, hard and wet, but he makes no move to grind on me or anything. Instead, he runs his fingers along my leg, up my thigh in that rhythmic fashion that feels so soothing and relaxing, and my body softens beneath him.

“You like that, don’t you?” His voice is deep and serene. I nod. “You like when I touch you like this?” He traces his fingers up my hip, over my abs.

I suck in a breath. “Yes.”

My eyes fall shut as he continues to run his fingers over every dip and crevice, every inch of my body. It feels so good.

“You know what I like?” he asks, his voice warm and smooth.

“Hmm?”

“I like how responsive you are to me.”

My brain is hazy and I feel too relaxed, too comfortable. The words slip out without warning like a prayer. My eyes fall shut as I revel in the smoothness of his fingertips on my skin.

“Only you.”

He stops for a minute and I tense, thinking I’ve said the wrong thing. Clearly, I have no filter around this man.

The sound of the drawer alerts me, followed by the sound of a cap popping off. I open my eyes and I know I’m never going to be able to erase the sight of him like this from my brain.

The shadows and moonlight illuminating his large form. His dark hair all messy, his cock in his hand .

He catches me staring and smiles.

“Like what you see, Alex?”

“Uh huh.”

I watch him pour the lube into his hand, running his fingers together to warm it before he leans down and captures my lips with his.

“If it’s too much, tell me.”

I stare up at him, unable to speak. It is too much.

It’s so fucking much. But I want it. I want everything Jordan Mackenzie is willing to give me.

A moment later, I feel his wet, warm finger pressing into me and my back arches, my eyes falling shut as the wave of pleasure hits. My cock throbs from the contact.

“Does that feel good?” he asks.

I nod, trying to find my words.

“So good,” I say breathlessly.