Page 71 of The Fallen Man

“Say it,” she said, her eyes were dark and glittering in the shadows.

He hesitated. He didn’t want to say it, but the muscles under his hand were unyielding.

“You don’t belong to me.”

Her legs relaxed and he thrust into her, claiming her anyway. He felt it like a chant in his head with each thrust, mine, mine, mine. Her arms were around him, pulling him into her and sheput her legs around him as well, digging into his ass with her heels. She was silent as he fucked her, the only noise in the room was the ragged sound of their breathing and the creak of the bedframe.

She came with a gasp and he came a moment later, collapsing down onto her.

13

Caitlin

The Morning

Caitlin woke up to the bright light of morning. Jackson’s arms were wrapped around her, spooning to her tightly. She stared at herself in the mirror on the back of the door. Her throat was sore this morning and although she couldn’t see them, she suspected the bruises would be more pronounced.

In the mirror she could see the black shock of Jackson’s hair behind her shoulder. She closed her eyes and saw his face from the night before. Harsh, unforgiving, and cold. She had no trouble believing that he would have killed that man if there hadn’t been witnesses. Was that what Jackson was?

And then he had come inside and fucked her. Not just fucked her—claimed, taken, owned. He’d fucked her like it was his right. He’d said the words, but it hadn’t mattered. It had been in every single thrust and touch. She belonged to him.

Did she?

She didn’t feel owned. She didn’t feel like he kept her on a leash. Jackson had never once crossed her boundary lines. He’d never taken or demanded anything that she wouldn’t give.

Caitlin turned over, wriggling in his arms, and with a sigh he relaxed and let go, but didn’t wake up. She stared into his face. It was nothing like his expression from the night before. In sleep, he was sweet.

Which was the real Jackson?

She kissed him softly, and he opened his eyes with a confused and sleepy smile. She kissed him again, and his smile got wider. His hands sought her body, caressing her. His hand gently pushed her legs apart, and he stroked her.

“Go down on me,” she said. She didn’t make it a question, and he didn’t argue, disappearing beneath the covers.

His tongue circled her clit with barely any pressure, and she moaned his name. His tongue pressed harder, and she found her body throbbing with each pass. His fingers stroked lower, gently tapping just inside her, as his tongue continued to circle. She gasped and clutched at the sheets as she hit a new peak. He pushed harder and went faster, and she began to writhe as she felt the need, the pressing pleasure that was almost torture. She came, clutching at his hair under the covers.

He kissed along her thigh and sat up, flinging off the covers and leaving her exposed.

“My turn,” he said with a cocky smile.

She laughed. That was Jackson. She turned over to grab him a condom from the bedside table and he grabbed her by the hips and pulled her back to him as soon as it was in her hand. He took her from behind, fucking her into another orgasm and they ended up in the same position she’d woken up in. This time he nuzzled her ear, tickling her and making her laugh.

His phone went off and he reached up to grab it from the bedside table.

“Oh, fucknuts,” he said, scrolling through a message.

“Problems?”

He grunted. “Sort of. I have to go.”

He pushed himself out of bed and began to get dressed. She watched Jackson put his clothes back on, realizing how familiar his movements had become. That was what he did every time. He wasn’t her boyfriend. He didn’t bring clothes. He didn’t have a drawer. He didn’t even keep a toothbrush here.

If she belonged to him, then it was an unequal ownership—Jackson did not belong to her.

He finished dressing and leaned down to kiss her. Then he lifted the covers to look at her naked body.

“Killing me,” he said, shaking his head, and let the duvet fall down again, and she laughed. “Call me when you’re free,” he said, kissing her again.

“OK,” she agreed. It was their standard exchange. Jackson texted sometimes, but mostly she was the one that sent for him. He jogged down the stairs and was out the door before she could decide if that was fair or not.