Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 85267 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 426(@200wpm)___ 341(@250wpm)___ 284(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85267 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 426(@200wpm)___ 341(@250wpm)___ 284(@300wpm)
Jackson stiffens as the salty tear meets his lips.
I hear his inhalation—feel it against my back when his body stiffens. “Charlotte?”
Oh god.
“Jackson?”
His pause is painfully long. “Are you awake?”
I pause, too. “Yes.”
I swear I can hear the second hand on a clock somewhere in this house, loudly counting the seconds away. Tick. Tock.
Tick.
Tock.
“Charlotte?”
“Yes?”
I can feel his heart pounding in his chest, the beats pressing into my back.
“Nothing.”
He isn’t going to say it, and he isn’t going to ask if I heard his private confession. But I heard him, and I loved it, and I don’t want him to pretend he didn’t just say the words no guy has said to me before, because it was beautiful.
“Jackson?”
“What.” He sounds miserable. Pouty, almost.
“I heard you.”
“Heard me what?”
I roll my eyes in the dark; silly boy, playing dumb. “I heard you tell me…” I inhale. “I heard what you said.”
“Oh.” Nothing more, nothing less.
It’s fine; I understand. I understand he has no idea how to express himself. Hasn’t had to.
Extricating myself from his hold, I shift to my back. Then roll to my side so I’m facing him in the dark. I can’t see his face, but I don’t have to. I know what I’d see there if the lights were on: devastation that he confessed what’s in his heart because he’s not confident I feel the same way.
“Jackson,” I whisper in the dark. “Jackson.” I say it again, my voice…full of pain and longing. I’m choked up, not having spoken in so many hours, the words stuck in my throat. “I love you.”
My fingertips feel for his face, and I smooth them down his cheeks. He grabs them with his hands, kissing the tips before they can continue their course down.
“I love you,” I whisper again.
I’ve never said it to anyone but my parents and my friends, but I find that I mean it, and he so needs to hear the words.
“Say it one more time.” He’s whispering back.
One more tyme.
That I can do. I shiver.
“I love you.” I cup his face with my palm, his hand still wrapped around my wrist. He kisses the heel of my hand as it moves past his mouth. “You’re beautiful,” I tell him. “And smart.” My hand sneaks to the back of his head, and I bury my fingers in his hair. “And sexy.”
“I am sexy,” he admits for the first time, a bit bashfully. “Broken nose and all.”
“Especially your broken nose.” I lean in, feel for it in the dark, and plant a kiss there. Then another. Then I plant one in the corner of his gorgeous, pouty mouth—my favorite spot. I can’t see it, but I can visualize it: full bottom lip, a bit petulant. Cupid’s bow on his upper, both the ends tipped up into a natural smirk, kind of like the joker. Or the Grinch.
It’s a sassy mouth, ready for sarcasm and banter, not always pleasant, I’m sure. Jackson has never directed any curse words in my direction, but I can’t imagine he’s always this sweet and pleasant. Or nice.
In fact, I have a feeling he’s a real asshole with most people.
A giant douchebag because his guard is always up.
Everything about him turns me on. Everything.
I kiss his mouth, and he accepts it, meeting my tongue.
Suddenly, it’s different. Better. We care about each other—and that makes all the difference. His touch makes me tingle in a way it didn’t just hours ago.
He loves me.
It’s intoxicating knowledge to have. Makes me bask, knowing I can touch him freely, knowing nothing is off limits now that we’ve established how we feel.
Nothing is off limits.
Including S-E-X?
Guess we’ll find out…
I kiss his majestic nose again. Again. Loving every second of it, cherishing this moment, hoping to remember it forever, no matter what ends up happening with us. We may not have a happily ever after—only time will tell—but we’re happy now, and I want to touch his soul—and his body.
He smells delicious. His incredible body is pressed against my front, breasts smashed against his broad chest. There’s hair there; Jackson isn’t the kind of guy who grooms or manscapes—he is who he is and doesn’t make a fuss about it. He’s masculine and wonderfully male, which is the same thing, I get it, but whatever. He’s sexy and I love it.
The hair on his chest tickles my boobs, but in the best way, and I wiggle a bit so I’m rubbing over him. Lean in and find the pulse in his neck, sucking the skin below his ear.
He shivers. Grips my hips and tugs.
Runs his hand over my hip, down to my ass, pressing into my skin along the way. Grips my butt in his big palm. Squeezes. Moans.
Mmm.
Our mouths somehow discover their way together in the dark, locking. Opening, two simultaneous moans filling the space between us, creating tension that wasn’t there before.