Page 86 of Just Don't Call Me Yours

My heart thuds in my chest as I run my fingers over the tight bulge of his jeans.

I want to taste him.

I want him to lose control.

I want to watch him come undone as he grips the back of my head and thrusts into my mouth.

“Margot,” he rasps.

Reaching for the button of his jeans, I ask, “Hmm?” as I unclasp and unzip. Moving the denim out of the way, I gently kiss him through his briefs, and his length twitches in response. His reaction brings a twinge of a smile to my lips, and I work my way from his base to the tip, leaving teasing kisses every step of the way.

Peeking up at him, I see his head has fallen forward, those gray-blue eyes meeting mine. “Fuck, that feels good,” he mutters. “But . . .”

“But?” I ask, letting my tongue tease him over his briefs.

He groans before squeezing his eyes shut. “No,” he says with a shake of his head.

I sit back on my heels. “No?”

Jackson stares at the ceiling like he’s trying to gather his self-control. With another shake of his head, he refastens his pants. “I can’t.”

I nearly stumble trying to get to my feet too fast. “Seriously?”

He runs a frustrated hand over his face. “You don’t want this, Margot. You haven’t talked to me in days, you didn’t want to come to the party tonight, and you won’t even give me your fucking phone number.” That last one comes out with an exasperated outstretched arm. “And now . . .” He stares at me with wide eyes before shaking his head in disbelief. “Now you want to—” Pushing off from the desk, he rubs both hands over his face as he steps away from me. “Jesus Christ.”

I march after him. “What does it matter? You’re leaving!”

Those storm-like eyes settle on me, and I shrink under the intensity of his stare. His voice is a deathly whisper when he says, “What does it matter?” Turning to face me head-on, he takes a step toward me. “It matters because I don’t want this for us.” He pins me with his stare. “It matters because I care.” Grabbing my face in his hands, his eyes search mine as he says, “It matters because even though you have no problem ending this—even though I know you’re not mine . . .” His voice trails, his gaze dipping to my mouth before he meets my wide-eyed stare again. With more conviction, he starts over. “Even though I know you’re not mine, I’ve somehow become yours.” Brushing his thumb over my cheek, he shakes his head. “I don’t know how it happened, and I might not like it, but I am completely and totally yours, Margot.” My lips part as I stare up at him, and he tucks a loose strand of hair behind my ear before he goes on to say, “And I can’t handle the possibility of you waking up tomorrow morning thinking I took advantage of you.” He shakes his head, his eyes never leaving mine. “I won’t.”

My mouth opens, but I can’t find any words.

He’s waiting for me to say something. I want to say something, but my brain is sluggish, and I feel a little like this might be a dream.

A twinge of a frown crosses his lips, the line between his brows deepening. Opening his mouth, he looks like he’s about to say something, but then he changes his mind. Taking a step away from me, he dips his chin. “Goodnight, Margot.”

With that, he turns and walks toward the door, and the sight makes it harder to breathe. I try to stay still, but I take an unsure step forward nonetheless. Tears sting my eyes as the panic inside me spikes with every step he takes.

54

jackson

Well, there it is. I laid all my cards on the table, and she had nothing to say about it. Not a damn word. My hand is on the door handle when I hear her say my name. Letting out a breath, I pause to look back at her.

“I’m scared,” she says quietly like it’s her biggest secret.

My hand lets go of the door, and I turn to face her. “Of what?”

“Um,” she says to buy time as she wrings her hands in front of her. Staring down at her fingers, she says, “You,” before quickly adding, “And me.” Her eyes jump up to meet mine as she nods to herself. “Mostly me.”

With a furrowed brow, I take a step toward her, relieved that she’s finally said something. “What do you mean?”

Glancing up at me again, she turns on her heels before taking a hard seat on her bed. “I like you.”

She says it like it’s a bad thing, but it’s probably my favorite thing she’s ever said. Tilting my head, I walk to the bed and take a seat next to her, trying to ignore the swollen feeling of hope in my chest. “But?”

Her eyes narrow. “But you’re leaving.” A moment later her eyes widen, and she turns to face me. “And you should leave. I meant it when I said this is an incredible opportunity.” Putting a hand on my arm, she adds, “You’re talented, and you deserve this.”

My mouth quirks at the compliment. “But?” I ask again, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

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