Page 94 of Loved By You

Holy shit, where did this Jack come from?

He reaches round, cupping my breast, tweaking my nipple and I go off. That familiar wave of pleasure crashes through me, but more intense than ever before. My vison blurs, my toes curl and it's more than I have ever experienced.

“Jack… Oh, fuck I’m…” My body shudders and firm hands grip my waist, keeping me from collapsing into the water as my orgasm surges through me. His firm chest presses against me, his mouth latching onto that sensitive spot on my neck as he finds his own release.

“Hearing you scream my name as you come is the sexiest sound,” he purrs in my ear.

“What… the hell was that?” I pant.

“That sweetheart was me just letting the neighbors know who you belong to.”

After our bathroom antics, we made our way back downstairs to cook; I say cook. I sat on the kitchen island drinking more champagne as Jack worked his way round the kitchen like a five-star Michelin chef, chopping vegetables like a pro, and then tossing them in the wok with such ease.

Seriously, is there anything this man can't do?

I wasn't expecting our little break away, so I didn't come prepared for the trip. I’m dressed in yoga pants and an oversized jumper. At the beginning of our relationship, I’d have been embarrassed to be seen like this, but I feel so relaxed around Jack I know he wouldn’t care if I was sitting here wearing a trash bag.

An idea pops into my head. “Do you have Scrabble here?”

“I think so. You in the mood to get that sexy ass beat at a game?” he says, his tone low as he settles in between my legs, slowly grazing his hands up my thighs.

“No, I was thinking I would bring down the Scrabble champ.”

He laughs. “I don’t think so, sweetheart, but I’m going to enjoy watching you try, but yeah, I’m sure there’s a board up in one of the boxes upstairs. I’ll go look after dinner,” he says, walking over to the stove to stir dinner, which smells incredible.

I jump down from the kitchen island. “It’s okay. I’ll go look.”

“It’s upstairs down the hall, third door on the left.” I give him a little nod before I make my way upstairs. Photos adorn the walls up the staircase of Jack over the years as a little kid, playing in little league, high school football right till he enlisted.

He was a cute kid.

I stop and smile at a photo of Noah with Jack. The day they passed out of basic training. I remember this day so well. I was the proudest sister and friend, but memories of how my heart ached to be Jack's ,come flooding back.

I kiss the pads of my fingers and press it to the photo of Noah. I haven’t spoken to my brother in so long. I move on up the stairs and make my way down the long hallway. This house is stunning. I can imagine my girls growing up somewhere like this, filling the rooms with their laughter and music and for the first time in a long time, that dream feels like it's within touching distance.

I open the door to the room and I’m met with a sea of boxes, all with Jack's name on suggesting this must have been his room once.

I turn to start opening boxes, most filled with clothes, sporting equipment, and board games, but no Scrabble.

I move to a box that’s in the open closet. I reach in and pull out Jack's Marine Corps uniform. My thumb grazes over the patch where his surname is stitched.

I set it down on the floor next to me and look back inside to find a metal box, a little bigger than a shoe box. My curiosity gets the better of me and I open it.

Inside, I find his dog tags. I pick them up and hold them in my hand. Staring at his name and number engraved on the metal. I clutch them and bring them to my chest. Closing my eyes. Thanking my lucky stars that he is one of the lucky ones that came home.

A stack of photographs catches my eye. I pull them out, laughing at the photos of him, Noah, Brad, Harry, and Scotty. Various countries they visited and deployments they did. I only met Scotty once at Noah and Jack’s passing out parade from basic training, but he was the type of guy who left a lasting impression.

I wipe a tear that's rolled down my cheek, continuing to flick through Jack's memories and I feel like I have got to know the side of him I didn't get to see when I was with Alex. I stop my flicking when my eyes land on a photo of me. I must be about eighteen or nineteen and I’m wearing a USMC t-shirt, one that, if my memory serves me, was Jack’s. The one he gave me when my shirt got wet when we spent a bonfire on the beach.

The next photo is of me and Jack. His arm is draped over my shoulders as I laugh into the camera, eyes closed and happy. But it's the look on his face that stops me. He's staring at me with so much affection that I don't know how I ever missed it. Thesoftness etched into his easy smile, the glisten of something in his eyes. The way he looked at me like I was his everything, just like he looks at me now.

I put the photos back into the box and find a stack of letters all addressed to Jack and every one written by me.

He kept them.

So many emotions run through my head. I flick through the letters—too many to count—when I come across one that’s not marked with a stamp and is unopened. My heart stops, a lump forming in my throat when I read handwriting that’s not mine.

My last letter, for Maria Jones

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