Page 32 of Captured By Fate

Her eyes meet mine again – filled with tears because she lost the battle. I, however, won the war.

19

KELLEY

Iwake up to sunlight streaming in through the open curtains. Beside me, the bed is noticeably devoid of Jackson. After the night we shared, I’d love to know where he ran off to.

Or maybe I don’t.

At this point, I’m not sure how to feel. He threw me over his shoulder last night, dragged me back to his house, tossed me on the bed, and then…

We made love. It was the most incredible sex I’d ever have. It was so good, in fact, that I’m craving it. I’d do it again in a heartbeat.

What the fuck is wrong with me?

I sit up, pulling the remnants of Jackson’s torn shirt around me as a makeshift cover, wincing as the fabric scrapes against my bare skin. My body aches in all the right places—or at least, all the places that Jackson had touched me. And he touched me everywhere.

Heat radiates from me, a pleasant reminder of the intensity between us. I let out a shaky breath, trying to calm my racing heart as I remember his touches and kisses and whispers against my skin, the way he pinned me down and worshiped every inch of me as if I were the only person in the world.

The way he growled in pleasure when I arched into him, begging for more. The taste of his skin on my tongue, like mint and sin. And of course, there's the lingering scent of him - musk and sweat and aftershave - that clings to me.

There's a soft knock at the door, interrupting my thoughts. "Breakfast is ready," a voice calls out - it's the maid, who must have heard our...activities last night.

My face burns, and I feel embarrassed at being caught like this.

"Okay!" I call back, scrambling to gather my clothes from the floor and throwing them on hastily.

All I have is a huge shirt of his and a pair of shorts, but it’s better than what I’ve been strutting around in. The door opens quietly.

“Jackson requests that you join him at the poolside,” the maid says, without actually stepping foot in the room.

I take hold of the doorknob and swing the door open completely, startling the sour-faced woman. Her eyes widen and she steps back.

“Lead the way,” I say, pleasantly.

As we walk through the hallways and twisted corridors, I can't help but relive last night's events: his rough hands gripping my hips, his warm breath against my ear as he whispered dirty things that made me squirm with need, his teeth scraping along my collarbone...oh god. My cheeks burn with desire as Jackson's face floats behind my eyelids every time I close my eyes.

As the back door creaks open, the scent of freshly brewed coffee and the aroma of sizzling bacon waft into the air. The maid, a demure woman with buttoned-up curiosity, glances at me quickly before averting her eyes and scurrying off without comment.

"Thank you," I murmur, knowing better than to engage in small talk with any member of this household.

Once I'm alone again, I let out a long exhale and head towards the poolside where Jackson is cutting through the water with powerful strokes. He's always been an impressive swimmer - strong arms carving through the crystal-clear water like a knife through butter, his body glistening with sweat under the fierce morning sun.

I watch him from behind as he glides effortlessly from one end of the pool to another before diving deep, causing ripples that dance across his muscular back and form a shimmering path towards me.

"Morning," he says casually, emerging from beneath the surface like a majestic sea creature. His voice is deep and gravelly from sleep deprivation. A bead of water rolls down his chest and disappears between his pectorals, leaving a tiny trail of droplets on his toned abs.

I gulp, my mouth suddenly parched as I watch him swim towards me. "Morning," I manage to croak out, my voice barely audible over the sound of my own heart pounding in my ears.

He looks every bit the dominant alpha male he is as he gets out, towering over me with broad shoulders and a smirk that promises more than mere breakfast on his lips. The water droplets clinging to his skin glitter like diamonds in the sunlight, each one catching my attention before being washed away by the next wave.

As he approaches, his wet body emits a low, contented hum that echoes off the surrounding rocks and trees. A delicious shiver runs down my spine at the memory of creating that same sound from within him last night. The taste of him is still lingering on my tongue - mint and sin, as if we'd shared something sacred instead of just passionate moments stolen in the darkness.

His chest rises and falls rapidly with each breath, his muscles flexing beneath his wet skin like an underwater ballet. He reaches out to me slowly, deliberately, letting his fingertips graze mine before taking my hand and leading me to a sun-warmed lounge chair by the side of the pool.

The coolness of the water is contrasted by the heat of his touch, sending shivers up my spine that are more than just from the morning air. My skin tingles where he's touched me, like tiny electric shocks are zapping through my nerves.

"Sit," he commands softly, his voice rough but somehow velvety at the same time.

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