Page 112 of I Just Want to be Yours

Jackson drops his gaze and rubs a tired hand over his face. I hate seeing him like this—I hate seeinguslike this.

“Of course I meant it.”

His storm-like eyes flick up to meet mine, and liquid heat melts my core. “You meant it?” His voice is low, steady, but his eyes give him away. Those eyes I’ve committed to memory search mine, and I know I have no defenses against them. He can see everything. He always can.

“I meant it.” My voice is barely a whisper.

He swallows and nods, his gaze dipping to my mouth for a fraction of a second before his attention is back on me. “Say it again.”

My fists clench by my sides, and I try to muster every ounce of bravery hiding deep within my bones. Heat flushes my neck, and the thought of confessingagainwith his full attention has my heart racing in my chest, like evenitis frantically searching for an escape. “I . . .” I look at him,reallylook at him, and I wonder how I’ve never said this to him before. I haven’t seen him in weeks, and during those weeks we’ve hardly talked, but it doesn’t matter. He’s the one who gets me better than anyone else, and he’s the only one who makes mefeel.

“I still love you.” It comes out a little rushed, my riddled nerves forcing the words out in one swift kick, but they’re clear enough.

He takes a step toward me, and I’m forced to look up at him. I’m completely in a trance. Having him this close again is intoxicating. I breathe him in, and the familiar scent makes mewant to wrap my arms around him and bury my face in his chest, but I can’t move. He gently reaches for a lock of my hair, and my eyes flutter shut when his fingertips brush the skin near my collarbone.

“You love me?”

My eyes fly open, my head tilting slightly. For someone who never made this four-letter word a big deal, he’s certainly acting like it means something to him now. “Yes.”

His sharp gaze stays glued on my hair before he looks at me again. “Did you love me when you broke up with me?”

My eyes burn, and a single tear falls when I nod again. “Yes.”

Jackson wipes my tear with his thumb, and it’s impossible not to lean into his touch. His eyebrows furrow, and I’d give anything to know what he’s thinking. “You loved me when you broke up with me.” He says it more like a realization than an actual question, so I wait. His hand lingers on my cheek, and the pressure in my chest builds until it feels like it might explode. He studies my face, still deep in thought, and when his thumb drags over my bottom lip, I suck in a breath. “Margot, say it again.”

I’m completely frozen in place. I’ve said it. I’ve said it twice. Is he not going to sayanythingback to it? My chest rises and falls at a rapid pace as I stare into those eyes that probably don’t need me to tell them anything. “I love you,” I say, my voice breathless.

The corner of Jackson’s mouth lifts just slightly, but he says nothing.

“Why do you keep telling me to say it again?” I finally ask.

He blinks. “Because I’ve loved you for months, and I never thought I’d hear you say those words.” By the time he says the last word, his mouth is already on mine. I step back, my fists clenched around his shirt to pull him with me. His backpack falls off his shoulder to the floor, and he manages to set hisguitar case against the wall with a little more care, but his lips never leave mine. Kicking the door shut behind us, he has me pressed up against the entryway wall within seconds.

His mouth moves over mine with no hesitation. He takes what he wants unapologetically, and for the first time in weeks, I feel awake. This kiss is the first thing that feels right after a long string of wrongs, and I lean into it. This is what he does to me. This is what he’s always done to me. He makes me let go. He might have his hands on the wall behind me, caging me in, but this is when I feel most free. When I’m with him, I don’t have to think about what I’m doing, I just feel.

“I love you,” he murmurs against my lips. “I love you. I love you. I love you.”

My hands weave into his hair, and my tongue finds his. Jackson groans, and the sound could make my knees buckle. He claims my mouth with a dizzying kiss, and that familiar ache has me desperate to be closer. It’s never enough with him. One kiss, one touch, it all just leads to me frantically wanting more.

I can’t stop touching him. My hands move from his hair to his face, to his chest, until I’m at the waistband of his pants. My fingers slip into the front to find him already hard, and a low guttural sound rumbles in the back of Jackson’s throat. He kisses me harder, but my thoughts start racing. The girl in the pictures was doing this. Was he hard then too? Did she touch him the same way I just did? Did he make a sound like that for her?

Dazed and confused by all my conflicting emotions, I pull back. But Jackson just takes it as an opportunity to move his mouth to my neck, and my eyes flutter shut at the feeling of his hot, open-mouthed kisses against my skin.

Struggling to stay focused, I let out a breathy plea. “Jackson.”

“Hmm?” he asks without stopping his slow assault.

Struggling to catch my breath, I say, “We need to figure out what we’re doing.” His tongue grazes my skin just below my ear, and I suck in a breath. “Before this goes further.”

Pulling back, he holds my face in his hands. “I’ll tell you what we’re doing.” He kisses me softly on the mouth. “You’re mine.” He kisses me again. “I’m yours.” His lips brush mine. “And we’ll figure the rest out.”

A light chuckle leaves me. “That’s not a plan, Jackson.” Ducking out of his grasp, I take a few steps toward the kitchen to give myself room to think. Smoothing my hair back, I look at him, still standing near the wall where I left him. He’s even more of a mess now, but he looks way too good. Just seeing him this turned on with rapt attention has me wishing I were still pressed against that wall. Blinking, I clear my throat and try to get back on track. “What about all the times we’re not together? We can’t go into this doing the same thing and expecting a different outcome.”

He watches me intently, a small crease between his brow forming, but he doesn’t say anything.

My arms drop by my sides. “Let’s face it, long distance is hard. A lot harder than we thought.”

He’s like a statue, deep in thoughts he isn’t sharing, and it’s killing me. He always says what’s on his mind—almost to a fault. Now isn’t the time for him to hold out on me. When he finally moves, it’s just to wipe his hand over his mouth.

---