Page 83 of Don't Let Me Go
“Good.” Riley grins. “Then shut up and kiss me.”
I do as I’m told. I take him into my arms. And my body finds its purpose in his.
Chapter 34
Riley
For one soul-crushing second, I think it’s all been a dream. Then I hear Jackson’s soft breathing against my ear. I feel his strong arms wrapped around my body, holding me while he sleeps, and I know it was no dream. This is real. The realest moment of my life.
I lift my head off his shoulder and glance up at Jackson’s sleeping face. It’s pale and luminous in the moonlight. I want to cover it in kisses. I want to taste his lips and feel the heat of his breath against my skin. He looks so peaceful, though, socontent.
I wouldn’t dream of waking him. Instead, I settle for admiring all the wonders of his handsome face: the curl of his lashes, the slope of his nose, the light dusting of freckles that cluster on his cheeks.
He’s a work of art. My work of art. My beautiful, wonderful, impossible Jackson.
“Are you watching me sleep?” he murmurs.
Caught by surprise, I feel my cheeks redden in embarrassment. “No,” I lie.
Jackson opens one drowsy eye and studies me with a mischievous grin. “You weren’t?”
“If you’re asking me a question, then clearly you’re awake, which meanstechnicallyI wasn’t watching you sleep.”
Jackson chuckles and wraps his body around mine even tighter so that there isn’t an inch of space between us. “You’re lucky you’re cute, you weirdo.”
We cuddle in the moonlight, Jackson gently stroking my hair as I breathe in the intoxicating musk of his skin. I’m surprised how comfortable it all feels. Comfortable and familiar. Like this isn’t our first time together like this but the fiftieth or the seven hundred and fiftieth. Like we’ve being doing this all our lives.
The holding, the stroking, the breathing each other in, even Jackson chiding me for watching him sleep—it all feels like part of some age-old routine that we’ve spent our entire lives perfecting.
“You know,” I tell him, nuzzling my chin against his chest, “I actually had a dream where we had almost this exact conversation.”
Jackson raises an eyebrow. “You did?”
“Yeah. You remember that dream I had about Pompeii?”
“The volcano dream?”
“Right. Only before it became a volcano dream, it was kind of a?.?.?. sex dream.”
“I knew it!” Jackson crows triumphantly. “I knew when I asked about that dream and you got all cagey that there was something you weren’t telling me.”
“Okay. Yeah. Fine. I admit it. We did filthy, unspeakable things, and we loved every minute of it. Also, you’ll be happy to know that Dream Youalsocomplained when Dream Me watched him sleep.”
“That’s wild.”
“Isn’t it?”
Jackson lets out a little chortle. “Well, since we’re sharing R-rated dreams, I guess I should tell you that I also had a sex dream about us.”
“You did?” I gasp. The idea of Jackson having naughty dreams about me is almost more exciting than all the naughty things we actually just did to each other. “Was it also set in Italy?”
“No.” He laughs. “London.”
“London?”
“Yeah. And for some reason, we were both pickpockets who lived on the streets.”
“You mean like Dickensian orphans?” I ask.
