Page 39 of Until Tomorrow Comes
Although she’s not wrong, he does look like a snack.
Thea has been coming around multiple times a week. Sometimes the three of us will hang out on the back deck with a bottle of wine, chatting about people in town that I have yet to meet. Other days, Thea will come round with a new book, and we’ll read together in a comfortable silence.
“How’s it going Thea?” Jackson asks, heading toward the kitchen and filling a glass of water. She flashes him a wide smile, but turns her attention back to me. Dropping the bag on my lap, she crosses her arms.
Cautiously, I reach into the bag. My brows furrow and I glance back up at Thea.
“Why did you get me clothes?” I question, glancing between the clothes in my hand and her. She smiles brightly as she responds.
“We’re going out tonight!”
***
I bite my nail while I stare at the dress hanging on the back of the door. It’s a stunning but simple dress. Black leather frames the chest and down the sides, while a dark red leather makes up the rest of the dress. It’s the exact kind of dress I would have picked out for myself before Zack.
When I unpacked the bags I came with, more than half of my clothes from Zack went to the donation bin in town. I couldn’t stand the sight of them, and the very idea of them touching my skin had me wanting to burn them. Thankfully and true to his word, Alan let me use his online accounts to order whatever I needed. Without a moment of hesitation I filled the basket full of sweatpants, leggings and cozy shirts.
Since they arrived, I’ve lived in them.
Sweat beads on my forehead making me glance between the alarm clock and the door that leads out to the balcony, the very idea of looking in the mirror has my heart pounding. Aside from using a small mirror to change my bandages for the first few weeks, I’ve successfully avoided my reflection.
Every time I think I’m finally ready to face myself, I chicken out.
Before Thea left, I had tried to use the “I don’t have any make-up or hair products” excuse, but she quickly dismissed me. Then she convinced Jackson to come as our designated driver, told me I had an hour and a half to shower and stated she’d be back with all the supplies I would need.
Knowing that showering won’t take me that long, I head out to the balcony for a breath of fresh air.
Once I’ve calmed my racing heart, it’s an effort to pull myself away from the railing and head inside. Without meaning to, my gaze moves to the door that leads to Jackson’s room. My breath catches in my throat, and I stop dead in my tracks.
Having been caught up in my own thoughts and getting fresh air, I didn’t even register the sound of the shower until right now.
Jackson has mentioned before that he’s never had anyone else stay here with him and the layout of his bedroom is very different from the guest bedroom. So he’s probably never considered the viewfromthe balcony. Or how anyone standing out here could look straight through his room to the shower.
The glass shower.
I should move. I should go inside and act like I saw nothing.
But I can’t.
Biting my bottom lip, I’m unable to stop myself from admiring Jackson.
Water cascades down his toned calves and thighs. With his back to me, I get a full view of his ass, and take a moment to let my eyes linger, admiring how it flexes. While I’ve seen in full detail the tattoos that cover his arms, I never knew that they connected to a massive piece on his back. From here, I can’t make out what it is, but I’m instantly distracted from trying to decipher his tattoo’s when he turns.
I should definitely go inside.
But my feet still won’t budge.
Jackson stands directly under the shower head, with his head tossed back and eyes closed. One arm is outstretched, his palm splayed out against the tiled wall, holding him upright. However, his other hand is what causes my cheeks to flush.
The muscles on his arm flex with each stroke, causing desire to pool low in my stomach as I watch him stroke himself.
The water falls rhythmically onto the floor mixing with the ocean waves, but his low groan drowns both sounds out. Echoing in my mind while he takes his time, slowly working his hand along his impressive length. Steam gathers around him, clinging to the edges of the glass, but it does absolutely nothing to hideanypart of him.
He drops his head forward slightly and his mouth parts while his shoulders rise and fall quickly.
Finding some bit of remaining self decency, I finally force myself to step forward, meaning to head inside and get in the shower. Still watching Jackson, I take a step toward my door, however his next grunt has my eyes widening and I freeze mid-step.
Jackson’s fist beats faster, his measured, patient strokes becoming jerky and erratic. When he turns his head, eyes partially open and staring directly at me. Blood pounds heavily in my ears, making me almost believe I’m hearing things as he speaks just before finishing himself off.
