Page 89 of Until Tomorrow Comes
It’s not just his touch though. It’shim.
I know that if I were to say no right now, the heat wouldn’t leave his eyes, but hewouldlisten. He would kiss me, join me in the shower, and respect the boundary I set without trying to push it again.
Over the last couple years, I’d gotten used to having my wants and opinions ignored. No one noticed if something was bothering me and if they did, they didn’t care.
But Jackson does care, deeply.
He’s taken his time, getting to know me and developing a friendship with me over the past seven months. Hell, Jackson is probably the one person who could read me like an open book. Yet, I have the feeling if I said we should only be friends, he would step back without question.
Not that I would ever say that.
He lights up pieces of me that I thought were long since smothered out. He’s like the beacon at the top of a lighthouse, shining brightly at the darkest moments and guiding me toward safety.
Emotions bubble in my chest, threatening to spill from my mouth.
Instead, I push to my tiptoes and pull him in for a kiss, focusing everything I’m feeling into that. This time, I don’t wait for him to deepen it and take the initiative myself. With the ache from last night momentarily forgotten, I reach between us, stroking his hardening cock.
“Fucking hell, Kat. Keep doing that and I definitely won’t be keeping my hands off of you.” He groans against my lips.
Smirking, I pull my head back to meet his gaze with a brow raised in challenge and slowly pump him in my hand.
Which is how I ended up getting fucked against the glass shower.
***
“How’s the book?” Jackson asks, pulling me from the new read he got me the other day when he was stalling us from leaving for the wedding. Glancing around, I realize that I zoned out completely on our drive home and we were only five minutes away.
Placing my bookmark in between the pages and closing the book, I stare down at the cover ofLike Whiskeyby Whitney West with a smile. I can guarantee he had no idea what the book was about when he picked it up. He just knew that I had been devouring her books like they were a pan of freshly baked brownies.
“Really good, the author did a beautiful job with these characters and their story.”
A blush stains my cheeks as I steal a sideways glance toward him to watch his reaction to my next comment. “Plus he just handcuffed her on top of a bar, so ya know, really hot too.”
His grip tightens on the steering wheel before he clears his throat.
“That sounds…” He clears his throat again, shifting in his seat as he glances at the book in my lap. “Yup, definitely would make a good read.”
I lift the book up, thumbing the pages before stopping on the chapter and glancing at him. “I’ll leave a post-it on the chapter in case you get curious.”
“Is this another, um, series?” He asks, focusing more than necessary on the turn toward his street.
“Nope! Although, her books might be more up your alley than theGossip Girlseries.” I lean forward, tucking the book in my purse as he pulls up the driveway.
Jackson puts the truck in park, just as I’m about to reach for the handle on my door he grabs my hand. I turn to face him but before I can speak, he’s kissing me.
It’s slow and sweet, reminding me that we are in no rush at all and I lean into the kiss. When we break apart, I meet his lazy grin with one of my own.
“I don’t know about you, but a nice long bath and a glass of wine are calling my name.” It’s literally been on my mind since we got out of the shower back at the hotel. Considering the amount of times we had sex this past weekend, I need a good forty minute soak.
Getting out of the car, I scowl at Jackson when he snatches up all the bags. He steps back, kissing my cheek and tilting his head toward the truck.
“Can you grab the dress bag and the front door?” He asks and holds his key out for me.
Rolling my eyes, knowing it’s a miracle that he’s letting me carry anything at all, I snatch the key, grab the bag, and head up toward the house.
Broken glass in front of the door has me stopping in my tracks. My heart jumps to my throat, nausea churning in my gut at the sight of the broken window, images rapidly flash through my mind of the broken glass in the dining room. Blinking, I tear my gaze from the shattered pane, chills run down my spine at the sight of the front door slightly open.
“Struggling with the loc—” Jackson’s laughter cuts off as he steps up next to me. From the corner of my eye, I see him drop the bags to the ground before he steps in front of me. “You got your phone on you?”
