Page 29 of Call It What You Want
“Because people can’t be trusted,” he says simply.
A tired laugh slips out. “Including me?” I murmur, lifting my eyes to look at his face. My body feels like lead, but my chest is tight, waiting for his answer.
There’s a long stretch of silence before he reaches out and brushes a finger down my cheek. “Try to get some sleep,” he says, shifting like he’s about to get up.
I reach out and place a hand on his bicep. “Just stay for a minute,” I whisper, my eyes heavy. His muscles tense for a moment, then relax beneath my hand. And the last thing I register before sleep pulls me under is the comforting warmth of Jackson’s body next to me…
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Ava
When I open my eyes the next morning, I instinctively reach toward Jackson’s side of the bed, but it’s empty. I roll onto my back with a groan, exhaling against the dull throb in my skull. At least my stomach has stopped rebelling. In fact, now, it’s twisting with hunger.
On the nightstand, two ibuprofen sit beside a glass of water. I sit up and swallow them down, draining the glass in one long pull. I clap the glass back down on the nightstand, get up, and wander into the bathroom to pee.
I’m on the toilet, questioning every life choice I’ve ever made up to this point, when the bathroom door swings open. Jackson is standing in the doorway.
With a jolt, my spine snaps straight, and my knees clamp together. “What the fuck?I’m peeing.”
He leans against the doorframe, wearing nothing but a pair of grey sweatpants, lips quirked, like he finds my humiliation amusing. And before I can stop it from happening, my eyes skim over the ridges of his torso. He’s all hard lines and tight muscle,the kind of body that makes it impossible to remember I’m supposed to be outraged.
“I need to take a shower,” he says, pushing off the doorframe.
“You can wait five seconds until I’m done,” I snap. I’m done peeing now, but I can’t stand up without him seeing more than I want him to. So I’m stuck sitting until he leaves.
He steps forward with a faint grin, his gaze locked on me. “It’s cool. We can share.”
“No, it isnotcoo—” My voice is snatched from my throat when he strips his sweatpants off and steps out of them. He’s not wearing underwear. And to make matters worse, he’s sporting a hard-on. His thick, veiny cock is swollen and jutting out, reaching for me.
I’m literally speechless.
For three years, I’ve clung to the memory of his body. Back then, he was seventeen, and already lean with muscle carved from hours in the gym. Now, those lines have deepened, every angle sharper, more defined, like time has only honed him into something harder, more beautiful somehow.
I swallow, my knees pressed together so tightly, they feel bruised. My brain is searching for something to say, some sarcastic remark, but my mind is a complete blank.
He must be used to getting stares, because he reaches into the shower, turns the water on, then steps inside without even a hint of self-consciousness. As soon as he’s under the spray, I stand up, wipe quickly, and pull my sweats up.
The shower is so large, it doesn’t need a door, so it’s open. And I have to walk by it to get out. So I carefully pick my way across the tile, my whole body tight, hyper-aware of a naked and aroused Jackson just a few feet away.
As I pass the shower, I can’t help but glance inside.What? I’m human.My step falters when I see his head tilted back under the stream of water, a soapy hand tugging at his cock.
My mouth feels dry, and I pause longer than I should.
I could have that cock right now. All I’d have to do is strip down and step into that shower. He’d have me pinned against that cold, wet tile in seconds, that cock buried so deep inside me.
I’d be begging him to stop, but praying he wouldn’t.
My pussy throbs, hungry for something it has no business wanting.
I’m standing there, frozen, leaning toward him as though I’m being pulled by a magnet, imagining my fingers skimming down his wet, chiseled torso, when suddenly, he turns his head and catches me staring.
Oh. Shit.
A slow smile spreads across his face, like he knows exactly what he’s doing to me. It’s the kind of smile that dares me to admit just how much I want him.
“Ugh.” I spin on my heel, and his laugh follows me all the way out to the bedroom.
I walk into the closet to grab another one of Jackson’s T-shirts. But the moment I enter, I stop short. A pile of women’s clothes sits neatly stacked on the closet island, along with a few bras and a folded pile of new panties.
