Page 68 of Beneath the Hood

Her thighs clamp tight around my head and her fingers rip at my hair, making my dick jerk so hard I’m afraid I’ll come. A breathy moan spills from her perfectfuckinglips and her back arches off the bed.

Her body shivers as she comes down and I kiss and suck all the way through it, not stopping until she pushes me away.

“Jackson,stop, it’s so sensitive.” She laughs.

I grin, crawling up her body, warmth billowing through my insides and blanketing every part of me.

It’s never felt like this.

Her smile softens as I stare, her hand cupping my jaw. “What are you doing?”

“Memorizing this moment.”

She swallows, her throat bobbing with the motion. “Oh.”

Her fingers wrap around my necklace, dragging my face down to hers, moaning into my mouth as she tastes herself.

My body drops down, my cock pulsing. I press into her, my eyes rolling as her hips push against me, and as much as I want to strip off my boxers and sink deep inside of her—claim her for myself—I don’t.

That’s not what this is about, and I don’t want her to look back on her first time and have it tainted by the day. By the ridiculous headlines, or how I found her crying on the floor.

I pull back, slowing down our kiss until I can move away.

“I’ll be right back,” I whisper.

She protests, but I just smile and stand, walking to her bathroom so I can grab a towel to clean her up.

I’m about to head back out when something catches my eye. It’s a clipboard, hanging above a scale. I didn’t notice it earlier because I was so focused on Blakely sprawled across the floor, but now curiosity pushes my legs forward until I’m scanning all the pages.

And when I do, my chest splits open, heart filling with lead and sinking into my stomach.

There areextensivenotes.

Daily caloric intake. Daily caloric burn. Measurements. Morning, afternoon, and nighttime weigh-ins.

Suddenly, the conversation from earlier flows through my mind, and the aftermath I walked in on clicks into place.

All the times she’s beenobsessivelywatching her food.

The three-hour workouts I’ve witnessed.

This is so much more than a simple overreaction, or a panic attack from a headline she didn’t like.

Why has no one confronted her about this?

Walking back out of the room a heaviness weighs down my shoulders and I rack my brain trying to think of the best way to address the situation.

I can’t, in good conscience, just ignore what I’ve seen.

But all my thoughts pause when I make it to the bed, gazing down at a sleeping Blakely. My heart stalls.

I lay the towel down on the nearest chair, sinking into the bed behind her and pulling her into my chest, ignoring the sadness that’s swirling in my gut and reaching up to squeeze my lungs.

I’m not sure what it is that she’s going through, but I vow to myself that she won’t have to go through it alone.

Not anymore.

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