Page 92 of Bide

God, I don't know if I can. I'm sweating, shaking, dizzy, and breathless but, fuck, it feels so fucking good.

Jackson doubles down, fucking folding me in half like a pretzel as he hoists my leg up and tosses it over his shoulder. “One more, sweetheart,” he coos in my ear. “Give me one more.”

And because I am the best girlfriend, I do.

Jackson’s thrusts become more frantic, his cock swelling inside of me. I dig my fingers into his ass cheeks, urging him further inside of me, if that's even fucking possible. With a low groan, he shoves himself into the hilt, kisses me, and explodes.

Violentis the only word I can think of to describe us coming together. Sweaty skin and dirty words and bruising grips and clashing teeth. I taste blood as he bites down on my bottom lip hard, or maybe it's me biting him because I don't feel a sting of pain, just waves and waves of brain-numbing euphoria.

I have no idea how long passes before our twitching bodies collapse, Jackson bracing himself on his elbows so he doesn't crush me. When, after a long moment of ragged breathing, he eventually slides out of me and rolls on his side, he leaves behind gaping emptiness and throbbing pain.

Fuck, that's going to hurt in the morning.

Even through closed eyes and a hazy mind, I feel his gaze trained on me. “What?” I half-murmur, half-yawn, the effort of cracking an eyelid enough to make my head hurt.

“Nothing.” He swipes a strand of sweat-soaked hair away from my equally sweaty neck. “You just look really beautiful.”

I resist the urge to crack a lewd joke about how, yeah, I'm sure I do; exhausted, sweaty, his cum dripping down my thighs.

Instead, I revel in the compliment, let it settle in my chest and taint my cheeks with a blush.

When I can no longer stand the weight of his stare, I force myself to get up and stumble to the bathroom to pee, grimacing with every movement. When I return, I find Jackson sprawled across the bed, still butt-ass naked, eyes closed, arms folded behind his head, face lax in an expression of pure content.

I dither in the doorway, an odd feeling in my stomach as I watch him. This part is weird. The staying. Leaving a bed with every intention to get back in. There's still a teeny, tiny part of me that wants to flee, but I'm self-aware enough to admit that it’s the shit-stirring, dramatic part.

As though he senses my presence, Jackson’s eyes flutter open, a soft smile already curling his lips. My smile, I like to think of it as. The softer yet brighter version of his normal one that I don't ever see anyone else receive. That perfect, brown-eyed gaze lands on me and my heart throws a damn parade in my chest. “You thinking of running?”

“Maybe.”

Jackson snorts. “Get your ass back in bed, sweetheart.“

So fucking bossy.

Dragging my feet in his direction, I all but collapse on top of him. He lets out a half-grunt, half-laugh instantly wrapping his arms around me. Hands that were so rough mere minutes ago caress my skin with such gentleness, causing a lump to form in my throat.

They still catch me off guard. The soft touches, the reverent ones, the ones that make me feel as though I'm something precious to be touched. I can't tell if it's weird or sad or pathetic that Jackson is the first guy to touch me like that. To look at me like that. Jesus, to talk to me like that.

I do know, though, that it scares the ever-loving shit out of me.

28

JACKSON

Something about startingyour morning by bending your girl over a bathroom counter just puts a guy in a good mood.

I'm practically whistling and skipping as I traipse around New York following the very detailed list of everything Luna wants for breakfast from her favorite bakery. “I think you bruised my uterus,” she quipped when I questioned the need for a dozen varieties of pastry. “I deserve a treat.”

I can’t argue with that.

Luna was passed out in the bath when I left—she claimed she needed a thorough cleanse before bidding her mom goodbye later—and I’m not surprised she’s still there when I get back.

The bathroom is cloudy with steam, so many bubbles piled high I can barely see Luna. Head lolling against the lid of the enormous tub, a scrunched-up towel acts as a makeshift pillow as she dozes. When I bend to kiss her damp forehead, blue eyes flutter open and blink at me sleepily, smiling lips murmuring a quiet ‘hi.’

“If those are presents,” she says with a yawn, eyeing the bags in my hands, “I'm gonna kick your ass.”

I twist one of the bags so she can see the brand of the bakery she sent me hunting for, “So you don’t want this?”

She’s up and out of that bath so fast, I’m surprised she doesn’t slip and crack her head open. Water sloshes over the edge as she clambers out, all but licking her lips as she slips towards me, naked and dripping all over the floor. I steady her before she falls, wrapping a towel around her as she steals the food from my hands. Scoffing one of those weird croissant-donut hybrid things in five seconds flat, she’s halfway through the second when she notices the second bag in my hand. “What's in there?”