Chapter Twenty-Four

Brooklyn

Hands grasp hold of my arm, pulling me through the doorway, then using their hard body to press against me, trapping me against the wall, making my eyes widen and a gasp of surprise leave me mere seconds before a familiar pair of lips cover mine, causing me to release a moan of pleasure.
Jackson grasps hold of my thighs, lifting me up off the floor, and I wrap my legs around his waist, his arm settling against my lower back, his hand curling around my hip as his hard, thick cock pokes me in the ass as he thrusts against me, a deep guttural groan emitting from him.
Burying his other hand in my hair, he deepens the kiss.
I lose myself in him, the kiss, the moment, all of it, as a desperate need for this man consumes me.
Suddenly pulling back, he growls, “Need to be buried deep inside this tight little pussy.”
My pussy clenches, empty and aching to be filled at his admission. I cling to him, rocking my clit against him, desperate for more, as a breathless, needy, “Yes,” falls from my lips.
Without putting me down, Jackson grasps hold of my hips with both hands, pressing me harder against him, and begins guiding the rocking of my pussy, the friction increasing with the action.
Without missing a step, he turns and begins walking down the hallway, away from Chastity’s door.
With each roll of my hips, I grow closer to cuming, my moans echoing off the walls as we descend the stairs.
“Fucking cum, Baby,” he demands, his fingers digging into me as he works me harder and faster against him.
By the time we stop outside his door, my back pressed against the hardwood as he digs in his pocket for his keys, I’m a panting mess, my orgasm so fucking close I can practically taste it.
Jackson finally manages to get the door open, and we stumble inside. He once more presses me against the hardwood of the door before it’s even fully closed.
With rushed movements, need guiding our fevered actions, Jackson lowers my feet to the floor, then shoves both my shorts and panties down my legs until they’re a pool of fabric at my feet.
I step out of them as Jackson undoes the button of his jeans and lowers the zipper, his hard and throbbing cock springing free with the action. 
I move to drop to my knees, desperation to taste him making my mouth water, but before I get the chance to get that far, he grasps hold of my hips once more and lifts me as he utters, “No time,” and then thrusts into me hard and fast as I wrap my legs around him. “Need you too bad.”
Two thrusts in and I explode around him, my pussy milking his hard shaft. This only makes him fuck me harder and faster, the head of his cock hitting me in just the right spot that sends me straight into another toe-curling orgasm.
“Fuck, you feel good,” he growls, his hips thrusting so hard and fast that the slapping of our skin echoes all around us. “Milk my cock, Baby. Just like that, fuck!”
Sweat coats Jackson’s forehead, trailing down his face. Turning his head, he uses the sleeve of his shirt to mop up the sweat before moving in and claiming my lips once more, the salty taste of his sweat lingering on my tongue.
“You love my cock. Don’t you, baby?” He asks, breaking the kiss. “You love how good I fuck your perfect little pussy.”
“God, yes,” I reply, moaning as my body revs up for yet another orgasm. “You fuck me so good.”
“Yeah, I do. No one can fuck you like I do,” Jackson states. His thrusts are becoming jerky and unmeasured, making it obvious that he’s close.
“Nobody,” I afree as a third orgasm washes over me. “Only you.”
“Pussy knows who it belongs to.” Then, with one last thrust, he stills, releasing inside of me as he whispers, “Mine,” before claiming my lips once more.
When we pull apart, we’re both breathless messes. 
Jackson’s pants are resting halfway down his thighs, and my panties are hanging off my foot, my shorts still on the floor below.
Jackson cups my cheeks with both hands, his gaze holding mine as if looking into my soul before lowering his lips to mine in a kiss that is slow and tender, as if he’s trying to convey something his words can’t.
With his cock still buried deep inside of me, connecting us in a way that just feels different, I shift my hips, making my walls clench around his thickness.
Breaking the kiss, he breathes a groaned, “Fuck,” against my lips before claiming me once again.
Jackson begins making gentle yet deep thrusts into me, his actions almost making it seem as if I were something to be cherished.
The notion takes me aback, and I can’t help but wonder, *What are you thinking?*
Apparently, I lack a brain-to-mouth barrier as the question slips from my mouth unbidden.
Pulling back, Jackson looks at me. Like *really* looks at me, assessing me for what, I’m not sure before asking, “You sure you really want to know/”
Slowly, I nod, even as I question, *Do I really want to know?* But apparently, my unconscious actions make the decision for me.
Pulling out, Jackson sets me on my feet before kneeling down and helping me step into my panties, then shorts, before he pulls them up my legs, settling them against my hips.
When he stands and takes my hand, threading his fingers through mine, I realize that he’s already tucked himself away and righted his own pants.
He leads me across the room, takes a seat on the couch, and then pulls me into his lap.
“I was thinking,” he begins, his piercing blue eyes watching me attentively, his fingers trailing my own as he speaks. The action is calming, a balm to my overwrought nerves. “How fucking sorry I am that I didn’t see the hell you were going through back then.”
“You can’t—” I start with a shake of my head, but he speaks over me, halting my words.
“I liked you back in high school, Baby. And I just keep thinking, ‘What if I had pursued you back then? Would you still have gone through the same amount of hell?’ ”
“Jacks—” I get cut off again, and I would typically be irritated by it, but he obviously needs to get this out.
“I could have done *something*,” he says, burning his hand into the hair at my nape. “Maybe it wouldn’t have taken you being pregnant to turn your life around.” He shakes his head, his entire demeanor full of regret as he growls, “But I got fucking caught up in protecting Linc’s girl, transferring to her school to be her bodyguard, and the shitstorm that *that* ended up becoming, and I left my feelings for you behind.”
I can’t help but think about the rumors that I’d heard about what went down with him, his brother, and his brother's girl. 
But instead, I ask, “But where would you be if all of that hadn’t happened?” I place my palm against his stubbled cheek and continue, “Those things, they’re as much a part of who you are as my past is a part of me. Had that stuff not happened, would you have still become a detective? Would he have helped Chas? Would *we* be here now, or would we have flamed out like most high school relationships do?”
He sighs, as if not liking that truth very much, but I continue, “Everything that’s happened has happened as it was supposed to. Regrets do neither of us any good.”
Reluctantly, he nods, murmuring, “You’re right, but I’m still sorry.”
Nodding, not really having anything more to say, I snuggle against his broad chest.
Jackson wraps his arms around me and hugs me from behind, before placing a kiss against my crown, and strangely, I feel content, comfortable even.
This feeling is big for someone like me, who has never had the luxury of feeling comfortable because of being too busy trying to survive.
Suddenly feeling unsettled at being so comfortable with a man who, even with our history, is still the equivalent of a stranger, my instincts to run kick in, not willing to wait for the other shoe to drop, as it inevitably will.
It always does.
I shift, his arms falling away as I turn to face him and graze my lips against his in a barely there kiss and murmur, “I better go.”
Jackson's arms wind around my lower back as he utters, “Stay.”
I hesitate, my heart pounding in my chest as a war wages betwen my heart, which is trying to convince me that I can trust this man and that I should let him take care of me, that I deserve that much, and my head that wants to believe that he isn’t too good to be true but my own past experiences have my fight or flight instincts wanting to engage full throttle.
He must be able to read the hesitation in me because I can see the sincerity in his eyes and hear it in his voice when he says, “I’m not him, *them*.” His voice is so deep and gravely, edged with emotions that I can barely even begin to comprehend, that it makes my stomach flip. “I meant what I said last night,” he continues, brushing a fallen chunk of hair back from my face and tucking it behind my ear, before cupping my cheek. “I want you here, with me, in my life, my bed, turning my monotonous life upside down, so that we can right it together.”
Jackson moves his other hand from my lower back so that both hands are now cupping my cheeks, his warmth drawing me in, settling some of that fear that’s raging within me. “I want every moment with you, Baby. I want to go to bed each night with you wrapped in my arms, and I want to wake up each morning to see your beautiful face. This might all be happening fast, but I don’t want to slow down or stop it.”
His thumbs brush against my cheeks, his clear eyes piercing as he says, “I’m quickly falling in love with you.” Even though I had a feeling this was where he was headin, my breath still catches in my chest, making me gasp for air. “I know that you aren’t there yet, and that’s okay. I don’t expect you to be. Not with everything that you’ve been through.”
A large part of me wants to bolt at hearing his words, never one to be able to handle emotional entanglements.
But there’s this other, much smaller part of me, a part that’s always secretly wanted to feel love, comfort, all those mushy feelings that I’ve never experienced before.
That part is begging for me to stay.
To give this a chance.
To give *him* a chance.
A *real* chance.