Mine Would Be You (63)

I go slowly, determined to tease her, and I move back up, watching every reaction that passes on her face. The flicker of her eyes when I press my fingers against her, the flush that grows from her cheeks to her neck to her chest when I press a finger fully into her.

I lean in, brushing our lips again, fully capable of multitasking. “Look at me.” Her eyes stay closed until I push a second finger in gently, feeling the deepest part of her tighten around my fingers.

Her brown eyes hit mine, heat flaring as she finds me looking at her. She blinks a few times, her hand moving from my sweats to my arm, curling around it tightly, holding me to her. I keep my fingers moving in a rhythm and my thumb pressing on her as her breath quickens. She’s quiet, letting out a few sighs and soft moans, and I categorize every single one. Her eyes start to flutter closed, but I want to see them when she comes.

“Eyes on me, baby,” I say against her lips, and she listens.

And she looks beautiful. Flushed and warm against me, skin burning itself to mine. I never have and never will see a girl that’s prettier than her. She tightens around my fingers, and I groan, painfully turned on by her body’s reactions as I chase her higher, her eyes locked on me the entire time.

Her nails dig into my arm, and I revel in the pain, revel in her physical reaction to my touch. Again, her eyes start to flutter closed, the brown hazy as the low light of the TV casts shadows against her skin. I lean forward, closer to her. My lips brush over her cheeks, over the bridge of her nose, and land right above her own lips, which are parted letting out little puffs of air. Her legs are squirming, trying to get closer as I keep a steady rhythm and keep circling my thumb. Her hand tightens around my wrist. And she finally lets it all go, pulsing around my fingertips and my thumb tightly. She physically loosens in my hold, her head coming forward to rest on my chest as she catches her breath. Her hand stays splayed on my back.

Slowly, I pull my fingers away and push her chin up, away from my chest, and pull her into me. Every inch of her is perfect.

Helplessly, I pull her closer, intertwining our legs more if possible, needing to taste her lips and feel her against me. My arms are wrapped tightly around her, hands trailing up and down her spine until my hand curls around the back of her thigh. Her chest heaves up and down against mine as she comes back to me.

“Hi.” I smile, taking every second in.

Her bright cheeks and warm, sleepy brown eyes are a sight I hope no one on this earth ever sees again but me. “Hi.”

“You’re beautiful.”

And when her lips curl into a smile right before touching mine, the simple act enough for pleasure to flood my veins, I see a future I never have before.





The sun is streaming through the windows.

But the sun isn’t what woke me up. It’s the slow, soothing circles of Jackson’s fingers on my hip that did it. The small puffs of air that land on my neck where his head is buried in my hair. Each one sends a trail of goosebumps down my spine.

As much as I want to stay there, I want to see him, early morning with hazy eyes and tousled hair, so I twist around, and his arm tightens around my waist as I face him now.

His eyes are half open, still lazy with sleep but focused on me just the same.

Always on me.

“Did I mention,” his lips quirk up as his words come out lowly, “that I love sleepovers?”

I reach up, running a hand through the haphazard loose curls on his head until softly patting his cheek. “Really? I wasn’t sure.”

He kissed me until I fell asleep last night. Barely let me touch him, said he was only focused on me, fully on me, and selfishly I basked in it.

Amusement flashes in his eyes, an eyebrow raising in the hazy morning light. “How is it that you’re a smartass this early in the morning?” He punctuates his words with a squeeze on my side, causing me to squirm as he holds me tighter.

“It’s in my blood.” I lean forward. “And you can’t deny,” I brush my fingers over each cheek, “that you like it,” I finish, my lips hovering above his.

He pauses for a second before reaching up and gripping my chin softly, pulling my lips to his. It’s slow and soft and warm, like the morning sun, and the opposite of everything I’ve ever known. Jackson tugs lightly on my bottom lip with his teeth before pulling away, only to lean back in and kiss me again, this time with a smile on his lips.

This morning feels like a fresh start. I haven’t thought of anything but Jackson and giving it my all. Starting to figure that this risk—despite the fear that runs deep—might be worth the treacherous drive just to see the view with someone like Jackson.

“What time is brunch?” he mumbles, like he doesn’t want to break this little morning bubble we’re in.

I roll over, grabbing my phone from the nightstand, and check the time. “I need to leave in an hour and a half.”

He grins with his eyes closed and pulls me closer. I smile softly as he pats my hip twice before resting his hand. “Want me to make coffee?” he asks, lips brushing against my cheek.

I just nod, and before I know it, I’m following him out of his room. We make a pit stop in the bathroom where he hands me an extra toothbrush before we move out and into the bright kitchen. He puts on a record, letting music fill the space as he gets the coffee maker ready, and I look around. Since the last time I was here I was practically running out, I roam every inch this time. And then I see a stack of magazines on the edge of the countertop.