She did trust him to make her feel good and deepened the kiss, slipping her tongue to touch his in answer. He groaned, his hand drifting down. She tilted her pelvis as if she could shorten the distance. Wetness had dampened the cotton between her legs but any embarrassment was burned to ash by the feel of his hand inching closer.
Finally, after eons, he stroked a finger over her. She clutched at his shoulders, needing something solid and warm and real to cling to.
“Does this feel good, baby?” He rumbled in her ear as he tugged at her earlobe with his teeth and played between her legs.
Her eyeballs may have rolled back in her head. The noises she made had a begging quality but she was too far gone to care. She lifted her hips and tugged one side of her underwear down. He helped her get them off and returned to stroke every bare inch of her. She spread her legs even wider and pulled at his waist, wanting more of his weight over her.
“Not yet.” His words were injected with enough gravel to make them almost incoherent.
“Please?”
What might have been a laugh vibrated his chest against her. “I’m a man of my word.”
He was as honest and steadfast as she was deceptive and flighty. She might have vacillated over the disparity, but he slipped a finger inside of her, and her worries went up in smoke.
The burst of ecstasy was acute and traveled through her body from the top of her head to her toes in aftershocks of pleasure. She chanted his name and this time when she tugged, he moved over her, his hips between her legs, his erection gliding between her legs on the evidence of her climax.
He tilted his head toward the ceiling and muttered a curse. Shifting away from her, he reached for the nightstand. She wrapped her legs around his thighs to keep him from going far, but it didn’t take long for him to return with a foil packet. A condom. Another rush of heat raced over her chest.
This was happening. Not that his finger inside of her hadn’t felt very real, but in a few seconds, Goliath would be next.
“I’m surprised they make condoms to fit you.” Her laugh petered into a hard swallow.
“Darlin’, I’m not sure what you’re used to, but I’m not that big.” He rolled the condom on and positioned himself between her legs.
“Tell that to my vagina.”
Another of his rumbly laughs sent vibrations straight to where he was rubbing the head of his erection. “Shall I make introductions?”
He pressed inside of her a few inches and she gasped, but not from pain. It was closer to the euphoria of fitting the last piece in a thousand-piece puzzle into place. A space filled. A need assuaged.
“Are you okay?” His voice was strained unusually thin. He was still and waiting for her to answer.
If she said no, he would pull out. The certainty echoed in her heart, and tears sprang to her eyes. To cover the rash of vulnerability, she forced a half smile and whispered, “I think my vagina and Goliath are going to be great friends.”
His chest convulsed with laughter. He tightened his hands on her hips and pushed all the way in. Buried deep, he didn’t move, only raised his eyebrows. With words unnecessary, she nodded, and he took his first stroke. His rhythm increased until he was pounding into her steadily. He dropped closer, fit a hand under one of her buttocks, and tilted her to his pleasure.
And, hers too as it turned out. The new angle did something to her insides and drove her toward another climax. This one more like a wash of pleasure than the wrenching ecstasy of the first. He followed before she was even off the high, pulsing inside of her with a hoarse primal roar.
He collapsed over her, and she welcomed the solid bulk of his weight. As the physical satisfaction waned, her chaotic thoughts tumbled to the forefront.
Sex changed everything. For the worse in her woefully limited experience. She tightened her arms around his back, the skin taut over bunched muscles. She didn’t want to let him go. Not yet. Could they find a way to work together without things being awkward? Maybe there was a path forward for her to forge a real future instead of living like a ghost.
Or she could leave Cottonbloom. Keep running. He didn’t know her real name, and she was good at disappearing. A stab of guilt dimmed her afterglow.
He rolled off her with a deep sigh and disposed of the condom. Turning back to her, he gathered her in his arms, his body heat banishing any chill. They lay for a long time, neither of them talking, but it wasn’t weird. Which was weird.
“That was way better than any dream I had about you.” The admission popped out as if sex had broken her internal filter.
He propped his head up on his hand. “You’ve had sex dreams about me?”
She’d already named his penis Goliath. Dare she feed his ego even more? She peeked up at him, but it wasn’t arrogance or a smug sense of ego that reflected in his smile, but wonder. She snaked her hand around his nape and fisted her hand in his hair.
“I never thought you’d—” She bit her lip.
“Make your dreams come true?” He came halfway over her and propped his elbows on either side of her head.
“Want me.”
“Willa.” He had a way of saying her name that settled a melancholy longing in her heart.
The physical complications she could handle, it was the emotional ones that would require time to pick apart and examine when she was alone and her body wasn’t feverish for his. The hair on his chest made her already sensitive nipples harden and send ready-to-fire signals where his thigh pressed between her legs. Obviously, her body was looking to make up for lost time.
“Don’t start something you can’t finish, Jackson Elkanah Abbott.”
“Elkanah, huh? That’s like throwing down a gauntlet.”
He was hard again, and she was eager. “Consider it thrown. In fact, make it a dozen gauntlets.”
“Damn, woman, even Goliath can’t handle a dozen in one night.” He snagged another condom, but hesitated with it halfway on. “It’s been a while. Are you sure you aren’t too sore?”
“I might be tomorrow, but right now, I need you.”
He entered her, and she tiptoed the line of pleasure-pain. She grabbed both his biceps and dug her fingernails into the hard muscle. The gesture was like applying spurs to a racehorse. He jerked forward and took short stabs, staying on his knees between her legs.
He pushed one of her legs up and out and skimmed his other hand between her thighs, driving her closer to another orgasm. Their joining was fast and dirty and a little rougher than the first, but just as amazing. She closed her eyes and surrendered.
The buzz in her ears drowned out any noise he made, but she could feel every inch of him inside of her. He fell over her and pushed himself even deeper with the whisper of a groan. She crossed her ankles around the back of his thighs to hold him inside of her.
He ran a hand up and down her thigh, the calluses along his palm sending shock waves along her skin. Everything the man did was sexy and arousing. She pictured him with a wrench in his hand and the flex of his biceps as he torqued a bolt. Her inner muscles clenched. Next time she saw him do that she might require resuscitation on the shop floor.
He unhooked her ankles from around him, got rid of the second condom, and tucked her under the covers. The heat and length of his body imprinted deeper than the physical. She had been his since almost the moment they’d met, but for this one moment at least, he was hers. While she was in his arms, the future didn’t stretch out bleak and hopeless. Instead, a wavery picture of happiness and joy and laughter in the loft and garage emerged like a mirage.
But her past lingered like rotten garbage to ruin everything. If Derrick found her, he would fulfill his promise to destroy everything she cared about. She’d been the cause of enough pain already, and even imagining Jackson hurt sent her skittering toward panic.
Whatever luck came her way was temporary, and she embedded the memory of Jackson to draw upon when hard times inevitably circled back around to engulf her.
“How do you f
eel?” His breath was warm and tickled her ear.
“Amazing. You’re amazing. I never thought it could be like this.” Secrets and lies dominated her life, but she refused to temper her response in bed with him. In this at least, she could be honest.
His laughter vibrated his chest against her back. “You ain’t seen nothing yet.”
She started and turned around to see his face. His smile was genuine and open, his dimples cutting deep. His smile had always been endangered, but it had become nearly extinct since his father’s death the year before.
Because she was finally able to, she ran a finger down his cheek and into the crease of his dimple. “What do you mean?”
“We’ve only hit the basics.”
The basics was all she was acquainted with, but she’d read books—lots of books—and her heart leaped into a quickened rhythm at the possibilities scrolling through her head. How much time would they have together? Not enough. Never enough.
“What if I don’t know what to do?” Her embarrassment didn’t come close to dampening her curiosity and excitement.
“It’s not hard.”
Her gaze dipped to where he was pressed against her hip, and his rumble was part humorous and part sexual. His kiss was slow and languorous with a promise of pleasure that made her toes curl. He gathered her close, her face pressed into the warmth of his neck, the smell of him at once comforting in its familiarity and arousing in its newly discovered nuances.
“I got you something for Christmas,” he whispered into her hair.
She smiled even though he couldn’t see her. “Goliath?”
“That was your stocking stuffer.” His laughter was like the slow crank of an old engine. “Hang on.”
She sat up and adjusted the sheet under her arms. He came back and laid a folded quilt in her lap. She ran her fingers over the stitched-together triangles of red and blue and green plaids on a background of cream.
Was he a mind reader? A heart reader? How else could he have known she longed for one of the Quilting Bee’s specialties? “I love it. It’s beautiful.” The wobble in her voice migrated to her chin. She would not cry, dangit.
He tilted her face toward his. “You can return it and pick one you like better.”
“No. I want this one.” She hugged the quilt close. “It’s been a long time since anyone got me anything for Christmas. Thank you.”
He laid a kiss on her lips, soft and simple. “You’re welcome. I thought it could keep you warm if I wasn’t there to do it.”
She nuzzled his neck to hide the spring of tears. “I didn’t get you anything. I’m sorry.”
“You’re in my bed. Finally. Best present I’ve ever gotten, hands down.” He tucked a piece of hair behind her ear but it sprang back in an awkward in-between stage of growth.
Exactly the way she felt sometimes. Her leap from adolescence into adulthood had left her too experienced in some ways and entirely innocent in others. The last time she’d had to navigate a relationship of any sort, she’d been a teenager and the rules had been less complicated. Jackson was a man—more of a man than most, she would guess despite his teasing—with a man’s experience and expectations.
“You’ve given me more than I ever imagined. More than I deserve.” Tears made her sniff. She rolled away and lay on her back, blinking away evidence of her vulnerability.
“Because of your past?”
One tear conquered gravity and snaked out of the corner of her eye and into her hairline. “Of course.”
“You shouldn’t have to pay for what happened when you were nineteen or twenty the rest of your life.”
“That’s what murderers do though.” The words came out waterlogged.
“You didn’t kill your friend, Willa. You’re a smart, logical person. Deep inside you know that’s true.” His thumb glanced over one of her tears.
“I’m not that smart.”
“The stack of books on my coffee table would disagree.”
Looking to change the subject before she was forced to lie, she asked, “Why don’t you have a tree?”
“Wyatt usually puts one up, but he’s basically living with Sutton now. Anyway, Christmas isn’t my favorite holiday.”
“Why not?”
His shoulder moved under her cheek. “Pop never had time for Christmas and it only reminded me we didn’t have a mom around.”
She had loved Christmas when it had been just her and her dad. Her stepmother had ruined the holiday for her. Not through her actions, but her mere presence.
“What is your favorite holiday, then?” she asked.
“New Year’s Eve has a shot at the top spot this year.” The flirty tease in his voice brought her head up. He was smiling again. Sex had fostered an ease between them that was a far cry from their professional interactions in the garage.
Sutton’s offer scrolled through her head. Did Jackson know about it? “You’ll be at Sutton’s party?”
“Yep. You too?”
“She’s insisted that I come.”
“How about we go together?”
She’d learned to recognize and could parry a come-on like an expert swordsman. But this casual invitation sounded more like … “You mean, a date?”
“Is that what the kids are calling them these days?”
“What about your brothers?”
“What about them?”
“You’re okay with them knowing about us?”
“Wyatt knew I wanted you even before I could admit it to myself.” Sarcasm tinged his voice. “Are you okay with them knowing?”
“Of course.” Her ready agreement was followed by a shadow of doubt, yet her quick answer made his body go lax. “It’s going to be weird our first day back at work though, isn’t it?”
“Let’s worry about that later.” His voice drifted into vagueness. He closed his eyes and yawned. “I’m going to close my eyes for a second. You tuckered me out.”
He was asleep within minutes, his head tilting to the side, his chest lifting her head in steady intervals. Her body still buzzed like a live wire from her orgasms, sleep an impossibility. Gathering late-afternoon clouds cast long shadows across the bed. In sleep, his face was cast with an innocence she knew was false. He’d seen his share of heartache.
A whine from the other room made her gasp. Poor River was probably ready to burst. Willa slipped out of bed, threw on one of Jackson’s sweatshirts, and pulled on her yoga pants. River pawed at the loft door and shot out as soon as Willa cracked it. Slipping on her shoes, Willa followed quickly to let her outside.
River made a beeline to the magnolia tree in front of Mack’s house to take care of her business. Willa stamped her feet to keep the chill out. Afternoons like this in her trailer were miserable and boring with the promise of a long, sleepless, cold night stretching out. Books were her salvation during days like that.
She glanced back at the barn. She had her books, but tonight her salvation would be Jackson. She didn’t have to be cold or alone and felt both undeserving and grateful.
Mack stepped out onto his porch, his features indistinct, but his bulk identified him. Willa whisper-called for River to come back, but the dog was closer to Mack than her and trotted over to him.
Mack squatted down and gave River an ear rub, her tail wagging at warp speed. Willa’s hope at blending in with the side of the garage died at Mack’s two-fingered wave. “Merry Christmas, Willa.”
She fiddled with the hem of Jackson’s sweatshirt and walked over, but not up the steps to his porch. While she respected Mack and trusted him to a point, she didn’t want to answer questions about her and Jackson. Not until she had a chance to come up with something to say that didn’t give her true feelings away.
“Merry Christmas to you too.”
He rose and swayed enough that he had to grab hold of the porch railing. She took the first step, her hand out as if she could catch him if he collapsed. Before she could ask if he was okay, a smile lightened his usually somber expression
.
Astonishment kept her on the bottom step. Mack Abbott was drunk, and by the glassy look of his eyes, he was drunker than Cooter Brown.
“Are you okay?” she asked tentatively.
“Let’s see … second Christmas without Pop. Not only has Ford threatened to sell out, but he’s gotten himself in a heap of trouble and if I wasn’t so worried about his neck, I might wring it myself.” He waved a finger in her direction. “Worried about you too.”
“I’m fine.” Defensiveness shot the words out.
“Yeah.” He drew the word out. “I don’t think so.”
She stumbled off the step. “Come on, River, time to go in. It’s cold.”
The dog trotted down the steps, and Willa leaned over to spear her fingers in her fur.
“I like you, Willa, but I know you’re hiding something. Don’t you dare hurt my brother.” A threat she’d only heard him use with Ford sharpened his voice. He would go to battle to protect the people and things he loved. Apparently, she didn’t make the cut.
Instead of making a promise she might not be able to keep, she retreated, waffling at the bottom of the steps to the loft. Maybe she should borrow one of the garage’s cars and head back to her trailer.
The door opened at the top, light spilling around a bare-chested Jackson. River threw herself up the stairs in a clumsy gallop. The welcome in his face was too much for her better judgment to fight, and she mounted the stairs in an equally graceless run, falling into him. He wrapped his arms tight around her and shifted them enough to close the door against the cold.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” Nothing he could help her with anyway. “But you should go check on Mack.”
“Why?”
She hesitated, not sure whether Mack wanted anyone to see him drunk. She had a feeling he would regret their conversation, if he even remembered it. “He’s drunk.”
He muttered a curse and ran a hand through his hair without letting her go. His worry was palpable and made her think he wasn’t surprised Mack was drunk. “Are you good for a bit?”
“Take as long as you need. He’s your brother.”
He grabbed a T-shirt and disappeared out the door with a grimace in her direction. Once he was gone, the silence closed around her. She had learned to embrace silence, but this one was tinged with a bittersweet loneliness. How much harder would it be to face the countless nights alone now she knew what she was missing?
When the Stars Come Out--A Cottonbloom Novel Page 17
