by Serena Grey
He collapses back on the bed, pulling me down until I’m lying over him. He holds me close like that in his arms, both of us breathing deeply. I shudder with residual pleasure when he pulls out of me and moves until we’re lying side by side on the bed, facing each other.
“I haven’t stopped thinking about this since I saw you get out of that car the first day you came.” He murmurs, his eyes holding mine.
I sigh. How long ago that seems now, yet it’s only been a few days. What now? I want to ask. Has anything changed? Only I don’t need to ask. None of the oceans between us have disappeared. We’re still the same people we were an hour ago, only now we’ve had sex again. Granted it was explosive, soul shattering sex, but that didn’t mean that anything had changed.
“Why that look?” Jackson asks, taking my chin in his hands. “Do you regret this?’
I shake my head. “No.”
“Good,” he says, his grin boyish, happy even as he rolls until he’s on top of me, nudging my legs apart with his, “because I’m going to do it again.”
He trails a few gentle kisses down my stomach before his fingers find their way between my legs and start to knead me, milking the sensations from the mind-blowing orgasm of just moments earlier. Then his tongue replaces his fingers, finding that little swollen button of pleasure and sucking on it until the world in front of my eyes explodes.
I’m still panting in a sea of sensation when he enters me again. This time his movements are slow, leisurely strokes, igniting me with each thrust. He doesn’t take his eyes off me this time, as if he wants to see my every reaction. In moments, my legs are shaking again, and my body clenching around him. I surrender my senses to him, moaning helplessly as I lose control of my body, the pleasure only intensified by his loud groan as he also reaches his climax.
Chapter Seventeen
IT’S dark when we leave the boat. Jackson has steered it back to the dock and tied it up. He carries me in his arms and doesn’t put me down even when we reach the ground. I wonder if he’s going to carry me all the way back to the house, and he does, his tenderness such a contrast to what I’ve come to expect that I’d rather die than leave the sense of safety and comfort I’m feeling in his arms.
Thankfully, there’s no one in the foyer, and Jackson carries me upstairs, to his bedroom, depositing me on the king sized bed with an endearing gentleness.
“I haven’t become an invalid just because we made love all day,” I say, watching as he comes to lie beside me.
He laughs. “No, but I want to make up for wearing you out.”
“You haven’t worn me out.” I tell him with a smile.
I watch as an eyebrow goes up. “Really?” He grins. “That’s a good thing because I don’t intend to leave you alone all night.”
Is it possible to condense seven years of missing someone into a few hours of lovemaking, I don’t know, but I guess we’ll try, and then what? The persistent voice of worry in my head demands, nothing has changed, tomorrow things will go back to the way they were, I'll go back to dealing with my pain, and he’ll go back to blaming me for whatever he thinks I did that summer seven years ago.
But for now, I chose not to care.
“I’m going to run you a bath,” he announces, “and get you something to eat, then I’m going to make love to you, in the bath, and on the bed. I promise to make you forget everything but my name, and the feel of my hands on you.
“Well, don’t make me wait.” I tease, “When you make a promise like that you have to get right on it.”
He laughs, “I intend to.”
Hours later, sated in every way possible, I watch him sleep, marveling at how innocent he looks, like a boy, not like the man who has made me come, over and over again in every way possible. If I didn’t know better, I would convince myself that what’s happened between us can mean something, but I know better than to expect anything from Jackson. Now that he has spent his anger on making my body his again, there’s probably nothing left, except maybe indifference. I sigh.
“What are you thinking?” Even though his eyes are slightly unfocused from sleep, I feel as if he can still read my thoughts and know exactly what’s on my mind.
“Nothing,” I reply.
“You can tell me.”
I search his face. How easy it would be to tell myself that everything has changed, that our physical intimacy has some emotional significance. How easy it would be to share everything I’ve carried around with me all these years. There’s so much he doesn't know, but what would be the point of telling him. I want to get over my pain, not share it, even though I know he’s the only one that can make me forget. So I lie.
“I’m not thinking anything.”
He pulls me back into the warmth of his arms and goes back to sleep. When I’m sure he’s asleep I get up and go back to my room, by the time I have my things together, it’s almost morning, and for the second time in a lifetime. I slip away from Halcyon in the early hours of the dawn, my heart heavy, and certain that I’ll never come back.
The Jackson I’ll always remember is the one from my last day at Halcyon, the tender, loving man who made love to me and made me feel as if nothing that happened in the past mattered at all. That’s the Jackson I’ll carry around in my heart and in my memories, for as long as I live.
“A little more to the right,” I tell the tall, beautiful model I’m photographing. Her hair and dress are billowing in the wind from a large fan, and I'm sure she’s as tired as I am, but she turns her face, giving me the profile I want.
“Perfect.” I call out, taking a quick series of pictures. We’re doing one of those rooftop fashion shoots, and it’s windy and a little cold. I concentrate on perfecting every shot, shaking off all thoughts of Jackson as I call out instructions and take some more pictures. By the time the shoot is done, I am almost too exhausted to stand.
“That was pretty intense.” I look up at the tiny woman with a big mass of orange curls that threaten to bury her face as she offers me a bottle of soda from the snack table. She’s Carly French, the fashion director for a small women’s magazine who’s in charge of the shoot. I’ve worked with her a couple of times before, and while she's nice, she’s also a hopeless gossip.
I shake my head at the soda and watch as she pops it open and drops on a chair beside me. All around us, the workmen are packing up the set while the model changes back into her jeans and t-shirt, turning her back to the rest of us as her only nod to modesty,.
“You look really tired,” Carly continues, which I know means I look awful. I feel awful. Most days I want to curl up in bed and cry until I have no tears left. It’s only because I’ve gone down that road before that I’m determined not to make the same mistake twice.
“Just a lot of work,” I say, getting up. I start to pack up my equipment. “I’ll get these to you.” I say gesturing towards my camera.
She shrugs. “So I heard you spent a couple of days upstate at the Lockewood mansion.”
New York gossip is one thing that will never cease to surprise me. “I did,” I reply wearily.
She looks impressed. “Did you meet Jackson Lockewood? I’ve never met him, but I’ve seen him from afar, and he’s just sex on legs.”
I reply with a shrug.
She gives me an odd look, obviously unimpressed by my lack of enthusiasm. I don’t care. I’m not going to talk about Jackson if I can help it.
I leave soon after. On the sidewalk, the city is bustling with people and noise. I hail a cab, and once inside, I allow my mind to drift as I stare at the trees by the sidewalks, their leaves already fading from green into that beautiful shade of autumn brown that means they’re soon going to be as dead as I feel inside.
My apartment feels empty, more so now than it did before I went back to Halcyon. Had it always been like this? Did I fool myself into thinking I could be happy, only to have those illusions shattered once I realized that I could only ever have true happiness in Jackson’s arms?
&nbs
p; It will get better, I tell myself. I’ve felt this way before. If I could survive the first time, then I will get over Jackson again. But even I know that this time, it’s different, the way I feel now is much worse, I’m languishing at the deepest point of loneliness and pain, and I doubt there’s anything that can change the way I feel.
I change into pajamas and curl up on the couch with a tub of ice cream, not really paying attention to the string of reality shows that follow one after another on the TV. I don’t know how much time passes before my phone rings. It’s May.
“How’re you?” She asks.
“I’m not sick, or dying May. I’m fine.”
“Are you sure? I always feel as if I’m dying when Chace and I have a fight.” She sighs. “It’s already been two weeks, and I haven’t heard you laugh even once. I’m worried. I know how long it took you to get over it the last time."
“The last time I lost a child and almost died.” I mumble, annoyed. “Now I’m an adult who had sex with someone she should have avoided. It happens. I’ll get over it.”
Are you sure you don’t want to come over?” May asks. “I’ll send a car. You can drink margaritas while I eat ice cream and envy you.”
I smile at the image. “No, I’m fine. I swear.”
“I still think you shouldn’t have left like you did.” She says quietly.
How can I argue when sometimes I feel the same way? When I feel as if I should have waited, and taken whatever crumbs Jackson decided to offer me. “I don’t want to talk about it,” I whisper, hating the sudden catch in my voice and the sting of tears in my eyes.
“Okay, I love you,” May says, “See you soon.”
I don’t remember falling asleep on the couch, but when I wake up, it’s dark. I look around, searching for the source of the sound that woke me up, not sure if I heard it in a dream or in reality.
The sound comes again, and through my bleary mind I realize that it’s the buzzer.
You’re buzzing the wrong apartment, whoever you are. I sink back onto the couch and will the sound to disappear. Maybe they’ll call whomever they’re here to see. Maybe they'll go away. Maybe they’ll leave me alone to suffer my misery in peace.
When I don’t hear the buzzing again, I breathe with relief and get up, ready to go to my room and spend the rest of the night in sleep, where at least I can escape from the turmoil of emotions I feel.
The knock on my door almost makes me scream, but It’s the words that follow freeze me in place.
“Olivia.”
It’s Jackson. His voice is unmistakable. Disbelief momentarily robs me of my senses. It can’t be.
“Olivia.” The knocking starts again, how soon until someone from one of the other apartments decides to see what the disturbance is about? I panic, unsure whether I want to see him. He sounds angry, and I have no desire to face whatever censure I'm sure I’ll find in his eyes.
Go away, I mutter to myself, Go away Jackson, please let me get over you.
When the knocking doesn’t stop, I know I have no choice but to open the door. I have a fleeting thought about combing my hair, washing the sleep from my face, or maybe changing out of the pajamas I’m wearing to something more presentable, but it only lasts a moment before I realize that it doesn’t matter.
I open the door, and my breath catches in my throat. I feel lightheaded as I fill my eyes with the sight of his perfection. His black hair is a little windblown and unruly, but it makes him look even sexier. He’s wearing a pale blue shirt rolled up at the sleeves and tucked into a pair of black pants. As usual, he looks good enough to eat.
Chastising myself for staring, I step back to allow him inside, keeping my eyes on his chest, away from the intensity of the glare on his face. He stalks into my apartment, looking beautiful, dangerous, and angry.
“Why did you leave?” He accuses without preamble.
I sigh. Thinking how seven years ago, I would have given anything for him to follow me and ask me this same question, what a huge difference that would have made.
“You shouldn’t be here.” I say softly.
“Why did you leave?” he repeats. The words are not as angry as before, but sound controlled, as if there is so much more he would like to say, but he’s keeping a tight rein on it.
I shrug. “I finished my job.”
“I wasn’t finished with you.”
I fold my arms across my chest and look up at him, the small defensive posture giving me a little boldness, even though I know it’s nothing against his strength. “What else do you want with me, Jackson?”
He stares at me silently for a long moment, and then he turns away and paces a few steps. “You left without saying goodbye, not to me, not to Blythe, and not even to Constance. You may well have given her a slap in the face.”
I sigh, “I had to go Jackson.”
“Why?” The word bursts out of him. “Was it because you couldn’t stomach the fact that you let me touch you? That you enjoyed being with me? Do you hate me so much?”
“Don’t you?” I whisper. “Don't you hate me that much?”
“No.” His voice is gentle, and his expression is a heartbreaking mixture of confusion and sadness, making my heart ache much more than it’s doing already. He takes a step towards me and holds out his arms, as if to reach for me, but then he stops and drops them to his side.
“Constance told me everything,” He says quietly.
I stare at him in alarm. “Not...”
“Everything,” he repeats, his eyes on my face telling me that he knows.
I shake my head wordlessly, turning away from him. “Why?” I say, “Why did she have to tell you? I told her not to.”
“She had to.” He says gently, “When you left, I think I went a little crazy. I took the boat out and just let it drift, without caring where it took me. You made me happy, Olivia. For the first time in seven years I felt like there was hope, and then you threw it back in my face by leaving.”
“I couldn’t…”
He shakes his head. “I understand now. I was such a beast to you all the time, and that last day wasn’t enough to change all that. Luckily, Constance found me before I let the boat drift out to open sea.” He sighs. “She told me how much of a fool I was being, and then she told me everything you had been through.”
I choke as a sob escapes me. As always, the reminder of what I lost, my future with Jackson, the baby we made… it makes me so incredibly sad. This time, he comes to me and draws me into his arms, holding me tightly to his chest. I can’t help it. I give in to the tears.
“I didn’t know.” I say through my sobs, “not at first." How many times have I imagined of telling him this? How many times have I imagined the condemnation in his eyes? Now the only thing I can see is tenderness, and it kills me inside.
“When I found out, I was too scared to tell you. I didn’t know what you would say.” I look up at him, my eyes imploring. "I wasn’t trying to hurt myself.” I tell him earnestly, the same thing I’d said to Constance at the hospital all those years ago, when she’d thought I tried to kill my baby and myself. “I didn’t step into the road on purpose.” I say desperately, “There was a bike messenger and I was right in front of him…”
“Shhh.” Jackson whispers, drawing me closer, “I know it wasn’t your fault.” His hands are rubbing my back, soothing and tender. “God I’m so sorry,” He says, “I should have been there.”
I sigh. “Constance was at the hospital when I woke up.” I tell him. “She was the one who told me I’d lost the baby. She guessed then that it was yours, but I made her promise never to tell you. I didn’t want you to hate me any more than you already did.”
He hugs me tighter, until my tears are wet pools on his shirt and my nose is filled with the scent of him. “I never hated you Olivia,” He tells me, “I always loved you, always."
“But you were so angry.”
“Yes I was.” He admits, “That night seven years ago, I was so angry I wanted to ki
ll Carter, and I would have, if I had been the one to walk in on him touching you. When I left, I wanted to hurt someone, to howl at the moon, anything. I couldn’t stand to be around all those people at the party. So I left, and drove as far as I could.
“But you came back.”
“Yeah, after falling sleep in my car, by the time I got back home, I was still so angry, I didn’t want to see anyone, you, Constance, Blythe… so I went to the gazebo," He pauses, “and then you came.”
I remember how miserable I had been that day, how I had also been trying to avoid him, and then I had walked straight to where he was.
“I took my anger out on you because I wanted to punish you for making me feel so powerless. Olivia, because that’s what you did, you made me feel like a fool for all the dreams I had been building about our future, for thinking that you loved me. When I left you there, I told myself that if I meant nothing to you, if being with me was just a game to you, a way to pass the time until Carter or someone else came around, then I didn’t care. I could go to school and date anyone I wanted, so I tried to do that, but I had to come back, to see you.”
“But… When you came, you acted like you couldn’t stand the sight of me.” The memory fills me with renewed pain.
“And yet I couldn’t keep my hands off you. As soon as I saw you, I knew everything I’d been telling myself was a lie. I didn't want to move on, I wanted you, and I wanted you to want only me.” He laughs softly, “I was crazy about you, little more than a child, and I was so crazy I couldn’t help myself.”
“Then you left... The next day, and I tortured myself with the thought that I’d driven you away. After you called Constance and told her you were going to stay with a friend in New York, she told me that it had all been Lindsay. I think she thought you left because you hadn't forgiven her. But I knew it was me, and I couldn’t forgive myself. I imagined how much you must have hated me for not even asking you what happened and I hated myself so much. I couldn’t believe that I had been so blinded by my jealousy, I didn’t even give you a chance. I left you all alone, when I should have stood by you.”
