Page 9 of Haven

With a frustrated groan, I get up to pee again. Then I pause, standing between my bed and the door.

It takes about thirty seconds for me to make my decision. I relight my candle, leave the room, and walk silently down the hall in my bare feet, carrying the candle since otherwise it would be pitch-black.

Jackson’s room is at the end of the hall. I hesitate just briefly before I turn his doorknob and push the door open.

It’s dark in his room. He’s already in bed. A board squeaks on my third step, the same board that always squeaks.

I hear his covers rustle. He’s moving now. He knows I’m here. I set the candle down on the table. When I reach the bed, he grabs for me and pulls me onto the mattress, stretching me out as he rolls on top of me.

Without a word, he kisses me, deep and hard and hungry.

His lips move urgently against mine. His tongue pushes into my mouth. His body is heavy. He sleeps completely naked, and his skin is hot and damp as it rubs against mine.

My blood was coursing in my veins even before I reached his bed, and now it’s throbbing at all my pulse points. I grab for the back of his neck, holding on as I open my mouth fully to his and rock up against the hard line of his body. The bedsprings groan slightly as we kiss. That and our labored breathing are the only sounds in the quiet.

It’s dark in the room except for the flickering light from my candle and a faint glow of the moon through the open window, but I can see Jackson’s face when he breaks the kiss without warning and straightens his arms to raise his upper body. I see his rumpled hair. The cleft in his chin. The way his eyes have darkened. The glint of perspiration on his forehead. His legs are straddling one of mine, so our thighs are twined together. He’s not smiling even a little as he stares down at me.

For a moment I think he’s going to say something, but he doesn’t. Instead he reaches down to grab fistfuls of my gown and yank it up over my head, tossing it onto the floor with gruff impatience and then staring down at my naked body.

He can’t have a very clear view of it in the low light, but he must be able to see enough. He was already getting aroused from the kiss, and now I can feel his cock hardening all the way against my hip.

He makes a soft sound. Not a word. Just a short, throaty rasp of a breath. Then he bends his elbows and kisses me again.

This kiss lasts longer. So long I feel trapped by his weight and a visceral need that keeps rising inside me. I make a helpless, whimpering sound into his mouth. He immediately moves from my lips and kisses his way down my neck, using his teeth against my throbbing pulse until I arch up with a loud gasp at the sharp tug of pleasure.

He’s breathing as hard as I am when he reaches my breasts, giving them rough, greedy attention.

Maybe Jackson would be different if he were in love. If he were in a relationship. Or if the world outside this room hadn’t fallen into violent chaos, hadn’t become a constant war we have no choice but to fight. Maybe he would take his time. Be softer. Gentler. Maybe he would smile or even laugh.

Maybe I would be different too.

Maybe I wouldn’t need his hungry eyes and demanding hands in the dark.

But this is how we are together every time.

His mouth on my breasts is too much. When I can’t keep my hips still and have to rub myself shamelessly against his erection, I grab his head and pull it away from my chest. Then I reach down between our bodies so I can get my hands on his hard cock.

His breath hitches, but I’m not trying to make him feel good. I just need to touch it. Touchhim. Run my fingers along the thick shape of him, the texture of his skin.

He readjusts his legs so he’s on his knees and then pries my legs farther apart to finger me. I’m wet and hot and aching, and I arch my spine and fist the sheet as he pumps his hand. Satisfied that I’m ready for him, he lifts my ass until I’m aligned with his groin, and then he guides his cock inside me.

He feels big and tight and intrusive. I take a few shaky breaths as I settle myself around him. Around the intensity of the pleasure. When I’ve relaxed, he starts to fuck me.

He’s got complete control of my body. I hook my legs around his thighs as best I can, but mostly I can only move when he moves me. His hips pump fast. Vigorous. My breasts jiggle from the momentum, and my hair sticks to the damp skin of my cheeks and neck.

His eyes crawl up and down my body. From my face to the place his cock moves in and out of me. My eyes have adjusted more so I can see more details. His messy hair keeps falling into his eyes, and he’ll give his head a quick jerk occasionally to move it out of the way. His bare chest has a scattering of dark, coarse hair, and the impressive definition of his arms—the strong, corded muscles there—flex and tense.

I have a brief impulse to stroke them. Feel the shape of them. To trace his familiar features with my fingertips. To push his thick waves back from his forehead.

I don’t do any of that. An orgasm is coiling tight at my center, and I flail my arms out to grab the bedding more securely as it comes.

The sensations plateau, even as Jackson fucks me harder and faster. With a soft whimper, I let go of the sheet with one hand and rub my clit instead.

My pussy flutters around his cock. It’s a relief but not enough. Not as deep and intense as I want. I keep rubbing in fast circles and toss my head back and forth, gasping out a sloppy sound of frustration.

It’s not a word. Not any sort of word. But Jackson gives a grunt and pulls out as he lowers me back to the bed. Then he turns me over onto my hands and knees and lines himself up from behind.

I’m swallowed by a deep ache, an urgent need I can feel in my bones. I’m panting loudly as he pushes his way back inside me, squeezing the flesh of my ass with both hands.

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