Page 38 of Remember Me

Jackson laughed, lowering the camera. “She did, and you earned it. That was the best interview I've seen you do. Period.”

“I need to record an outro,” I said, trying to refocus despite the surge of emotions threatening to overwhelm me. “While it's still fresh.”

We found a quieter spot in the tunnel, and I delivered a wrap-up for the segment, my voice somehow steady despite the fact that my insides were doing cartwheels. Jackson gave me a thumbs up as I finished, letting me know we'd gotten what we needed.

“Ready to head back up to the box?” he asked, starting to pack away some of his equipment. “Game's about to restart.”

I nodded, but as I watched him work. His movements were quick, his forearms flexing as he secured the camera, and another wave of adrenaline hit me. Or maybe it wasn't adrenaline at all, but something else entirely. Something sparked by the night, the success, and the sight of Jackson in his fitted button-down, sleeves rolled to expose his forearms, and the baseball cap he put on for filming.

He must have felt me watching because he looked up, his expression changing as he caught my gaze.

“What?” he asked, though his tone suggested he already knew.

I glanced around. The tunnel was mostly empty now, everyone either back in the stadium or in the locker rooms. Without a word, I grabbed his hand and pulled him around a corner, into a shadowed alcove where maintenance equipment was stored.

“Thea—” he started, but I cut him off, rising on my toes to press my lips to his.

He responded instantly with one hand cupping the back of my neck while the other found my waist, pulling me against him. The kiss deepened, quickly turning hungry and urgent. We couldn’t help it. The adrenaline after being front row on the field at the Super Bowl, living our dream was too much to fight.

And whenever something big happened, it always ended with a bang… literally.

Jackson’s back hit the wall, and I pressed against him, feeling his erection through his dress pants. His mouth moved to my neck, finding that spot just below my ear that always made me gasp.

“Someone could come by,” he murmured against my skin, though his hands were already sliding under my blouse, contradicting his words.

“Don't care,” I breathed, my own hands working at his belt. “You owe me for the flight.”

His pushed my hands away, growling something unintelligible before he spun us so I was the one resting my back against the wall. His hands moved down my ribs and he slipped his fingers into my pants, dipping into my underwear.

No foreplay. No kisses. Just a man on a mission to get me off as quickly as possible and I couldn’t deny how much that turned me on.

“God, you're already wet,” he said, his voice rough with want.

“It’s what thinking about you does to me,” I joked breathlessly, earning a sharp nip at my collarbone.

“Funny,” he muttered as he slipped two fingers inside me.

So good.

I bit my lip to keep from making noise as he worked me, his movements quick and confident. He knew what he was doing. Knew exactly how to touch me, where to apply pressure, when to slow down and speed up. He’d gotten me off in so many different ways and places, I was already close to coming from his deft fingers.

“Jackson,” I gasped, my head falling back against the wall as tension built inside me.

“I've got you,” he assured me, his free hand coming up to cradle my face and his thumb brushed my lower lip. “Let go.”

And I did, coming apart against his hand, my body shuddering as waves of pleasure washed over me. He swallowed my moan with another kiss; it was deep and possessive, his fingers working me through the aftershocks.

When I could breathe again, I looked up at him, taking in his flushed face and darkened eyes. “We should—”

“Yeah,” he agreed, understanding what I meant. “Later. The hotel room. I'm going to take my time with you.”

The promise in his voice sent another shiver through me as he gently fixed my clothing, making sure I was presentable again. I returned the favor, straightening his collar, and ran my fingers through his hair to tame it.

“Might need your baseball cap after that.”

His face pulled into a familiar smirk. “Wow, Pyro. Been waiting years for you to appreciate my hat, and now you do. The one time I don’t have it?”

I shrugged. “I’m a fickle pillow princess.”

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