Page 12 of Call It What You Want
Closing my eyes briefly, I tap into that innocence, before everything went to shit, and I knew what Jackson really was…
My eyelashes flutter as I look up at him. For a split second, time warps, and a sense of warmth washes over me. All the emotions I’ve been holding back for the past three years—anger, sadness, confusion—swirl inside me like a whirlpool.
“If I admit it, will you let me go?” I ask softly.
He pulls back, his gaze flicking over my face, like he’s surprised by the softness in my tone. “Admit what?”
I’ve managed to set him off balance, which is a win for me. But the win only really counts if I can get what I want in the end—freedom.
I lift my chin, the present-day me still fighting a little. I swallow, but my mouth feels dry. “That I’ve missed you,” I say.
He stares at me, his green eyes wandering over my face, trying to search out the lie. He won’t find it. Because it’s the truth. On some level, at least.
His eyes narrow. “I wouldn’t have to drug a girl who missed me,” he points out.
I shrug one shoulder. “You did kidnap me. How am I supposed to react to that?”
For a few seconds, he just stares at me, like he’s trying to decide whether or not to believe me. I’d kill to hear the thoughts zipping in his head right now.
In the end, he leans in again. “Kiss me.”
It’s a test, I can feel it. If he senses even a hint of hesitation, he’ll know. So, I sit up, legs folded under me, lean forward, and kiss him. He sucks in a breath as I thread my fingers through his short, thick hair, all the while pushing forward, so he’s forced back against the pile of pillows behind him.
The kiss is deep, my tongue sweeping into his mouth, our hot breath entangled. I inch forward even more until I’m straddling him, my thighs spread over his hips. He’s hard, I can feel it. We’re both still clothed, but I can feel the unmistakable ridge of his erection as it brushes against my center. But I don’t make contact, because with guys like Jackson, you can’t give it up all at once.
You have to tempt, tease. Deny.
He laughs as I devour him, the deep rumble vibrating through me. “There she is,” he says between kisses. “There’s my girl.”
The way he says it—low, rough, dripping with possession—sends a sharp pulse of heat straight between my thighs. And it infuriates me. He shouldn’t have this kind of control over my body. He shouldn’t be able to twist me up and make me ache with nothing but his voice.
Abruptly lifting my head, I grab his jaw. “Shut. The. Fuck. Up,” I say, squeezing. He winces, which gives me a tiny spark of joy. “Do you ever use your mouth for anything besides making smart-ass comments?”
“Do you really want an answer to that?” he says with that cocky smirk—the kind that makes it impossible not to remember what else that mouth can do.
Then a thought comes to me. Who else has he used that mouth on? Jealousy burns in my chest, which is so fucking dumb. We’re not together, and haven’t been for years, but try telling that to the naive girl I’ve just resurrected.
I straighten and look down at him, feeling more confident than I normally do. There’s something about having this beautiful man at my mercy that will do that, I guess. “Why don’t you show me?”
He has me flipped and pinned against the mattress before I can even finish the question. His hands move to my black workslacks, impatiently pulling at the zipper until—like everything else on this planet—it finally surrenders to him. My pants are off in seconds, followed by my panties, but thankfully, my dress shirt is long and covers most of me. When he reaches for that, too, I stop him. “The shirt stays on,” I say firmly.
“I’ve seen you before, Ava.All of you,” he growls.
But things are different now. The scars beneath the fabric tell a story I’m not willing to share, especially with him. Each raised line is a reminder of what I survived, what changed me. And he doesn’t get that part of me. Not anymore.
“It stays on.”
For a second, he doesn’t say anything, and my heart races, wondering if he’s going to force the issue. Finally, he chuckles, breaking the silence. He moves with deliberate slowness, hands bracing against the sheets on either side of my hips as his head disappears between my thighs.
Oh, shit.I’m really letting him do this.
Holding my breath, my muscles go rigid. Not gonna lie, present-day-me is spiraling, terrified of getting sucked back into Jackson’s gravitational pull after three years of learning to live without him.
“Relax,” he growls, cupping his hands under my ass so he can tug me closer to his mouth. His blunt fingernails bite into my skin, and all I can see is his mess of thick, dark hair between my thighs.
Holy shit.
I pull in a shaky breath and stare up at the ceiling, anticipation working through my veins as I lie there, legs spread, with Jackson-fucking-McKnight face-to-face with my pussy.
