A tormented cry rises up within me and I kiss him to trap it, to bury it, to tell myself to take all he is willing to give and be happy. But he’s so slow, savouring, unhurried and it feels too gentle, too caring, too confusing.
His hands smooth around my back to release my bra clasp and I shimmy out of it, toss it aside and his fingers commence their slow path over my skin, down my hips, beneath the strap of my knickers as he eases them down my legs and I take over once more, flicking them away with my foot and pulling him back to me.
He laughs softly. ‘You’re in such a rush.’
I gulp down the emotion. ‘I want you.’
‘I want you too, baby.’
I nod and our noses brush. I can see his eyes glint in the dark. He’s looking right at me, inside me—he must see it. My love for him. And if he does, why isn’t he running? Why is he running his cock up and down my seam as though he has all the time in the world? Why is he stroking my hair back from my face like he...like he loves me too?
‘Jackson?’
‘Yes.’
‘What are we doing? Really?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘This isn’t just sex, is it?’
He drags in a shaky breath and for a second I feel like he’s going to withdraw so I wrap my legs around him for insurance and I stroke the tense muscles of his back. I tell him with my body that I don’t want this to stop, regardless of whether he can give me what I want or tell me what I need to hear in this moment.
‘No.’ It’s so raw, it’s so honest. ‘It could never be just sex with you, Caitlin. I think that’s why I avoided it for so long.’
‘Why avoid something that feels so right?’
‘Because I’m no good for you. I’ve told you before.’
‘But I don’t understand.’
He lowers his head and presses his forehead against mine. ‘I’m fucked up, Cait. I know nothing of relationships—good relationships, healthy ones.’
‘That’s not true. Look at Coco and Ash. Look at my entire family; it’s bursting with them.’
‘I’m the issue. Not those around me. Not you.’
‘Why? Because you were brought up by your father? Because your mum left you? Because of...because of the blonde?’
He was tense before but now he’s cold, his skin prickling with goose bumps, and I know I’ve fucked up.
‘I’m just trying to understand, Jackson.’
His swallow is audible in the dark. ‘I know you are.’
‘Then tell me...’ I keep up the slow stroke of my fingers on his back and I keep my legs wrapped around him. ‘Trust me with it.’
‘I can’t.’
‘Please, Jackson.’
He kisses me, his lips brushing so softly against mine, and when he lifts his head I swear his eyes are damp in the low light. ‘I’d rather make love to you.’
My breath catches, my heart pulses—make love. ‘But you...’
‘This I can do...’
My brain finishes the sentence for him.