JACKSON

Weeks pass, and the air cools in the middle of September. Not completely - a midwest summer lasts way too long - but it's better than the way July and August suffocated the city.

I don't sweat every time I walk outside. The sun starts to go down earlier. The universities nearby start their classes again, and everyone comes alive. There are more people, more activities, more buzz.

All of that holds true, but I'm more bored than ever. As time has passed, April has only gotten busier with her show. Rehearsals grow longer, more intense. When she's not rehearsing the actual show, she's rehearsing the songs. When she's not rehearsing the songs, she's in dance practice. It's a never-ending loop that I can't see the end of.

I know I shouldn't lament about it. I'm not the one who puts in countless hours of work every week - that's her. But I still miss spending time with her every day, knowing that once closing time came around, I'd see her face. Now, I'm lucky to get an interaction like that once a week.

Even on the weekends, she has things to do. She's made friends with her castmates, and says it's important for them to have organic chemistry on stage. When she told me that, I said organic chemistry is a class that a science major takes, not something she needs to worry about. She laughed and rolled her eyes, but I wasn't kidding.

I know I'm being needy. But I don't think wanting a little alone time with her is too much to ask. I can't remember the last time we hung out, just the two of us, somewhere quiet. When we had a chill, casual conversation where we could relax and not worry about time constraints or running lines.

It seems that right as we were about to turn into something more, the world flipped us on our heads. Now, she has no time to worry about a potential budding relationship. And it seems like suddenly, I have all the time in the world to worry about just that.

I didn't stop thinking about the night in her apartment for a long time. I still remember the way her hair felt in my fingers, soft and smooth. I still remember the nonchalant manner she got undressed in front of me, and how I fought to keep my eyes averted. That's still an anomaly to me. I know people do crazy things when they're dead tired, but I did not see that coming. I had no idea she was that comfortable around me.

Soon after that, her schedule got hectic. We don't get quiet, intimate moments like that anymore. I miss them; I miss her.

So, on a rainy Saturday morning when I'm not scheduled to work, I wake up and grab my phone immediately. Instead of being woken up with April's ringtone, I wake up on my own. I really miss hearing her voice first thing, talking about nothing in particular, just trading conversation.

I scroll through Twitter, feeling unsatisfied. I come across a tweet April posted - it's a picture of her and her new friends out to brunch earlier this morning. It has a ton of hashtags and happy emojis, but I scroll past without dropping a like.

I shake my head and toss my phone away. The facade she puts on for social media is totally fake; I know how stressed she really is. She has perpetual dark circles under her eyes from lack of sleep, she's lost a noticeable amount of weight, and she always has a new complaint about someone in the cast. They're not a bunch of perfect best friends. I know that better than anyone.

But of course, she has to make it seem that way. I know it's a lie, yet I can't help feeling jealous.

The tweet was from two hours ago, and I assume she's back home now. I reach for my phone and shoot her a text, knowing that no matter how peeved I am, I'll still try and see her.

SENT, 10:48am- hey. U around?

RECEIVED, 10:51am- Hey. Yeah! Call me.

I grin at the screen and press her contact, happy when she answers almost immediately.

"Hey, what's going on?" I say.

"Morning, sleepyhead," she says, and my chest feels warm hearing her say that. "Whatcha up to?"

"Laying in bed," I say. "How 'bout you?"

"Looking at new blocking sheets," she says. "I was on the call sheet for today, but got taken off. They didn't think they'd get to my scene." She sounds relieved, but there's something undercutting her voice, too. I can't place it over the phone. "Wanna come over? I have banana bread. Without nuts, just the way you like it."

I smile to myself. "That sounds awesome," I say. "And yeah, I'd really like to see you, but…" I pause. "Let's go do something. Go to a museum, get lunch, something to get your mind off White Christmas for like, a day."

She reciprocates my pause, making a thoughtful sound as she does. "Um, okay," she says. "Sure. I'll put myself together."

"Awesome."

I get ready, feeling excited for the day ahead. Not even the rain can quell how much I'm looking forward to seeing her and spending time doing something that doesn't involve theater. Of course, I support her in every way, but there comes a point where it's simply too much. And she's been beyond that point for a while now.

I ring the bell to her apartment and she lets me up. The door is open once I climb the stairs, and I peek my head in to find her sitting in the middle of the floor wearing a towel on her hair and a purple robe, fresh from a shower.

"Hey," I say, knocking on the doorframe. "Am I too early?"

She looks up from the papers in front of her, but only for a second. "Oh, no," she says. "I'm sorry, I got distracted. I just have to finish this, okay? I have to write down these notes before I forget them." She gestures towards the couch. "Go ahead, sit. I won't be long. The banana bread is on the counter."

I help myself to a slice, sitting on the couch while watching her furiously jot down words I can't read as she's hunched on the floor.

"What are you-"

"I can't talk while…" She looks at me helplessly. "While I'm working, okay? It'll just be quicker if I…" She looks back at the paper. "It won't take me long."

"Alright, alright," I say.

But it does 'take her long.' I've long since finished my banana bread and I'm pretty sure her hair must be dry inside the towel by the time I get fed up of waiting. But she still stays, muttering to herself, bent over the script.

"I can't do that," she mutters. "He's just going to… no, I can't." She scratches something out furiously, gnawing on the inside of her cheek. "I'll have to talk with… no."

"April," I say, voice firm. "This will be here when we get back. Can we just go?"

She looks up for the first time since I got here, a strange look on her face. "No, we can't," she says. "I don't think… I can't go out today. I'm sorry for making you come all the way here, but I have to get this done. The way this is set up, I'm just not comfortable with doing it this way and I have to make changes. And after I make the changes, I have to get good at the song Leonard gave me to learn for the second act. I'm having a lot of trouble hitting the high G, and it's gonna take some practice. I'll probably meet with my voice coach later. Maybe you and I can do something tomorrow."

I stare at her for a long moment. "No," I say, standing to put the plate that held my banana bread on the coffee table. "I think you need to take a break."

I pick up the papers from where they're strewn, and she stands up and looks at me indignantly.

"Hey, stop," she says, as I set them on the kitchen counter. "That's important work. I need those. I need to get all this straight in my head."

"Today?" I say. "You work on this stuff every day. You know I support you, but you need to step away once in a while. It's making you crazy, Pinky."

"It's not making me crazy," she says, glowering. "You sound like my mother. If you'd just let me work, I'd be a lot less 'crazy.' I just need to get this under control."

"You have plenty of time," I say. "But right now, we need to get out of this house."

"Why are you being so pushy with me?" she says.

"I'm trying to help you," I say. "You've barely seen the light of day in weeks."

"That's not true," she says, tightening the tie on her robe. "This is my job. I spend time outside of it, too."

"Yeah, with the same people from inside it."

"Is that what this is about?" she says. "That you're jealous?"

"No," I say, even though that's not completely true. "I'm thinking about your wellbeing. I don't want what happened-"

"You don't know anything about what happened," she says. "So, please don't bring it up. I am fine. I want to be great, I want this show to be great. And I'm doing what I need to do to make it that way!"

As her voice raises, so do my eyebrows. "You don't need to yell," I say. "Or push me away, because you know I'm right."

She opens her mouth to refute me, but her lower lip trembles instead. Her eyes widen and grow glassy, and a flush appears on her cheeks. Suddenly, I feel like an ass.

"Hey, I didn't mean to make you to cry, I'm-"

She cuts me off by falling into my arms, clinging to my back with all her might as the sobs start. I tentatively reciprocate the hug, patting her back slowly and holding tighter as the moments pass.

"It's okay," I say, trying to soothe her. "Come on, let's go to the couch. It's okay."

We make it to the couch and sit down. She leans against my shoulder and continues to cry, and I rub her opposite arm with a steady hand.

"I'm sorry," I say, gently.

"It's not you," she wails, chest heaving. "It's this. It's all this."

I nod, cheek moving against the top of her head. "You need a break," I murmur.

"But how am I supposed to take one when everything isn't perfect?" she whimpers. "Time is going so fast. Everything is out of control. It's like I get one thing right, then something else goes wrong." She lets out a long, loud sob. "And I never see you anymore. I'm so sorry. I didn't want this to happen. I mean, I did, but not like this."

"It's okay," I say.

"It's not," she says, sitting up. She holds her chest, eyes big and round, as the tears continue to roll down her cheeks. She breathes heavier, faster, leaning forward to double over.

"Are you okay?" I ask, trying not to sound alarmed.

"I think I'm gonna die," she says, still grabbing at her chest. "I can't breathe. I need water. I'm gonna fail this show and my family's gonna hate me, you're gonna be disappointed in me, I'm gonna crash and burn and be a total failure, I can't do this. I need water!"

I hurry to the sink, where I fill a big glass and bring it over to her. With badly shaking hands, she takes it and tries to drink, but the water splashes on her lap more than it gets in her mouth.

"I think you're having a panic attack," I say. "Try to breathe."

"I am," she insists, her whole body trembling now. "But I think I'm dying. There's so many things wrong. I should've never accepted this role, I shouldn't have auditioned, my mom was right. I'm gonna have a breakdown again, I'm gonna have a breakdown!"

"No, you're not," I say, rubbing her back. "I got you. You're fine, I'm right here."

"I'm not fine," she whispers, holding the glass between her hands as the water moves around. "I can't breathe. I'm having a heart attack."

"Look at me," I say, and she turns her head with great difficulty. "And breathe. There's nothing to be scared of, I'm right here. This is temporary, you just gotta breathe."

I inhale with her, and she lets it out with an extended sob. "Matthew touched me," she wails, once her entire exhale is out.

My body goes cold. "What?" I snap, looking at her seriously.

Instead of answering, she collapses onto my chest as her body goes limp and she continues to cry. I stare ahead at the wall with one hand on the back of her head, smoothing over her hair. I rock her side to side, feeling her hammering heart inside her chest, and wait until she catches her breath to ask again.

"What happened?" I ask, and she sits up, moving tendrils of hair out of her face.

"I took care of it," she says, voice still waterlogged. "It was - it was, we were supposed to kiss. And right there, in front of everyone, he groped my ass. Like he wanted it to be a part of the scene. I…" She hiccups. "I flipped out on him, Leonard did, too. He apologized, but…" She breaks down again. "It was in front of everyone! He violated me, in front of everyone. And he's my scene partner, I still have to work with him."

She rests her head on my chest again and cries against me, one hand gripping the side of my neck.

"I'll kill him," I say, holding her tight and secure. "Next time I see him, I'm not kidding. No one touches you without your permission, that's so sick and wrong." I grit my teeth. "I knew there was something fucked about that guy. I fucking knew it. Jesus, April, I am so sorry that happened to you."

"I know it won't happen again," she says quietly. "But I can still remember the way it felt. I can't get it out of my head when I look at him."

I squeeze her shoulders. "He's not going to be able to forget it when I cave in his skull, either."

"You can't cave his skull in," she says. "The show still has to happen. Everyone's expectations are so high."

It sounds like she could be joking, but I know she's not.

We're quiet for what seems like forever. She breathes a little easier now that she told me about Matthew, and I wonder how long that's been on her mind. I should've checked in on her sooner. Should've asked how things were going. But instead, I only got jealous and standoffish about her castmates. That was selfish.

I shake my head softly at myself, then picture his face. His slippery grin, flashing eyes. I want to vomit when I think about him grabbing at April.

I'll make sure he gets his.

"It's all weighing on me," she says.

"What is?" I ask, still unable to get my mind off Matthew and what he did.

"What everyone thinks," she says. "There's so much pressure. I can't do it, Jackson. I have to be perfect for them, all the time. And if I'm not there, if I'm not perfect, I have to be working to make it. I'm so tired. I'm just so tired."

"I know you are," I say, stroking her back. "But you know what? You never have to be anything but yourself. Not around me, at least."

She starts to cry again, but differently this time. Instead of long, drawn-out wails, she quietly sniffles and twitches against me, reaching to wipe her nose and eyes every few seconds.

"You're the only one who thinks that," she says. "And I've been ignoring you. I haven't been… I've been trying to please them. I'm sorry, Jackson."

"You don't have to apologize to me," I say.

We're quiet for a long while, then she speaks up again.

"What happened to me last time…" she begins, and without specification I know she's referencing her breakdown. She's alluded to it before, but never gone into detail. "It can't happen again. I can't go through that again." She whimpers softly. "I'm not strong enough."

I don't say anything. I don't want her to feel pressured to continue, only if she feels comfortable.

"I was in the hospital," she says. "I wasn't eating. Wasn't sleeping. Just going, going, going. Until one day I just… stopped. I broke. I broke myself." She inhales shakily. "I was hallucinating. It was the scariest time of my life, and I felt so alone. I locked myself in my dorm room for days. And after I got out of the hospital, my mom made me come home." She shakes her head. "I can't do that again."

"I can't fix things," I say. "But I can help you. And I want to help you."

She sits up and looks into my eyes; hers are bloodshot and tired. "I wanted to tell you," she says. "I just didn't know how before. I didn't want you to think I was crazy."

I reach and tuck a small piece of hair behind her ear. "You're far from crazy," I say.

She holds my wrist and keeps my hand on her face, leaning her cheek against my palm.

"You can tell me stuff, you know," I say. "If you feel like you're getting bad. I'm here. I'm not going anywhere."

She blinks, her long eyelashes glued together with tears. "Yeah?" she peeps. "Not ever?"

I shake my head. "You got me right here," I say, offering a smile. She returns it.

Later, we make it to her bed. She puts on a pair of pajamas - soft pink pants decorated with sheep with a camisole, and pulls herself close to my chest. I wrap my arms around her as she tucks her face into my neck, eyelashes ghosting against my skin, and listen to her fall asleep. She goes quickly, deeply, like she hasn't had a restful night in ages. And my guess is that she probably hasn't.

So, I stay. Awake with my body cocooned around hers, I keep her safe while she lets herself do what she hasn't for a while. Just be.

…

"Jackson."

I open my eyes slowly, blinking up into April's face from where my head rests on her thigh. We're on her bed - she's leaning against the wall and I'm using her lap as a pillow, tired from an especially long shift. She'd been going over notes from her director before I closed my eyes, but now all she has in her hand is a shortbread cookie shaped like a pumpkin. It's now October.

"Hmm?"

She looks down at me and giggles softly. "Oh, sorry," she says. "I didn't know you were asleep."

"I'm up now," I say.

She traces my eyebrow with her free pointer finger, studying my face as she does so, and nibbles on the edge of the cookie.

"Bite," I say, and she lowers it to my mouth.

"Okay, that was a huge bite," she says, narrowing her eyes. "That was a chomp."

I snicker. "Why did you say my name before?"

She sighs, relaxing deeper against the wall as she rests her hand on my chest. Solidifying it there, I overlap it with my own and stroke her bony knuckles.

"I was just thinking," she says, taking two more bites of the cookie until it disappears. "What happened to your dad? You never talk about him. But you always talk about your mom. And I remember you once said…"

"Yeah," I cut in, and we lock eyes.

"If it's a sore subject, you don't have to…" she trails off.

"I don't care," I say. "He walked out on us when I was like, four. I can't remember much. I don't think he was around much while he was around, if you know what I mean."

"Yeah."

"So… I don't know."

"Well, I'm sorry," she says, still tracing my eyebrow and moving to the lines on my forehead.

"Nah," I say. "I never knew him. There's nothing to miss."

"I guess," she says, shrugging one shoulder. "But you deserve a good dad. You're a good person."

"My mom did a hell of a job on her own," I say.

April smiles. "That's true."

"She'd love you," I say, rolling my eyes at the thought. "Yeah, she'd be all over you."

"I'm sure I'd feel the same," she says, still grinning softly.

"She's a lot," I say. "But hey. She's my mom."

"Of course," April says.

I look up at her, eyes searching her face, until she looks to me. "What made you ask?" I say.

"I don't know," she says. "It just crossed my mind. I can't imagine that anyone, much less your own father, would leave you. You. It just…" She sighs, at a loss. "It blows my mind. You're wonderful. I don't see how someone could leave you."

"You're inflating my ego," I say, voice low.

"Whatever," she says. "Don't put on that cocky persona. You know I know you."

"I know," I say, then reach to touch her chin. "Yeah, I know."

…

On the afternoon of December 1st, April is a mess. I'm over at her place as she gets ready to leave, shoving everything she'll need for the first performance tonight into an oversized duffel bag.

"You're sure you don't need help getting this to the theater?" I ask.

"Yeah," she says, throwing a curling iron from the bathroom in the bag's direction. It misses and bounces off the couch, onto the floor. I pick it up and put it where she meant it to go. "The show's not for hours yet. You'll just be waiting around, and you're not even dressed. Not even showered! No, no way. You have to get ready. I'll be fine."

"But will you, though?" I ask, leaning on the kitchen counter.

"I will," she says, stepping out of the bathroom. Her hair is in rollers and she's wearing a pink zip-up hoodie, jeans low on her hips. I can see a strip of her orange underwear showing just above the waist, which makes me smile to myself.

"You're not freaking out?" I ask, a smile in my voice. "Not at all?"

"Shut up," she says. "Of course I'm freaking out. But once I get there… get settled… I'll be fine."

In mid-October, I cornered Matthew in the alley a block away from the theater and socked him in the face for what he did. It needed no explanation, he was perfectly aware. Luckily, it's all healed for tonight. He told April and the rest of the cast that he got mugged on the Blue Line, and they're none the wiser.

I chose to keep it to myself, too. Vigilante justice is best kept a secret.

"You're gonna be amazing tonight," I say. "I can't wait to see."

She wouldn't let me come to the handful of dress rehearsals, because she said she wanted me to be surprised. I went along with it, accepting that it would only raise my excitement higher for opening night.

"I wanna see you in that front row," she says, pulling up her pants only to have them sag again a few moments later. "This face," she says, walking over and cupping my cheeks in her hands. "I need to see it."

"You will," I say, laughing as she goes to grab a different bra than the one she's wearing to toss it in the bag. "And I'll have cue cards on me if you forget your lines."

She scoffs and laughs, saying "Okay, good." She surveys her apartment. "I think I got everything," she says.

"Coat, shoes," I say.

"Right, right," she says, giggling at herself.

"Are you gonna take the train with those curlers in?" I ask, raising my eyebrows.

"Are you crazy?" she says. "Look outside."

I glance out the window to see a thick blanket of snow falling, the perfect mood for the show tonight.

"I'm taking an Uber," she says. "And it'll be here in two minutes. Quick, come hug me."

I shake my head and cross the small room, enveloping her even smaller body into my arms and squeezing tight. "Break a leg," I say. "I'll see you after."

"Yes, you will," she says. "Lock it up when you go. Your clothes are on the bed!"

After she disappears out the door, I watch her scurry down the sidewalk and climb into a car that pulls up outside. As it drives away, I smile to myself and walk to the bathroom, turning on the shower to get a head start on preparing for later.

Over the past few months, April and I have gotten incredibly close. No doubt about it, she's my best friend and I'm hers. Sometimes, we spend platonic nights at each other's places, and Mark always gives me shit when she leaves. She better learned how to balance her rehearsal schedule, and got a good hold on controlling her life. Ever since her panic attack in September, things have been on the up and up.

There are moments, though, between us, where something more is dying to happen. It just hasn't felt like the right moment yet because our schedules are still so different, our lives still so hectic. I don't want to force anything.

Though, nothing with her feels forced. When it comes to testing out a romantic relationship with the girl who's become my best friend, I tend to make up a lot of excuses.

After I get out of the shower and a few hours pass, I put on the clothes for tonight: dress slacks and a white button-up shirt. April ironed them this morning in her tizzy, insisting that she do so instead of me so there wouldn't be any errant creases. I button myself up in the mirror, but then shake my head and unbutton it. I need a closer shave. I want to look perfect for her tonight.

I lean over the bathroom sink and use one of her girly razors to trim my beard as best I can, at least making it something other than the unruly mess it had been moments ago. When I'm happy with how it looks, I dry off my face and put the shirt back on, now impressed with the reflection looking back.

On the way to the theater, I stop and pick up a bouquet I know she'll love and carry it with me. My stomach is in knots as I find my way to the front row, so I can't imagine how she must be feeling backstage.

SENT, 7:43pm- youre gonna be amazing up there, pink lady. I cant wait to see what u can do :)

I press send, though I know she probably won't see it. I'm surprised when my phone buzzes in my pocket with a message from her.

RECEIVED, 7:47pm- I am sooooooooo nervous you wouldnt believe. But in a good way. It's gonna be great. I'm so glad you're here. Thank you for everything. You were right, you are the one and only.

I smile at my phone's screen like an idiot. A real idiot.

SENT, 7:50pm- knock 'em dead

And she does. I've never seen someone perform like she does. I always knew she was good - she wouldn't have gotten the part if she wasn't. But she's more than good, she does way more than hold her own up there. She owns the space, commands attention, and has a palpable stage presence. When she sings, her voice - that tiny voice that whispers to me at night as I'm about to fall asleep - fills up the entire auditorium.

I am in awe of her.

When the show ends, I'm the first to stand. The house lights come up and we make eye contact as I applaud her with enthusiasm, a giant smile on my face. She mouths something to me before retreating backstage with her costars: thank you.

When she comes out afterwards, she pushes her way through the throngs of people and flies into my arms. I spin her around, laughing with my face in her neck, and hold her tight.

"You're fucking amazing," I say, setting her down.

She's breathless, swiping her hair out of her eyes.

"These are for you," I say, handing over the bouquet. "Congratulations on an awesome performance."

"Thank you," she says, eyes glistening as she takes the flowers and smells them. "They're beautiful. And you… thank you."

"Of course," I say, then bend to kiss her cheek - long and sweet. I pull away and we lock eyes; her lips are parted slightly and her eyes are sparkling. I need to make something of this night. "Let me take you out," I suggest.

"Okay," she says, taking my hand subtly. "Where?"

"The Florentine," I say, and we walk out of the theater with our hands linked together.

As we sit across from each other at the fancy Italian restaurant, April wears a permanent blush on her cheeks.

"So, you were really, actually impressed?" she asks, sipping white wine.

"More than that," I say. "I always knew you had something. But, Pink, someone's gonna see you and snatch you up. You're gonna make it big. You're so much bigger than this."

"Than the Chicago Theater?" she asks, eyes wide.

"Than this city," I say. "Just watch."

"Well," she says. "I'm not ready to leave yet. So, they better wait."

"True," I say. "The city isn't done with you, either."

She smiles demurely, setting her goblet down. "It means a lot to me that you came," she says.

"Of course," I say. "I wouldn't miss it for the world. You're my best friend. What kind of a person would I be if I didn't fulfill my role as your biggest fan?"

She giggles, averting my eyes. There's something different about her tonight - something innately magnetic. She's glowing.

The food we eat is expensive and worth it, and I cover the check despite her protests.

"No," I say, putting down my card. "This is a congratulatory dinner. I took you out. That's how this works."

"At least let me leave the tip," she says, voice hushed.

I press one gentle finger against her lips. "No," I say, grinning.

"Well, thank you," she says, eyeing the card.

"Stop looking at it," I say. "This is for you. A gift. For you."

"Okay," she says, trying to accept it. "You're too good to me."

"Nothing but the best for my best girl," I say.

Her blush grows.

We take a taxi back to her place, and after she gets out and steps onto the sidewalk, she leans down and makes eye contact.

"Come up?" she asks, batting her long eyelashes.

I nod, paying the taxi fare and sliding out behind her. As the car drives away, we linger on the sidewalk for a long moment, just drinking in the presence of one another.

"I better… find the keys," she says, laughing breathily.

"Right," I say.

She unlocks the front door and I follow her up the stairs, entering the apartment in the same state I left it earlier. I tidied up her frenzied mess, but it's home like always.

"Tonight was…" she begins, putting the flowers in a vase with water before leaning against the kitchen counter, the small of her back pressed against it. "Magic."

"It was," I say, taking a few steps closer to her.

I watch her swallow. Her eyes are on my lips, unable to move anywhere else.

She's wearing a low-cut black dress with a tight bodice and flowing skirt that reaches her knees. It's strapless, and her shoulders are on full display as she slips out of her coat and deposits it on the floor.

I know what's on her mind. She would never have dropped her coat on the floor if it wasn't.

"You're magic," I say, trapping her against the counter with one hand on either side of her hips.

She takes in a short, quick inhale as my face nears hers. I smell the wine on her breath, the perfume on her neck, the sweet vanilla in her hair. Suddenly, I feel drunk on the mere presence of her, much headier than the glass of wine I had with dinner.

I skim my hands down her shoulders and the peach fuzz across her arms stands on end. She shudders, pulling her bottom lip into her mouth, and blinks heavily.

Now, I'm the one staring at her mouth. Taking one hand away from her arm, I use it to cup her cheek and get closer, the tip of my nose brushing hers, the air between us mixing. As my lips ghost over hers, I hear the tiniest sound come from her throat.

When we finally kiss, I take it slow. She does, too. We're unhurried, drinking in this delicious moment that's been waiting and begging to happen for so long.

Her lips move fluidly against mine, and I match her pace. I taste her - wine and cinnamon - and find myself wanting to consume her.

When we pull apart, she looks both stunned and stunning.

"Took you long enough," she breathes, then smiles.

"Better late than never," I say, and kiss her again.

I hold the sides of her neck with both hands, closing my eyes as I kiss her slowly. Her hands find their way to my waist, circling around to rest over my hips, pulling at the fabric of my shirt where it's tucked into my pants.

She's not subtle with what she wants, and I'm glad. I want tonight to end there, too.

We make it to her bed after kicking off our shoes, and things slow down again after a brief, rushed moment. The lights are low, new shades drawn, her pupils dilated. The only things quick in this room are our heartbeats, hammering inside our chests. I can feel hers when she presses her body against me, pushing my back against the wall so she can sit facing me on my lap.

Unhurriedly, she unbuttons my shirt. As her fingers move deftly, I harden in my pants and see the bulge it creates, demanding to be noticed between us. When she gets to the last button, she untucks my shirt and strips it from my arms, then runs the heel of her hand over my erection.

"Shit…" I hiss, tipping my head back.

Her hands skim across my pecs, over my white undershirt, as her hips start to rhythmically grind against my lap. I wind my arms around her back and pull her zipper down, realizing about halfway that she isn't wearing a bra.

"Take it off," she urges, lifting her arms above her head.

I do as she tells me. The dress comes off and gets thrown to the floor, and she's on top of me in just a pair of black, lacy underwear.

We spend a moment staring at each other. She doesn't try and cover her chest, and I don't try and hide the fact that I'm staring. I lift one hand and, gauging her eyes for permission, use it to cup her breast. The weight is warm and soft, and when I squeeze, she gasps and moans at the same time.

"I'm sorry," she breathes, and my hand jolts away immediately. "I've never…"

"We don't have to…" I say, backtracking. I don't want to do anything she isn't comfortable with. I would never push her. The fact that she's a virgin has never left my mind.

She doesn't answer with words. Instead, she tips her torso closer and takes my face in her hands, kissing me with an open mouth. I wrap my arms around her bare back, trailing my fingertips up her spine, and she curves it towards me.

"You're fucking gorgeous," I say, skimming my hands around to the front to cup her breasts again. I rub her nipples with my thumbs until they harden further, and she moans into my mouth.

"Mmm…" she hums, hips still moving.

"You like that?" I breathe, continuing.

"Yeah," she whines, and I move my mouth to her neck. I suck on her pulse point and she trembles, sighing softly as I graze my teeth over her skin and pull it into my mouth. "No hickey," she whispers. "Performances. No hickeys."

"Right," I say, then smirk. "At least where people can see."

"What do you-"

Before she can finish, I push her gently to lie on her back and cover her body with mine. I open my mouth and suck on her breast, the soft, smooth skin above her nipple, pulling it between my teeth just like I'd done with her neck. Except here, I can leave marks.

"Mm, Jackson," she moans, back arching.

I pull my mouth away with a popping sound and see I've left the beginnings of a welt behind, which is exactly what I wanted. She trails over it with her fingertips, and as we keep eye contact, I lick her nipple slowly and trail one hand down her belly to rest between her legs, over her damp panties.

"I had a nickname in college," I say, slinking lower.

She watches me, breath hitching.

"Wanna know what it was?"

She swallows and nods, running her top teeth over her lower lip.

"Pussy champ," I say, tracing the lace across the waistband of her panties.

"Oh…" she whimpers.

"Want me to show you how I got it?" I ask, voice smooth as silk.

She nods - unsure at first, then more confidently. "I'm a… I've never…" she stammers.

"I know," I say. "This won't hurt. In just a few minutes, you're gonna feel amazing. You'll feel things you never knew you could."

She shoots me a look. "I've had an orgasm before," she tells me.

"Not like this," I say, and slide her underwear down her pale, smooth legs.

I part her thighs when she's bare before me, and she watches my every move. With my hands on the soft, inner skin of her legs, I lick my lips and center my eyes on her core, what's awaiting me.

When I spit on it, it surprises her. She flinches, gasping a bit, but her hips gyrate to meet my lips when I finally touch her. The saliva isn't needed for lubrication - she's done plenty of that herself - but I find it hot. And as she moans and writhes under me, I know she does, too.

I can't understand anything she's saying if she's trying to say words. All I hear, as my tongue delves inside her body, is a series of animalistic cries and moans. I've reduced her to a primal state, which is something I knew I could do.

I'm good at going down on girls, having gotten to the point where it didn't affect me. But, watching her come undone from what my mouth is capable of, I can't say that anymore. My dick is rock-hard, and she's the hottest thing I've ever seen. In my life.

"Oh, Jackson," she moans. "Jackson, Jackson, Jackson, oh god, oh god. Oh, my god!"

"Yeah, baby?" I say, and she bends her knees to widen her legs further. I suck on two of my fingers and push them inside her, and partnered with my working mouth, her eyes roll back and her hips lift from the mattress.

When she comes, her hips buck and jerk against my face and I don't stop until she's spent, empty, twitching erratically. I kiss her lower belly and she presses a hand to her heart, panting, as she tries to catch her breath.

"Shit," she whispers.

"I told you," I say.

She grapples for my shoulders, holding on tight as she kisses me, hard and sloppy. "I want you in me," she says. "Do you have a condom?"

Fuck. I can clearly picture them on my bedside table at home, the box unopened from my lasting dry spell.

"No," I say. "Shit. Fuck."

She skims her hands down my chest, landing at the waist of my pants which she unbuttons. "Can't you pull out?" she asks, unzipping. "You can come on my stomach, I don't care."

"Seriously?" I ask.

"Yeah," she says, yanking at my pants. "I just… I need… I really want… I'm so wet, Jackson, I need you. Please, god, I need you."

I don't waste any more time. With a rough kiss, I strip my pants and boxers and we're both naked, her eyes burning between my legs.

"You ready?" I ask. "You're cool with this? I know you're a-"

"Please," she says, widening her thighs to welcome me. "Just maybe, go slow."

I kiss her chin. "Tell me if it hurts," I say. "I'll stop. Just… just tell me."

She nods, and I push the tip in, already loving the way she feels. As I'm halfway, she spreads her legs further and adjusts her hips, rubbing her thumbs in circles on my shoulders. When I'm all the way, she loses her breath as her eyelashes flutter, lips parting to moan.

"Good?" I ask.

"Really good," she breathes. "Move."

I pull halfway out and sink inside her again, scooping my hips at an upward angle. She holds onto the front of my neck with one hand, keening as I meld our bodies together, and slowly begins to match my rhythm.

I know I'll come first. My dry spell has been long, and she feels like nothing I've experienced before. Her body is one-of-a-kind, along with the look in her eyes, the way she touches me, the way she forces me to be present. She's everything - I'm all in with her.

The muscles in my groin tighten as I get closer and closer to release. I keep going for as long as I can, holding one of her thighs as her back scoots up the mattress, and finally pull out in one swift motion and jerk myself off the rest of the way. It only takes a few pumps before the clearish-white liquid spurts out and lands on her belly, on the sunken expanse under her ribs, into her bellybutton.

She breathes heavily as she watches it, watches me. After I'm finished, I stay there on my knees, head thrown back with my eyes on the ceiling, panting, hand still wrapped around my dick. I take a moment for myself, reveling in how amazing that was, then tuck myself back between her legs so I can get her off with my mouth for a second time.

As she's still coming down, I walk to the bathroom completely naked and come back with a wet washcloth. With her eyes on me, I clean off her stomach and toss the rag into the dirty clothes basket, falling into her outstretched arms after it's disposed of.

We lie there naked in the dark, limbs tangled together, heartbeats syncing. She kisses my chest before she falls asleep, arms wrapped around my waist, and sighs softly.

I press my lips to her forehead. We don't need to say it aloud to know. We're falling in love.