JACKSON
I slam the door to the shed and throw my backpack full force against the nearest wall. It knocks against the surface and thuds to the floor to land on its side, and I kick it with all my might after taking a few steps forward.
"Fucking idiot," I mutter, voice full of rage and venom. I kick it again, and it slides under the bed. I let it stay there - nothing inside it matters much. A few articles of clothing, underwear, deodorant. Nothing of importance.
What really matters, anyway? Everything good I had is now gone. Taken without my consent, ripped from my hands while I tried to hold it close and keep it safe. I thought I was keeping her safe. I thought what happened between us was what she wanted. Had it not been what she wanted?
She said yes. She was the one who initiated it. Then why is she acting the way she is? I did nothing to violate her. I asked for her consent over and over again. Then why, on the inside, do I feel so disgusting?
I feel guilty, and I know I shouldn't. I didn't force her to do anything. But the look on her face when I found her on the porch in the early morning told me differently - it was full of blame and anger, all directed towards me.
I'm used to being on people's bad sides; it was even like that with April when I first arrived. But this time is different. This time, the look in her eyes made me feel evil and manipulative, when I know for a fact I'm nothing of the sort. I would've never pushed her further than where she was comfortable. She made all the decisions, and that was purposeful on my part. Because I knew that if she didn't, it might come back to bite her.
It looks like that happened anyway, even with my careful planning.
I thought she had enjoyed it. With the way she reacted - vocally, physically, emotionally - it would seem that way. It seemed like she was all in. She was smiling, sighing, orgasming, telling me she loved me. What changed?
I stand up off the bed and pace the small space between the two walls. It was all too much for her to handle. The haircut, the shaving, the great big world, and the sex. It was a huge dose of real life, and she took too big of a sip. Now, she's choking on everything that could be and everything, in her mind, that never will be.
I know she doesn't think she can get off this farm. This fucking farm, where everything is wrong and backwards and no one thinks for themselves. Her mom ruined our relationship for her, for us, by infiltrating her thoughts. If it was any other situation, we'd be just fine right now. If her mom didn't control her like a marionette, I'd be looking forward to seeing her tonight and having sex with her again.
That thought niggles in the back of my mind and roots itself there like a parasite. I'd give anything to sleep with her again - not only for the bodily aspect, but for the mindful one, too. We connected on such a deep level that I've never experienced before, not with a single other girl I've fucked. I knew April was different in other ways, but that fact only solidified it for me.
But maybe I was stupid to think she was the one. She won't let herself be anything for me. All she wants is Jesus.
There's no reason the two of us can't coexist, though. I know of a lot of modern, open-minded Christians. But she isn't familiar with that sect of the religion. All she knows is the kind of Christians that shame you for getting a haircut and treat sex like a disease. What kind of parents don't teach 18-year-old how babies are made?
Cruel and sick ones, that's who. That's what her parents are. What they're doing to her is borderline abuse, and April has Stockholm Syndrome. It's so obvious, it's staring me in the face. If she'd listen to me, I'd tell her. But she won't hear a word I say, not now, not anymore.
She could get off the farm if she wasn't raised to be so scared of what might happen when she did. Whenever I would talk about the concept of us leaving together, I saw something in her eyes. She would never refute me outright, but she wouldn't totally go along with what I was saying, either. She's already resigned. She shoves down the fight inside her in order to go along with what her family has taught her: complacency.
That's no way to live. I kick the wall and ignore the pain shooting up my leg because of it, then kick it again.
"Fuckin' stupid Jesus camp!" I shout, repeatedly kicking the same spot.
I wouldn't be so angry if she didn't make me feel so much. One look, and I'm done for. When she catches my eye and gives me that sparkly expression that I know is meant just for me, I'm a goner. If she knew nothing would come of it, why did she have to make me fall in love with her?
I grit my teeth and shake my head roughly, which makes my curls bounce. I should've gotten a haircut when we were away, too, but I'd been distracted. I don't like it when my hair gets this long; I don't feel like myself. And myself is the one person I can count on to be some form of reliable.
I open the desk drawer in the far corner of the room, a piece of furniture I haven't bothered with yet. I shuffle through the junk items until I find a rusty, old pair of scissors, then chop off my kinks and spirals without even looking in a mirror. A few months ago, I would've died before doing something like that, but now I don't care. It keeps the sweat off my neck and the hair out of my eyes. One less thing to worry about, and I already have enough on my plate as it is.
I throw the scissors across the room when I'm done with them and they slide to a halt in front of the door. I plop to the ground, back against the wall, and rest my open palms on my knees, staring ahead at nothing.
As I'm staring, I see a small, square shape under the dresser that I remember putting there a while ago - my half-empty pack of cigarettes. I crawl over on my hands and knees and fish it out, then see that I have five left.
"Thank fuck," I say, then dig for my lighter in the bottom drawer of the dresser. I'd hidden that, too.
I crack open the screenless window and sit on the floor next to it, feeling the rush when I light my first cigarette in weeks. I wouldn't go so far as to say I'm addicted, but it is a comfort habit. When I put it to my lips and inhale, I'm calmed by the act. And not only that, I feel a bit of sick satisfaction, too. April hates when I smoke. This is sort of a 'fuck you' to her and the way she brushed me off so callously.
I smoke all five, one right after the other. My throat is raw and my chest burns after I'm done, but physical pain is openly welcomed in place of the stupid ass emotional ache.
Love sucks. Love fucking sucks. I wish I would've never come to this farm and met her, so she would've never had the chance to break my stupid fucking heart.
…
I stay up all night not because I want to, but because I can't sleep. And it isn't because my mind is too busy or I'm too sad or any of that shit, it's because I realized that after sleeping beside April, I can't sleep alone. How fucking pathetic is that.
So, because I got so little rest, the knocking doesn't wake me right away. It begins in the recesses of my mind and filters forward as I come closer to consciousness, and even then I'm confused.
With my eyes still closed, I convince myself I'm dreaming. I'm so used to the knocks that they've worked their way into my subconscious and I can't stop thinking about them. They're not really there. Of course, April won't come to get me today. I doubt I'll see her again until the end of the summer, if even then. I turn around and try to get back to sleep, but it doesn't work because the knocking only gets louder.
I groan and pick up my pillow, holding it over my head to drown out the noise. When I can still hear it, though, I toss the pillow across the room in the direction of the door, but it gets nowhere near it.
"Fuck off," I grunt, but the knocking insists.
I sit up straight, rubbing my eyes as I do. I squint in the direction of the door and scratch my bare chest, wondering if it is April, why she won't just come in. Are we really on those terms now?
I repel the jittery, excited feeling in my gut as I walk towards the door. If anything, I'm looking forward to seeing her face. Maybe, as we do chores, we'll get a chance to talk. Maybe she'll let herself hear me, and I promise myself I won't blow up.
I turn the handle and open the door, prepared to be met with April's pretty eyes and a haircut. But instead, Alice stands there looking sheepish and worn.
"Hi," she peeps, her voice barely higher than the wind outside. "I… it… it's time for chores."
She sounds like April in the very beginning, falling over her words around me. But I know, in her case, it's for a much different reason.
I open my mouth to ask where her sister is despite myself, but I don't even need to get the words out before she answers the question.
"You'll be with me now," she says, folding her hands at the waist just like April does. "Mom wanted me to tell you. And come get you for chores. The stalls… they… they need cleaning. I'm not big enough."
"'Kay," I say, clenching my jaw. "I'll be out in a sec."
She nods curtly and scurries towards the barn, and I resist the urge to slam the door shut. After it's closed, I pull on a wrinkled shirt and a pair of unwashed jeans, then follow in Alice's footsteps.
She's off doing whatever she does, and I'm not sure where to start. After the two days away from this place, it feels like I've been dropped in a foreign land all over again.
"Alice," I say, calling her name to the void because I'm not sure where she is. "Is April coming out? Am I supposed to do her chores, or what?"
"My sister is staying in her room," Alice says, peering down from the hay loft and making me jump.
"Christ," I say, hand to my heart.
"So, you're in control of the stalls, the cats, and the eggs. You know how to do that, right?"
"Yeah," I grumble, rolling up my sleeves. "I'll get right on it."
First I feed the cats, who all seem to hate me. Then I gather the eggs and set the basket up high so when Libby and Kimmie come out, they don't get any urges to sabotage my work. I'm in the middle of cleaning out the horses' filthy stall when a small voice appears in the door.
"I'm finished," Alice says, avoiding eye contact.
She shifts her weight from foot to foot, just like April. Everything she does seems to be just like April. I don't know how I never noticed before.
"Good for you," I say, shoveling another load of manure into the wheelbarrow.
She opens her mouth to respond, but nothing happens. She just lets the little sound linger in midair, not doing much of anything. Her gaze falls to her shoes, and something in my chest splinters. None of them have any self-confidence or self-worth. I wonder if anyone's ever told this little girl in all her life that she matters.
"Bet you're good at this," I say, shrugging.
She raises her eyebrows, looking at me for only a moment before darting away again. "Stalls? No," she says, shaking her head. "I'm not strong enough."
"Bah," I say. "You got farm muscles. You all do."
"You have big muscles," she says, pointing in my direction. Then, she whips her hand down. "Sorry. It's impolite to point," she murmurs.
"I don't care," I say. "Hey. You wanna try? You might show me up."
"I-I wouldn't," she says. "I'm little. I can't."
"'Can't' is a curse word," I say. "Just as bad as 'shit' or 'fuck.' It's proven."
Her eyes widen to the size of dinner plates. She's probably never heard those words in her life, and I just corrupted her. I can't help but laugh. I've made it my mission to corrupt the two good Kepner sisters.
"Just come on over," I say. "Give it a whirl. If you end up getting shit everywhere, you can blame me." I mutter the next part under my breath. "Everyone seems to do that anyway."
Alice steps inside the stall, her tiny feet finding clean places to land. She reaches for the shovel and I give it to her, and she scoops up a big lump and heaves it into the wheelbarrow among the rest. When she's finished, she looks at me with pride written all over her face, beaming.
"I did it!" she says. "I never tried. But I did it!"
"One more," I say. "Unless you wanna do it all."
"No," she says, giggling. "But I can do one more."
She takes a big scoop and plops it in, laughing with glee once she's done. "I'm really strong!" she cheers.
"You are," I say, taking the shovel back. "Good job."
She stands next to me and watches me finish, breathless. She doesn't say much, but the mood has lightened. The air between us has cleared. She's no longer afraid of me, and I know better than to take my frustration for her sister out on her. She's just a little kid.
Once the stall is finished, I grab the basket of eggs and Alice still trails after me like a shadow. Libby and Kimmie are off doing their own thing, I'm not sure what it is, but I don't care.
"You doing okay?" I ask Alice, looking over while we walk. We aren't headed much of anywhere, just strolling aimlessly.
"Yes," she says, wringing the cloth of her skirt in her hands.
"That's good," I say, then itch my head. "Uh, how about everyone else?"
She looks over to the pig's enclosure, where Libby and Kimmie are feeding them slop. "They're fine," she says.
"Not… them," I say, clearing my throat. "Everyone else."
"Mom and Daddy are doing good," she says. "We're on break from lessons. We get a few weeks before we start again in the fall. And Daddy's been harvesting corn."
"Awesome," I say, then rub the back of my neck. I don't want to come right out and ask, that would be too obvious. I wish she would just tell me. "And… uh…" I clear my throat again. "I don't know, who's left."
Alice stops walking and looks at me dead-on in a way that catches me off-guard. The Kepner sisters have a way of surprising me like that.
"What happened?" she asks, eyes wide and unblinking. "I know something happened. Otherwise my sister wouldn't be up in her room. She'd be out here, with you. She didn't eat dinner last night, and Mom didn't ask me to get her. Mom is pretending like she's not there, and April didn't answer when I knocked on her door. And I knocked a lot." She sighs and looks at the ground, lower lip trembling. "I want my sister back."
"Yeah…" I sigh, shaking my head slightly. "I know."
"I know you're in love," she says, and my stomach jolts. Hearing those words come out of her mouth in that high-pitched, innocent voice is a bit of a shock. "You and my sister. I know that. I once read this fairy tale book at youth group, one that wasn't supposed to be there. I don't remember what it was called. But the prince and the princess were in love, and I think that's what you guys are doing."
She scuffs the toe of her shoe in the gravel driveway, watching as a little hole appears in the dirt.
"Is that right?" she asks, question directed towards the earth.
"I…" I say, then massage my temples with one hand. The other is still busy holding the egg basket. "I don't know."
"You hurt my sister's feelings," she says, growing a bit more stern, but with the same waver present in her voice.
I press my lips tight together. I don't want to get into a deep conversation with Alice, but I'm tempted to. I want to let loose and tell her just how complex this situation is - how much April and I hurt each other, but I know I can't. She's only ten, and she doesn't deserve that weight on her shoulders. I can bear it alone. I'm used to it.
"Yeah," I say.
She scratches her cheek with one bare fingernail. "Maybe you shouldn't be in love anymore," she says, very quietly. "Maybe you shouldn't do that together anymore."
I laugh humorlessly and she looks over, wondering what's funny.
"I… yeah," I say, blinking rapidly. Suddenly, my eyes burn. "It's not exactly that easy."
"Why?" she asks.
I sigh, long and drawn-out. "Just not," I say, then pause for a long time. "It takes two people to feel that much. You know? Not just one person. And your sister… April, well, she hurt my feelings, too."
Alice's eyebrows furrow with concern. She concentrates on one large rock in the driveway and kicks at it insistently until it dislodges and rolls away.
"She… hurt you?" she asks, incredulous. "How?"
I shouldn't have said anything. I can't get into it. Opening that can of worms was a bad idea, but I couldn't keep that statement locked up. Looking like the sole bad guy in this situation didn't sit right with me, because it's not true. I won't let April paint me in that light.
"It's too complicated," I say. "I shouldn't have said anything."
"But you already did," she says. "So, you can't take it back. You have to tell me now."
"It's nothing," I say, then notice Karen standing in the doorway, one foot on the porch and one still inside. "Your mom wants you," I say, nodding in that direction. "Here, take the eggs."
Alice takes the handle of the basket and steps towards the house, but looks back before she can get far. There are thoughts behind her eyes, words unsaid, and I have no clue what they might be.
"Alice," Karen barks, which makes her youngest turn around with her tail tucked. She doesn't look back at me a second time.
I shove my hands into my pockets and give Karen a polite nod. I didn't so much as greet her the other day, and I know it will look bad on me if I ice her out. I'm still here on her favor, no matter how much I hate her.
"Dinner will be brought out later," she tells me. "Thank you for completing her chores."
I nod again, offering no words. Instead, all I do is turn my back and make my way to the shed.
…
Days pass that fit into the same routine. Alice wakes me up each morning with heavy knocks, and we go through chores together. But unlike the first day, we don't trade conversation anymore. I tried soon after to talk casually, but she wouldn't reciprocate. I'm sure she was told not to speak to me anymore, after Karen saw us talking.
So now, I'm completely isolated. The mornings are silent, the afternoons are boring and drag on forever, and at night I'm alone with my thoughts. If it weren't for the sun and daily routines, I'd lose track of time entirely. Nothing happens to make the hours meaningful.
With no outlet, I become angrier and angrier. I take the scissors I used on my hair and carve a notch in the wall that I make bigger every day, stabbing the same spot over and over. It's not exactly respectful to property, but it's better than doing something I'll regret later.
I do my best not to let my mind wander to April, and distractions work for the first two days. I rearrange the lacking furniture in the shed and clean the bathroom, which desperately needed it. I go for a long run around the grounds though I've never run for sport in my life. I take a swim in the pond, but have to leave before long because all I can see is her naked body illuminated by the light of the moon.
I sit outside in the quiet by myself and try to rid my mind of anything at all. It's hard at first, but refreshing once the peace finally comes. The city is too loud for any sort of meditation, but here it isn't difficult at all. It's a nice break, without all those stupid, loud thoughts running around my head, but I can only make it last for so long.
While I'm lying in bed on the third night, she sneaks into my head. I think of the 'J' shaped freckles on her arm, and how she trembled when I first touched them. I think of the lotion on our lips when we kissed as I was shaving her, and how her body felt pressed against mine right here on this floor, in front of the fireplace. I think about the sparkle in her eyes when I gave her the first cherry cordial, and the way her lips closed around my finger when I fed her. I think about how she got me on a horse, something I thought I'd never do, and how she told me she wanted a tattoo of a lighthouse just like mine. Because I was her home. That's what she had said, and I felt the same - she was my home, too. She was the first person who ever made me feel safe. And now, all that has been stripped away.
I'm not sure what time it is now, but it's not late. I keep going to bed earlier and earlier because I have nothing to do. I toss and turn and get frustrated with myself, given that sleep won't come. Tonight is the worst yet.
I have half a mind to get up, pack whatever I have left and leave this horrible place. I would storm up to that house, bang on the door until someone answered, and demand to talk to her. I don't know what I'd say, but I don't think I could leave here without speaking to her one last time. I'd want a final note, an ending, some sort of bookend to whatever we did here. She might be able to ditch me without so much as a word of apology, but I wouldn't sink that low.
Minutes might pass, or maybe hours do. I don't know how long, but it doesn't matter because I don't fall asleep. I get so antsy and pissed off that I stand up in search of my bag, but instead hear a soft, cautious knock on the door.
I furrow my eyebrows and set my mouth in a deep frown. "Go to bed, Alice," I say. "It's not safe for you to be out this late."
I get no response. I drop the backpack I'd been holding and kick it back to the place I found it.
"Alice," I say again, and this time it comes out as more of a bark.
Another long silence passes, and I wonder if I'm hearing things. Maybe it was just the trees creaking outside. I almost convince myself of that until I hear it again - three knocks in succession, gentle and full of trepidation. Those aren't Alice's knocks.
Alice booms.
April taps.
I scrub one hand over my days-old facial hair and make my way to the door after considering whether or not to just leave her out there. I decide against it, though, because I know how stubborn she is. She won't go away. She'll stand there all night, and I won't sleep. I'll lurk right inside the door, waiting for something to happen. So, I might as well make that something happen myself and get it over with now.
I open the door and find her standing there, looking smaller than before. Her hair is pulled away from her face in a messy ponytail, fraying around her face, and her puffy eyes have dark blue bags underneath them. Her lips are cracked with dryness, and her cheeks look sallow. I can't help but wonder if they've been feeding her, because it doesn't look like it.
The sight of April alone softens me, but I try not to let her effect take hold. I'm pissed, I'm angry, I'm mad as hell. I remind myself of what she did and try to hold it in place. I try my best, but I'm still stuck looking at her sallow face, sad eyes, and trembling fingers.
They hurt my baby. I hurt my baby. Either way, my baby is hurt and all I'm doing is standing here being pissed off. But I don't know what else to do.
"What," I say, meaning to sound gruff but coming off confused instead.
All she does is stand there. She barely moves. The only thing that changes is her hands, which gravitate to her waist and clasp together. Her breaths come shallow, and she stops meeting my eyes after I speak.
"April, what," I say again, this time a bit more demanding.
Still though, she doesn't respond. She doesn't even open her mouth in an attempt. All she does is stare, lips parted like a fish, a deer caught in the headlights.
"You're the one who showed up out here!" I bellow, and surprise myself with the explosion. "You can't just stand there. What do you want?"
She physically recoils, and I feel like shit. I don't know what to do with myself. She hurt me, but I don't want to hurt her - at least, more than I apparently already have. She's regressed so much, taken so many steps backward, that it looks like she might shatter from an errant gust of wind.
She starts crying then. Slowly at first, tears dripping from her eyes without any sound. Just slipping down her cheeks of their own volition, like they came from thin air. Two streaks, one from each eye, that disappear beneath her chin. After that, the sobbing starts and her breath comes with more difficulty. She stands stiff as a board and cries loudly - gasping for breath and sobbing with all she's got.
"I can't eat," she wails, not doing anything to quell her sobs or cover her face. She just cries, blatant and open, and all I can do is watch. "I can't sleep. I don't know who I am anymore."
I take a step back, thrown off. I don't know what I expected her to say, but it wasn't that. I think I expected her to yell at me, to chew me out, but I didn't expect a full breakdown. She continues to surprise me.
But still, I won't let her play the victim. She gave me the cold shoulder, not the other way around. If anyone, I should be the one spewing the waterworks right now, not her.
"And you think I do?" I say. "Know who I am, after what we did?" I shake my head forcefully and let my other foot follow the first one, and I end up kicking the scissors halfway across the room. I hadn't realized they'd ended up over here again.
"I don't know," she whispers.
"Look, I'm sorry you're messed up over this, about what we did," I say. "But I am, too. I'm not going to apologize for what we did. It's not something I did to you, or that I did without your consent. You wanted it, April. You asked me. And I asked you, too, a billion times. I didn't force you. I wanted to wait until you were ready, and I swore you were. I get it if you weren't. But you have no right to take it out on me, because I did nothing wrong." My throat clogs up, but I'm not about to do something stupid like cry. "And I'm not going to pretend it didn't happen. I can't do that."
"I can't stop thinking about it," she says, voice still wobbly. "The more I try not to think about it, the more I actually do."
I take a deep breath and barely consider what I say next before it comes out. "Do you want to get married?" I ask, and her eyes double in size. "I know you wanted to be a virgin for the man you marry, I know that's kind of Jesus's thing. But…" My eyes break away from her. I don't know if I can look at her face any longer. "What if you were?"
"I…" she loses her voice and starts again. "Jackson…"
I lift my head again. "I won't apologize for us having sex," I say. "I can't. I am sorry if you think I took something from you, but you gave it to me. If you're pissed at me for that, I can't-"
"I'm not pissed at you," she says, and the word sounds so strange coming from her mouth. "I'm pissed at me. I'm pissed at… at…" Her whole face crinkles when she says it, "I'm pissed at God."
Above, thunder rumbles and cracks the sky in half, causing a rainshower to start pouring out of nowhere. April looks up, surprised, and I usher her in out of the elements. When she steps inside the door after I've shut it, the shed is quieter than it's ever been.
She smells the same. Why is that all I can think about? Of course she smells the same.
"I'm so mad at Him because…" she says, rooted to the spot where she's standing. "Because you made me feel so good. So many times. And that night, it was better than anything I had ever known. Ever, in my life. I was with you just being me. And you let me be me. I was so free, I felt so… alive. And you showed me that." She chews on her lower lip so hard I worry she might draw blood. "And the next morning, all that guilt came from everything I've learned in church. I thought it was wrong, because all I've been told is that it's wrong. But why did it feel so right? Why did you feel so right? Why did something that felt so good… how could that be bad?"
I shake my head as I stare at her, just as confounded as she is.
"I don't know," I say, and my voice comes out so soft it's nearly imperceptible.
"I don't, either," she says, blinking slowly and keeping her eyes shut for long moments at a time. When she opens them, she directs her gaze to the top of my head. "Your hair," she mutters.
"I know," I say, running one hand over the choppy mess.
"What did you do to it?" she asks.
"Got mad," I said. "Cut it off, I guess."
"Oh," she replies, then takes a step closer. Then another, which puts us toe-to-toe, and she's lifting one hand to my hair, where I'd just been. Her touch is different than mine, though, much gentler. "I could fix it, if you want."
"Okay," I say, bending my neck slightly so she can reach better.
We lock eyes as she pulls her hand away, and thunder rumbles louder outside. She can't leave now.
"I missed you," she says, fingers twitching. I know why they are, too. I want to touch her just as badly, and she's holding herself back. I wish she wouldn't.
"I almost killed myself missing you," I say. She gasps, and I smile. "Just an expression."
The air between us crackles with life and electricity. From her eyes, my gaze drifts to her lips, which are shiny and open just slightly. I want nothing more than to get my mouth on them, to taste her again. I've been needing her so badly, and now that she's right in front of me, I don't know what to do.
Then, without any words spoken, she closes the distance between us and kisses me. She kisses me with all she's got, every ounce of energy and passion goes into the connection our bodies make. Suddenly, her hands are all over me and her body is pressed against mine, her tongue is inside my mouth and her breath is hot on my skin, and everything is right again.
I grapple with her lower back as she kicks her shoes off, and we stumble over to my bed. I pull my shirt off while she works on her own clothes, and when we lie down, we're both in just our underthings.
I get on top of her, overcome by the way her body moves beneath mine. I can't handle the way she writhes and adjusts, moans and sighs, trying to get her hands in as many places as possible. When her hips jolt up to meet mine, I groan and bury my face in the crook of her neck, drowning in her warmth. She holds the back of my head to keep me there, and I simply breathe her in for a moment, soaking up the fact that she's here and we're together and I don't have to be angry or sad anymore.
"I love you," I whisper, wondering how in the world I got so soft for one girl.
I never thought this would happen, not in a million years, and yet here I am. Wrapped in my tiny girl's arms, so overcome with feeling that I barely know what to do with myself. I love her so much that it hurts, but it's a different kind of pain than before. This is a dull throbbing, deep in my chest, that I don't ever want to go away.
"I love you, I love you, I love you," she whispers, chanting it almost like a mantra. Under me, she finds her way out of her underwear and is conveniently already braless. I drop my lips to her chest and shower her breasts in kisses, relishing the way she tastes and feeling satisfied when her nipples perk up in response to my touch.
I shove my boxers down my legs and know that my dick is fully ready for her. But I can't help but wonder if she's ready for me.
"You want this," I breathe, lips on her jaw. "Right?"
"More than anything," she says, widening her thighs.
So do I, so I don't wait. I push inside her and let my eyes roll back, overwhelmed by the feeling of being inside her warm, tight body. She welcomes me with her knees pressed to my sides and her hands gentle on my neck, kissing me over and over again.
"Does it hurt?" I ask, cautious to move.
She shakes her head, lower lip pulled into her mouth. "No," she says, then gives me a smile - one that I hold onto to. "Not at all. Make love to me, Jackson."
Her words only propel me further. I pitch my hips forward and bury myself completely inside her, cherishing every moment as she clings to me. The sounds she makes are amazing - soft little whimpers and sighs, quiet moans and subtle whines, and when she runs her fingers through my buzzed hair and scratches my scalp, I smile and kiss her with heart.
"There's no one else like you," I tell her, and mean it wholly. I've never meant something more. I hoped I would get a chance to tell her that, and I'm so grateful I did. "No one. In the entire world."
She smiles, eyes shining with emotion. She opens her mouth to say something but gets interrupted by a thrust of my hips, which makes her throw her head back. Tonight, I'll make sure she comes first. I won't take the spotlight this time; this one's all for her.
I suck on her neck while I fuck her slow and steady, not rough at all. I would never want to hurt her, and I want to memorize the way her body reacts to mine. Every time I pump my hips against hers, she lets out a puff of an exhale near my ear and grips my shoulder blades tighter. When her nails dig into my skin, I know I must be doing something right.
I go as deep as I can. When she cries louder than the thunder outside, I smile to myself. I feel her inner muscles clenching, fluttering to hold me inside her though I don't plan on going anywhere. I'll ride this out, see her to her orgasm if it's the last thing I do.
"I love you, kitty," I say, not caring if it's the thousandth time I've said it. "I love you, and I want you to come for me."
I help her with my fingers, but not by much. She just needs the slightest push over the edge, and the twirl of my pointer finger does exactly that. When I pull it away, she gasps and then lets out a long, high-pitched moan that breaks as her body jerks and curls into itself, legs twining around my middle like two vines. I let her capture me, collapsing fully as I continue to thrust and empty myself inside her, heat against heat, sucking on the curve of her jaw as everything spills between us.
When I pull out and roll to lie next to her, we don't bother cleaning up yet. Instead, she wraps her arms around my waist and rests her head on my chest, snuggling as close as possible. I don't try and resist the smile on my face - I have her back, right where I want her.
I stroke her spine, fingertips light as a feather. She breathes against me, slow and steady, but wakeful. We aren't sleepy - we'll probably go again. But right now, this moment is saved for soaking it all up.
"What you said before," she whispers, slipping through the silence filled before with only our thrumming heartbeats. She tips her head up, meets my eyes, and blinks once. "I would."
I furrow my eyebrows a bit, mind still too clouded with sex to realize what she might mean. She reads my expression and chuckles slightly, tracing circles in the middle of my chest.
"Get married," she says, clarifying. "To you. That is something I'd want."