Jackson seals his mouth over mine, winding his hands through my hair. He cups the back of my head gently, insistently, and a protest dies in my throat because I want this, this, this. Jackson kissing me, his lips hot on my mouth. He bites my bottom lip and I gasp, my mouth falling open.

“You’re so fucking frustrating,” he says, pulling my hips against his. “Can’t anything be easy with you?”

I snort. “I’m not that kind of girl.” But here I go anyway, tilting up my chin to him, giving him access to all the secret parts of me. He’s a breath away and I think about how we’re all atoms and ions and tiny, miraculous things we can’t explain. And I kiss him back.

Everything in the world narrows down to us. To me and Jackson in my borrowed kitchen with the air crackling between us. Jackson’s pulse pounds against my chest and I feel a rush of acceptance. For all the times he’s been an untouchable golden boy, for all the times we’ve been separated by distance and hurt feelings, he’s here, now. And I lean into him and kiss him back. Of course I do.

It feels good to finally touch Jackson instead of just imagining it. To let my hands roam over his body, the heat and the hardness of him, the scratch of his stubble against my palm. I skim my hands over his biceps, press my body against his.

He groans at my touch and the noise goes straight through me, lighting up every nerve between my chest and my core.

“You are going to be the end of me,” Jackson whispers and I laugh.

“It’ll be worth it,” I tell him.

“I’m sure.”

He presses his lips against mine again, his kiss turning me inside out until I can’t think straight, don’t want to think straight. Don’t want to stop. Jackson’s touch is full of this restrained heat—controlled like he knows exactly what he’s doing and he’s taking his goddamn time enjoying it.

I let out a breath of air against his neck, my knees threatening to buckle. I’m so used to acting quickly with my business, my life, but Jackson kisses like he does everything—leisurely and unhurried. He slows me down, makes me savor this moment instead of rushing through it, reminding me that you can do something so intensely that you combust. The slow burn now is a promise that the final fire will be that much hotter.

At last I can’t wait anymore. “Come here.” I lead Jackson into the bedroom where the cool expanse of sheets stretch across my bed like an invitation. He looks at me like he’s seeing me for the first time. In a way, I guess, he is. There’s no going back from here, but to be honest, I couldn’t find my way back anyway. Since the moment I met him, there’s only been this. And I’m not going to ignore the desire swirling through my body.

“This has been a long time coming, Natalie,” Jackson says and I wonder, has it? “Just do me a favor and don’t overthink this.” Jackson’s lips whisper warm on my neck.

And, god, it’s lighting up my skin. My body trembles and I want this. I want him. I remember why I picked lube in the first place—because I wanted to have fun. So yeah, I can have fun with Jackson. I nod and murmur my agreement and sink into the feeling of him.

This isn’t me falling for him, I tell myself. This is me saying yes to something I’ve wanted for a long time. Or part of it, anyway. Because I’ll let Jackson have my body. But he doesn’t get to keep my heart.

I lift my shirt up and over my head, and lean back onto the bed. For once I’m glad I bought fancy lingerie at La Perla on Boylston, for the way I’d blown a whole paycheck just on bras. Jackson looks at me in a way that I can only describe as reverent and I feel myself glowing back at him.

“God you’re beautiful, Nat,” he says, and I believe him.

We are the only thing in the world as he unbuttons my jeans and I lift my hips to help him slide them off. We are the only thing in the world as he pauses just above me, his breath skimming my stomach, his lips trailing down.

I should feel nervous or anxious, but I don’t. It’s been a while since I slept with anyone but my body remembers what to do. I’m coming awake, all the sleeping parts of me. My throat constricts. I missed this. I missed being alive, being connected, being right here, in this moment.

And this—this with Jackson—it’s familiar and new all at the same time. I smile like I can’t stop. I’m incredibly stupidly lucky to be here with him.

Jackson moves his body lower, his eyelashes brushing my stomach, and peels my underwear off of me.

“Okay?” He pauses to look up at me.

“Yes,” I whisper back. Yes, yes, yes.

I gasp as his tongue hits my core, a thousand nerve endings coming to life. His fingers coax me higher and higher, insistent and sure. We are the only thing in the world as Jackson brings me to the edge of something beautiful and fragile and splintering. He’s there with me as I jump off.

“Come here,” I say, after, because I’m not done with him yet. I don’t know if it will ever be enough. I unzip Jackson’s jeans and he slides off the bed to step out of his clothes. I let out a long, shallow breath at the sight of him. His body is a work of art, all long, lean muscles honed by running. And below the belt? All the rumors finally make sense.

I take a minute to admire the view, smiling up at him.

Jackson flashes me his sexy, dangerous grin. “Like what you see?”

I nod. “Absolutely.” And then, because this isn’t a museum and I’m allowed to touch, I reach for him and pull him to me. Jackson’s body, leaning over mine, shakes like a question. The answer is yes.

“Do you have—?” he asks and I shake my head before I remember the condom sample pack from the lubes I ordered off Amazon. The ones I’d been so embarrassed for him to see.

“Actually, yes.” I reach for my bedside table and pull out a shiny foil square, branded in a bright red font. I wiggle the packet in the air. “Who knew these would come in handy?”

We laugh and any tension flies out the window. After that we’re all naked skin and hot breath, Jackson’s body pressed onto mine, our hearts beating faster and faster. All the pieces snap into place at once, like this is the last piece in the puzzle of him and I’m finally getting to see the big picture. Maybe there was never any use denying how I felt before. Maybe it was always going to be this—the two of us on a bed, moving together. Me and him and this impossible, inevitable thing. And after everything, when I’m tucked into Jackson’s arms, I realize the truth of it all—sex can be the end of something or the start of something new. With Jackson Wirth, it’s both.