Chapter 33

There’s a soft knock at my door.

“Come in.”

I know it’s Jack. And I’m both surprised and not surprised that he’s here. The way things ended earlier this evening—it didn’t feel finished. He agreed it had to be over between us, but—

I knew we still needed to say goodbye, somehow.

He looks uncertain. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen him look like that, not even when he was doing something for Gabe that I knew was outside his comfort zone. Even then he was all bravado, like Facebook evidence to the contrary, I’ve got this Dad Business down. But right now he just looks tentative.

“Hey,” I say, and I reach for his hand.

“You have the new place. I wasn’t sure if this was still allowed.”

It makes me laugh, but it also humbles me. Jack is a guy who’s never in his life hesitated to push the limits of what’s allowed. And here he is, asking me if this is okay. And I understand that he means that if it isn’t, he won’t try to convince me or seduce me. He’s never taken anything from me I didn’t want to give, and I’ve tried my hardest never to ask anything from him that he couldn’t give. I guess that’s what makes us such good friends, when all is said and done.

I feel such a wave of warmth and affection for him right now. It’s so much quieter than the sexual heat that usually steers us through these situations, but in a way, it’s much more intense, too. Like when someone speaks softly in a loud room and everyone quiets down to hear.

“We made the rules,” I say. “So we say if this is allowed.”

He still hesitates, so I kneel up, tug him closer to the bed, and draw his head down for a kiss. The kiss is like the way I feel: quiet and intense. It resonates in the smallest parts of me—a quivering where I’m put together.

“Maddie,” he says.

He kisses me again, his tongue delicately searching me out, his breath warm on my lips, the scent of his skin and the heat of his body inches away as strong in my senses as his mouth on mine.

He says my name again. And each time it’s like a measurement, a notch up from where we were, the heat and excitement mounting in my body while we keep on kissing like there’s nothing frantic going on in the air molecules between us. Except my body keeps drifting closer to his, until my breasts touch his chest and he groans like I’ve burned him and slips a hand behind my knees and my shoulders and slides me down onto the bed, covering me. And then he keeps on kissing, but now his weight is on me, his thick erection between my legs, and I think I am going to dissolve. I am dissolving. But he’s holding me together with kisses and touches, defining the edges of my body so I can’t lose track of it completely, and I feel this surge of wild gratitude that makes absolutely no sense.

I pull at his clothes and he pulls at mine, and we have to get a hold of ourselves and stop the yanking and cooperate so we can get them all off, bit by bit, sinking back into the bed, back into each other, skin now bare along our lengths. So much skin touching, so hot, I’m luminous all over from it. My breasts feel tight and tender between us and I find his hand and bring it up, bring his fingertips to my nipple, and he makes a raw, broken sound and slides down to take the nipple in his mouth. I moan and arch, and his fingers find me slick between my legs, teasing lightly. Then he replaces his fingers with his cock, gliding it through my sex and over my swollen clit. I gasp, and he does it again, a slow, luxurious back-and-forth that makes me whimper.

“Inside,” I beg.

He obliges, with that same slow tease I’ve come to know so well now: just the head, while he watches my face, then a little more, until I arch my hips up and take the tease away from him, thrusting to take all of him in one good stroke. His turn to groan.

He props himself on his arms and gazes down at me, face soft, eyes dark. It’s a different way he’s watching now, though, than before. Like he’s trying to understand something in a language he doesn’t quite know, like he’s trying to read something behind my expression. More tender than intense. His hand comes up and touches my cheekbone, soothing, smoothing, so gentle that tears spring into my eyes. Where we’re joined below he thrusts rhythmically, slowly, pressing so deep the tension tugs tight and I ruck up against him, a fist of tension forming in my lower belly, drawing inward on itself. And then, still reading my face, he slows down even more, and I feel myself start to come, a long buildup like falling and falling and falling into the brilliant center of pleasure.

“Oh,” he says. Just that. And closes his eyes. He rests his cheek against mine, and he thrusts deep one more time and holds still, his body rigid, his breath faltering. “Ohhh. Ohhhhh.” As if it’s too good for words, fine and smooth and perfect, this one last time.

I don’t let him see the tear that rolls down my face and slides quietly into my hair.