Amelia

What in the world am I thinking? Nothing good can come from me inviting him in to my house. It’s too soon. Yet here I am, opening a bottle of wine for him and I to share.

I miss him.

There, I said it. And today after hearing about how Dora kept it from me that Jackson came by the hospital to see me, my head is a mess. All I could think about when I was there was that he was heartless and didn’t care. But he did.

My appointment with the counselor this week did help. I’m starting to see things clearer. And Jackson is here now and he’s trying. What more could I ask for? I do wish he’d touch me. At first it was best that he didn’t, but now I crave it. This isn’t easy for him. I can see it in his eyes and his actions. It’s hard for him to hold back and I admire him for being strong for both of us. Now I’m ready to feel him again. Maybe after a drink, I’ll be brave enough to tell him.

Handing him a glass of red wine, I lead him to my living room. It’s hard to know how to act with him here. Looking at the chair in the corner, I remember the last time we were here, we made love on it. My neck and cheeks heat up.

“Everything okay?” Jackson asks, getting comfortable on my couch.

I sit next to him, but make sure to leave some breathing room in between us. “Yes. I’m good. How about you?”

Turning his body, he faces me. “I’m great. Thanks for inviting me in. I’ve missed you and when I was driving you home, I wasn’t ready for the night to be over.”

Where has this side of Jackson been? He’s open, expressive, and damn sexy. His eyes scan my lips and there’s hunger and desire there. I push the sleeves up on my shirt and sweep my hair behind me, attempting to cool off. “I thought it’d be nice to spend more time together too.”

“It makes me happy.” He takes a sip of his wine and I can’t stop looking at his full lips. That’s when I see it. Some kind of dark colored fuzz on his cheek. Must be from the winter hat he wore on our ride.

Leaning in toward him, I reach for the fluff. He startles and turns his head toward my hand and runs his nose into my finger. It’s pretty hard because he immediately grasps his nose and says, “Ouch.”

“Oh my gosh! I’m so sorry. Are you okay?” I angle myself closer to him, checking his face.

“I’ll be fine.” Jackson pulls his hand away and checks it tentatively. “No blood.”

“Wow. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I was trying to get this off your cheek.” Grabbing the fuzz, I show it to him. His face is warm with just the right amount of stubble. “It was on your cheek. I was just trying to help.” I put my hands up in defense.

“Thank you. I wasn’t expecting you to touch me.”

“Do you mind?” My voice comes out in just above a whisper.

Shaking his head, he says, “No. Not at all. I love when you touch me, Amelia. You can put your hands on me anytime you want, day or night. When I told you I wouldn’t touch you, it’s because I need you to know that I’m here for you, no matter what. It wasn’t about being physical, I want to be your shoulder emotionally too.”

“Oh,” is all I can seem to say. The desire to take off his shirt and feel the smooth skin of his chest overwhelms me. I tuck my hands under my lap.

“If I’m being honest, I miss the hell out of touching you. My fingers miss the curves and heat of your body, your sweet smell, there’s nothing like it anywhere. I miss that too.” He shifts himself closer to me, his knee grazes mine, all of my nerve endings come to life in that small space. “What about you? Do you miss touching me, Amelia?”

It’s as if I swallowed a handful of cotton, my mouth is too dry. I take a sip of my wine and say, “Y…Yes.”

“You can touch me, if you want to,” he rasps out, moving closer. “Do you want that?”

Suddenly reduced to a schoolgirl, my heart rate picks up and my hands start to sweat. I nod at him and wipe my palms on my pants. Reaching up to his chest, I place my fingers over his heart, feeling it beat in time with mine.

“Do you want me to take my shirt off?” he asks.

Hell yes! But am I ready? My body and mind are telling me it’s time, but my heart isn’t quite sure yet. “Please.”

“Please, what?” Jackson’s eyes are wide. He knows what he’s doing. He’s making me ask for everything I want.

“Take your shirt off.” My voice cracks like a pubescent boy.

Lifting the hem of his white t-shirt, he takes his time tugging it over his head, gaze never leaving mine. Nothing has changed, his pecs and abs are perfectly sculpted. He’s gorgeous. Taking a tentative hand, I trace a line from his stomach up over his chest around his shoulder, resting my open hand there. His skin is like warm silk to my touch. I don’t think I take a breath. His eyes close and he tilts his head back. I want him to take the lead and kiss me now, but I know he won’t. It’s all about me and what I want tonight.

One touch is all it takes. I need more. “Can I kiss you?” Why did I just ask him that? When have I ever asked anyone permission for anything?

His eyes are half lidded as he leans in and nods. Easing my face closer to him, his breath is warm and smells of red wine. I graze my lips gently against his, light as a feather, and it’s as if a tug pulls at my heart, the connection between us visceral and strong. My hands, unsure of their next course of action, make their way to his hair, running the strands through my fingers and pulling him closer to me. My mouth opens to him and our tongues take no time getting reacquainted. The pressure and intensity increase by the second. Running my hands down his stomach grants me a low moan from his lips. I press my body against his and know it’s not enough. Pulling back, I yank my shirt off and reach back to unlatch my bra. His eyes smolder as they take me in. My heart thunders in my chest and warmth pools between my legs.

“Will you please touch me now?” My voice is small and pleading.

In a beat his hands move to my waist and up my ribs, gentle and bold at the same time. I shiver in anticipation of his skilled hands and mouth on me. His fingertips sweep up between my breasts and over my collarbone.

“You’re so beautiful,” Jackson says seconds before his warm mouth sucks my nipple to a hard point. His hands grip my hips, pulling me closer to him. I move onto his lap and sparks ignite when his arousal presses against me. Riding up and down him creates delicious friction that starts to ease the tension that’s been building since he got here.

Jackson’s mouth kisses my shoulder and lazily drags up to my jaw while his hands guide my hips up and down his length. Every last ounce of my attention is laser-focused on the sound of our labored breathing and the sensations dancing all over my body.

Placing my hands on his shoulders, they shake under my touch. Staring into his eyes, there’s more here now than there used to be. There’s a depth, a connection between us that was lacking before. What’s missing now is the physical joining of our bodies. I want him inside me, to see the look on his beautiful face the moment he enters me. I shiver even thinking about how good it’d feel to have his thick length thrust in and out of my slick entrance. But am I ready?

“Can I feel you?” He takes his hand and eases it down my pants.

“Wait!” Pulling away, I draw in a shaking breath. “I’m sorry. Too much too soon. Maybe I shouldn’t have.” I can’t go any further, even if I wanted to. My body isn’t ready yet, it needs more time. Embarrassment washes over me like a stinging, heavy wave ready to knock me over.

His face is etched with concern and his entire body tenses under me. “Amelia, please.”

Jumping off him, I bend to pick up my shirt and tug it back over my head. “I’m sorry.”

He’s up and standing next to me so fast, I barely have a second to register his nearness. My eyes point down and away from him. Grasping my chin and angling my face toward his, he says, “Don’t take this back. And quit apologizing. It’s okay. We can stop now, but don’t regret it. Tonight was perfect.” His tone is as smooth as velvet, wrapping around me, calming me.

His arms sweep around me and I rest my head on his smooth, warm chest. As much as I don’t want them to, tears start to fall.

* * *

How many bathing suits does a girl need on three-day trip to Mexico? Six, I pack six. Gone are my hopes of only needing a carry-on. A checked bag is going to be a necessity simply because I can’t make up my mind.

Sundresses, sunscreen, sandals, heels, shorts, sneakers, toiletries, and bikinis. As I attempt to zip my suitcase shut, my cell phone rings.

It’s Dora. I’ve done my best to avoid her at work the last few days, ducking out of meetings early and pretending I’m on a call when she stops by my office and telling her I’m too busy to go to lunch. She knows something is wrong, but I haven’t been ready for the confrontation, especially at work. I should’ve called her to hash things out; that would’ve been the adult thing to do about it, but I needed a cooling off period.

“Hi, Dora.”

“Thanks for answering. You’ve been avoiding me,” she says with slight snark to her tone.

Taking a deep breath, I say, “You’re right. I have. I’m upset.”

“With me? Why?”

“Yes, with you. I spoke with Jackson. He told me that he stopped by the hospital to see me after the miscarriage. He said you turned him away. Is that true?”

“Oh. He’s right,” she says.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” My voice gets louder. She’s acting like she’s in the right.

“Because you said you didn’t want him coming to see you. And since you were asleep, I told him it’d be better for him to leave. That’s what you wanted, right?”

It isn’t a question, so I don’t answer it. “I’m not upset that you turned him away, but you could have at least told me that he showed up and brought me flowers. I didn’t even get the chance to thank him.”

She lets out a small sigh. “I’m sorry. You sound upset and I wasn’t trying to make you mad. I thought I was doing the right thing at the time.”

Dora sounds sincere, and there’s remorse in her tone. I don’t think she was trying to be malicious, but my guard is most definitely up. “I accept your apology. Please be honest with me, okay?”

“Okay. I promise. And what about you and Jackson? How was your last get-together with him?”

My cheeks heat at the memory. How do I even explain it? “It was awkward, but hot.”

“What does that even mean?” She laughs.

“Things got a bit heated after we opened up to each other. Except hooking up with him wasn’t like it was before. I was shy and awkward, but we were both turned on.”

“Did you have sex?” she asks.

“No. I wanted to, but it’s not time yet. I can’t wait to see the look on his face when he sees me in my bikini in Mexico. He’s got no idea I’ll be there.”

“You haven’t told him that the bachelorette party is going to be there too?”

“Nope. And Will must not have mentioned it, because Jackson hasn’t brought it up.”

“Well, be careful. Things could heat up fast there. Are you prepared?”

It’s clear what she means. Am I emotionally ready? After this week’s visit with my counselor, I do think I’m ready. “I’m going to be fine.” Hopefully, better than fine. I’ve been cleared by my OB/GYN. It’s safe for me to have sex again and after my last night with Jackson, I’m ready to seal the deal.