When We Touch

She kisses me again, but something changes. As if waking from a dream, I feel her retreating, her kisses growing shallower. Her hands fist against the tops of my bare shoulders, moving down to my arms.

“Stop,” she gasps. “Put me down, Jackson.”

“No,” I groan.

I go in for another kiss, sweeping my tongue into her mouth, finding hers and claiming it. Her hands return to my face briefly before moving to my shoulders again.

“I said stop.” Her voice is stronger. “Put me down.”

She arches her back away, unhooking her legs from around my hips. She exhales a noise, and when her feet touch the wooden floor, she places her palm flat against my chest.

“I shouldn’t have done that.” Her voice trembles when she speaks. “I won’t… I won’t do this with you. Not again.”

She won’t meet my eyes. Her breasts rise and fall, her luscious curves straining beneath thin cotton. Her words are like knives slicing through my abdomen, the pain of having her so close, yet not having her.

“Ember…” My voice is a ragged whisper. “Please don’t send me away.”

“You have to go now. Don’t come here again.”

She slips through the open door into the darkness of her room. A lamp is shining from the top of a shelf, but she has gone somewhere I can’t see her.

I won’t cross her threshold. I won’t force her to be with me when she asks me to leave this way.

“You’ve got to talk to me, Ember,” I say, straining my eyes into the darkness. “You have to hear me out. There’s more to our story. I—I need you to talk to me.”

Silence is the only reply.

I know she hears me, but she’s withdrawn. I won’t get any further with her tonight. My shoulders drop, and I go to the end of the porch. Lifting one leg over, I look back at the shadows in her room.

“Goodnight, my Ember Rose,” I say softly, and with that, I climb back down the way I came.

Twelve

Ember

Sitting on the floor in the darkness, I hold my hands over my ears and weep. My body shakes. Pain radiates from my chest out through my limbs, and I can’t stop crying.

He kissed me the way he always did, demanding, possessive, take no prisoners. It was so good. It hurt so bad. He even tasted the same. It was Jackson. It destroyed my already broken heart.

“No,” I whisper, shaking my head. “I must be strong.”

With a hiccupped breath, I crawl weakly to my empty bed. He can’t do this. He can’t come back and snap his fingers and I fall into his lap, onto his dick.

Lying on my back in the darkness, I listen as the rain begins to fall, mixed with low, rumbling thunder. The long curtains hanging beside my French doors billow and stretch out in the breeze. The fans push the cooler air around me, and I pull the blankets higher seeking comfort.

Red-hot cinnamon fills my mouth, tears are in my eyes, and my core is achy and wet. My nipples tingle and my whole body is lit like a firecracker.

Damn you, Jackson Cane.

His scent is on my skin. I can still feel his large hands gripping my ass, his chest pressed against mine, strong and hard. Skin against skin, my thighs wrapped around his waist. I’d held him and kissed him like I’d been lost in the desert and he was a cool drink of water.

I’ve never been able to move past Jackson Cane.

My teenage dreams rush back on the damp air. I’d wanted him to fill me. I felt him straining to make us one, but self-preservation broke through the haze of lust.

Pain and heartbreak rose like an iron rod inside me to push him away. I can’t go down that road again.

The first time I lost him, I didn’t think I’d survive it. I didn’t want to survive it. I had Tabby, of course, and my mother… my constant source of shaming. I’d given him everything, and he’d taken it and left.