And kissing her? Marlow is an incredible kisser—like nothing else exists but this connection with me. This newfound intimacy heightens every sensation we’ve ever shared.
Sliding my hand between us, I find her clit and rub small circles, causing her to buck against me. One more rotation of my hips and hand, and I’m rewarded.
“Jackson . . .” My name rips from her throat before Marlow digs the back of her head into the pillow—mouth open, eyes clamped closed, body trembling around mine—and then a stuttering breath is exhaled before she’s collapsing beneath me.
With her arms still wrapped around my neck, I stay close, but the sight of her falling apart sends me into my own completion. “Oh, fuck,” I growl, my body charging into the release. Swept into the ecstasy, I freefall into it, letting my mind rest as my body vibrates.
The fog clears, and I exhale, dropping on top of her before rolling off to the side, sated.
We don’t speak or rush to move.
Heavy pants fill the air until our breaths and speeding hearts settle into a manageable rate. I reach for her hand, my fingertips touching the tips of hers. She takes the offer, and we lie there a little longer.
I turn to her, and whisper, “Happy New Year.” It’s then that I see the glisten in her eyes as she stares up at the ceiling, a desperation in her features willing the tears away. I angle toward her and brush the hair back from her face. “What’s wrong?”
She glances at me. “Nothing.” Sweeping fallen strands away from my forehead, she takes a breath. “Everything is so right.” She lifts to kiss my cheek and then my mouth once more. Her lips linger while a tear streaks down her face, landing where our chins meet. “Thank you.”
I swallow, not sure I’ve ever seen her cry before. And not exactly something I wanted to experience after having sex either. I slide my hand to the back of her neck and bring her closer to kiss her forehead and then the apple of her cheek, the tip of her nose, and then her mouth. The liquid coating her eyes subsides, so I fall back on the pillow, and ask, “Thank you for what?”
“An amazing night.”
I realize then that despite our best efforts, we’re never going to be the same—a casual hookup when we were lonely, a secret affair that we kept hidden from most of the world, friends with benefits with no strings attached.
All it took was one kiss at the stroke of midnight, and a million strings attached. But I don’t broach that, especially not after sex. I lean into what I know she wants from me—easy and carefree. It’s the safest place to be. “It was literally my pleasure, so I can’t take much credit.”
She laughs, lying back on the mattress. “As good as the sex—”
“Good?”
Rolling her eyes, she giggles. “Great. As great as sex is with you . . .” She looks over at me again, her smile genuine in its placement. “I didn’t know what to expect at midnight, but you didn’t disappoint.”
“So what you’re saying is I don’t disappoint in the bedroom or outside these walls?” Hope grows wings.
Her laughter is heartier, feeding my ego and making me feel like the king of the world. “I guess that’s what I’m saying.”
I kiss her shoulder. “See? That wasn’t so hard to admit.”
She sighs, shaking her head. “For a man who can have any woman he wants, you sure do need a lot of stroking of the ego.”
Does she not see how she’s the only one I want? I won’t be the one to ruin the fun, though. “It’s not my ego that needs the stroking.”
Slipping out of bed before I can catch her, she says, “Good to know, hotshot.” When she goes into the bathroom, I spread my arms wide. As much as I love this massive bed, I sure the fuck like having her in it with me, taking up space not only here but also in my day-to-day life.
We swap, and I decide to shower. By the time I return, she’s close to being asleep, so I hold her in my arms, wrapping myself around the back of her and soaking in how good we are together.
It’s a new year. Time for a fresh start. Maybe it’s our time as well.
I drift off after her breathing has steadied, finding comfort in the possibility of what tomorrow brings.
4
Marlow Marché
“Are you okay?” Panic shrouds Tealey’s tone.
“Yes, I’m okay,” I whisper.
“Thank God.” Yawning, she asks, “Then why are you calling me at . . .” She pauses, I assume to check the time. “Four thirty-six?” Maybe I shouldn’t have called, but I need to talk through my feelings with someone I trust.
“What am I doing, Teals?” I ask, confused by my revolving emotions.