Two Weeks (20 page)

"Holy shit," I say. "I feel so tiny. How do they even know that?"

Jackson laughs. "I don't really know. Someone posted that on Facebook and it really hit me. I didn't verify it though. Could be bullshit." He takes a long sip of his beer. "Probably isn't though, since space is basically infinite."

"True," I say. "I didn't expect you to be the science type."

He gives me a firm look. "I was studying biochemistry before I lost my scholarship."

I'm shocked. "No way," I say. "
You?
Biochemistry?"

"What's that supposed to mean?" he says, taken aback by my comment.

I instantly feel bad that I may have sent bad vibes his way. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean it in any negative way. I'm just surprised. I mean, that's awesome."

Jackson quickly moves on, and I'm glad. "You'd be shocked at how many professional athletes have advanced degrees or PhDs. It's actually a lot."

"I never would have guessed that."

"Well, no one talks about it. Anyhow, they make better money playing professional sports than they would in their respective fields, no doubt."

"That makes sense." I nod in agreement. "Were you thinking that way too?"

"Absolutely." He laughs, a low, rumbling sound that calms me and assuages my fear that I had offended him with my offhand remark. His beer is resting on his stomach and it's bouncing up and down with his laughter. "I was definitely a little avaricious, no doubt."

"Fame and fortune, huh? Is that why you fight now? Another shot at it?"

His expression becomes stoic. "I can't really do anything else," he says. "These smaller leagues don't discriminate based on conditions or risk of injuries. And I don't really have anything to lose anymore. After what happened." He tentatively glances at his beer, and then finally takes a sip after he's done ruminating.

"I'm sorry," I say. Once again, I want to ask him about his condition, but it feels out of place. And as I look at his gargantuan muscles and think about him hitting the punching bag, the feeling of curiosity subsides. It can't be any sort of big deal, especially not if he's able to do all that he does.

"It happened, and that's it. Can't change it. Just served as a reminder that the present is all I have. I can't count on tomorrow, or worry about what happened yesterday because worrying wastes the only time that I
do
have control over."

His words feel wise beyond his years, and they're so poignant I have to stop and really think about them.
The present.
Such a huge idea, yet one I rarely stop to consider. Max is my past; he's gone, no longer mine.

Jackson and Red Lake are
my
present. The future is...

"You okay, Ally?" Jackson asks. He's finished his beer and set it down on the deck while I was lost in my own head. He places his hand on my shoulder and leaves it there, shifting his posture to better face me.

"Oh, yeah," I say. "I'm fine. Just great."

"Can I ask you something? I've been wondering ever since you first mentioned it," he says.

I nervously gulp. I don't have much to hide from him, but I'm still trembling inside at the thought of a tough question. "Sure," my lips say, totally independent of the tumult of my thoughts.

"What kind of guy would leave someone as beautiful as you? He's got to be a real piece of shit, that Max."

His question makes me laugh, and I'm not tense anymore. "He is," I say, "but I never knew it would turn out this bad."

"
This bad?
” he asks, mimicking my tone. I realize that I've drawn too much attention to a very huge detail that I omitted when mentioning this before. When I was trying to "keep it simple."

I shrug my shoulders. I don't feel like hiding it anymore. "He knocked up my best friend. She called me and told me that they were going to stay together and have the kid. A couple of brats taking care of a kid. God."

"Are you fucking kidding me?"

"No. She called me after my family reunion. There was nothing for me to debate. The whole thing was just too broken to fix—and I knew that instantly."

"So your ex impregnated your best friend behind your back, huh? I'm really sorry," he says. "You sure as hell didn't deserve that. Tell me at least she's pretty."

"I guess so," I say. Although our conversation is still focused on a very uncomfortable topic, I feel good about letting this out. It's very cathartic. "Do you want to see a picture of her?"

"Of course. I'd love to see who Max thought was better than you." He sounds disbelieving of the possibility, so I continue.

I start sliding through the photos on my phone until I find one with Max, Angela, her short-term boyfriend, Andrew, and me, out at a bar. We were all drunk and smiling uncontrollably. I hand the phone over to him without really looking at the photo.

Jackson instantly raises his eyebrow and smiles. "Wow," he says. "The redhead?"

I nod. "That's her."

"She
is
pretty," he says, trailing off.

"Thanks so much," I snap incredulously. "This was such a
great
idea."

"No, no," he pleads. "Let me finish. She's pretty, but objectively speaking—and subjectively, of course—you're far prettier. Max is a lunatic for choosing her over you. And he's got his fucking hand on her ass!"

"What?" My interest is totally piqued now. I'm one-hundred percent distracted from my former discomfort.

"He's got his hand clamped on her ass! In front of you
and
the other guy."

I stare at the photo until I see it—yep, he's holding her ass. Arm around
my
waist, hand on
her
ass. In public, too. "That slimy piece of shit. I even posted that on Facebook without noticing. How did I miss that? I'm such an idiot."

"It's nothing," he says. "Don't say that. You weren't looking for signs of infidelity in your collection of photos from a night out. Who looks for stuff like that? You give it a quick glance and say 'We were so drunk!' and then move on. I'd be more likely to think you were crazy if you went through and studied every minor detail of a bunch of cell phone pictures from the bar." He scoffs and smiles.

His remark actually makes me feel better. "That's a good way of putting it," I say. "But that fucking asshole." I growl and shake my head. "Gimme that back." Jackson hands me the phone, and I nearly delete the photo. But I don't. I just close it and return to the home screen. Soon I'll expunge the memory, but not now. "Okay, enough about Max."

"Yeah, it really sucks to lose a best friend
and
the person you're dating. I know how hard that can be."

I don't even really hear him. "This conversation is too serious. Let's talk about something else."

"Sorry for opening Pandora's Box," Jackson says.

"No, it's fine," I say firmly. "And now we're back in the present. It's all we have, right? So what would
you
like to do in the
present
?" I ask, my tone slightly pompous.

Jackson gazes off into the sky and sighs. "May I speak candidly?"

"Of course."

"Well, I'd like to fuck you again," he says matter-of-factly. He waits for my response, and as much as I'd like to hide my excitement at hearing those words, it's written on my face like neon lights in the middle of the night. "I've been thinking about it constantly since it last happened."

"Me too," I say. I can already feel that heat spilling through my insides like a convection oven.

"Well, come on then." Before I realize it, he's lifting me into his arms and carrying me toward the sliding door. To him, I really don't weigh much of anything, and as usual, I'm blown away by his strength.

"Hey!" I whine, surprised by his gesture.

We stop at the door. "Can you open that for me? My hands are a little tied up here."

I laugh and pull open the door. We step inside and he uses his foot to close it. I can feel his hardness pressing into my ass as he carries me and it's making me very wet, very quickly.

His pace is brisk, and it doesn't slow at all as we climb the stairs. It's dark, but he keeps moving instinctively. I've never been upstairs in his house, but with such blackness, I can't make out anything at all. It's just space that we're traveling through.

I can only assume that we're in his room, because he lowers me onto the bed and kisses me with unbridled fury. I kiss him back, and he grinds his hips against mine. I can feel everything. I'm so turned on it almost hurts.

When I remember how big he is, my excitement is amplified tenfold. He starts caressing my clothed breasts and ass, the kiss retaining a perfectly delicate cadence.

When his hands start crawling up my bare inner thighs, he suddenly stops. "Shit."

"What is it?" I ask.

"I gotta go to the bathroom," he says pathetically. "Sorry. I've been drinking beer all night."

I start laughing uncontrollably. "Don't worry about it."

He leaves the bed and I sit there, my laughter overwhelming the silence of the room. I still can't see anything. But when he turns on the bathroom light down the hall, I get a quick glimpse of the barren walls of his room. The sliver of light fades quickly as the door closes and familiar blackness returns.

Less than a minute later, he's back. "Sorry again, but I really had to go."

"That's enough information," I say warmly. "Now can we please get started here?"

"Oh, I totally forgot," he says incredulously.

I laugh again as he leaps onto the bed and tickles my thighs with tiny kisses and minor scrapes from his stubble. And then, as he moves higher and higher, the laughter quickly subsides. My fingers dig into the comforter as he tersely drags my panties down my legs.

For a fleeting moment, I can feel his hot breath against my mound and it makes me shiver.

Jackson moves back to my thighs and kisses some more, delaying the inevitable. I start to lose myself. Every sensation feels incredible and is almost beyond vivid. My eyes lock closed; I imagine everything he's doing with extreme detail.

He goes right for my clit with his tongue, gentle flutters that make my back arch and tighten my thighs around his head. He spirals and circles, and my chest rises and falls almost in tandem. The room seems to spin in sync with the movements of his tongue.

His fingers slowly part me, and I moan quietly, instinctively, still reeling from pleasure. He pulses them against all the right places, and I gasp. "Oh, God, Jackson."

As I speak, he eases the fingers out of me and stops everything. I almost say something, but he speaks first. "You taste so fucking sweet."

His words and subsequent return to action blast me off into space. I'm floating, I'm in orbit, I'm in some magical place that I never knew existed. His facility is unmatched and I realize I'm going to come very soon, whether I want to or not.

Fingers curved upward, tongue like a perfect machine, Jackson rushes me toward the goal, and toward the goal I go. I grip the comforter with all my might, writhing against the bed. The climax hits me hard and fast, and goose bumps spread across my flesh. I know he feels every part of my orgasm, both inside and outside of me.

His breath is still warm, his efforts perfect. I reach a quick peak and then start to come down, the notion of
breathing
a fleeting thing. I fill my lungs again and again until calm returns. Jackson pulls away at the perfect moment and then settles his face next to mine. He kisses me, and I can taste myself on his tongue.

This quick climax only riles me up even more. I need more of him. Way more.

I kiss him while pulling up my dress, fully aware that the kiss will have to break for me to become naked. We stop so it can happen, and he discards his own clothes on the floor, pressing himself against my nakedness with desperate need.

His very obvious erection is driving me crazy. I glide my hand down to it, run my thumb through the pre-come that's beaded on the tip, and then slowly stroke him. He groans and nestles even closer to me, his hands desperately cupping and clenching at my breasts while my hand glides back and forth.

"I need to be inside you," he says suddenly. He pulls away and the when he returns, he's tearing open a condom and rolling it into place.

My head is spinning. "I need you inside me."

Jackson takes me and rolls me over until I'm lying prone on the bed. He lowers his weight onto me and I can feel his erection against my ass and the back of my thighs. I tilt my hips up and guide him inside of me from behind. Just as before, he's so big that I feel like I might burst.

But that also means he's pressing against all the right places as well.

"God, Ally, this feels so fucking good," he whines. I want to respond with something equally as gritty, but he starts to thrust and I'm once again speechless. I can feel his muscles flex with every movement, and his cock glides in and out, over and over again.

His weight keeps me against his bed, keeping me
his
. He reaches down and cups my breasts again, tweaking the nipples between his fingertips. We move back and forth together, up and down in a perfect rhythm.

My back arches toward him, and he fits against my curved spine just perfectly, our bodies exceptionally malleable. He moans in my ear, the most primal, dirty sounds I've ever heard from a man.

Sounds that drive me wild.

Jackson pumps again and again, holding me there, giving me everything he has. Nerve-endings fire up and down my body, my muscles clenching, another climax building deep inside of me. My nipples are as hard as rocks right now, and his well-placed fingers bring me even more pleasure.

I can't believe how turned on I am after what just went down a couple of minutes ago.

It's still dark, and so I imagine his face the whole time, imagining that look as he takes me, as he
owns
me. We stay in that position the whole time, and that's perfect because I don't want anything else. My legs are slightly spread apart, but I try to keep them close so it's tighter for him.

Sweat from his brow drips and then trickles down my back. I follow the path of every drop in my mind and moan into the pillow.