On My Knees - J. Kenner Page 0,109
I close the door, then lock it.
“You hurt me,” I say.
“I know.”
I press my lips together to fight back tears.
His back is against the door and he’s looking at me warily. “Are we okay? Syl, I need to know if we’re going to be okay.”
I hesitate. And then, very slowly, I nod. “Yes.”
For a moment, his face is simply blank. Then I see the relief flood it, so profound and powerful that it seems to propel him across the room. And then he is there, his arms around me and his mouth on mine.
The kiss is wild, hard. With teeth and tongues, as if we are trying to devour each other.
I pull away, gasping, then grab the hem of his T-shirt and pull it out of his jeans, then struggle with the button of his jeans.
“Here? Are you sure?”
“God, yes,” I say. “Please, Jackson. I need you inside me.” I need to feel his hands. His touch. I need that physical connection that is so rare and special between us.
I need to know that I am his and that he is mine, and that despite losing our bliss for a little bit, everything is back to normal.
“Now,” I say as I tug his shirt over his head, pulling the mask off with it. I pause for only a moment, looking at the man I’ve revealed. The man that I love. Then I turn my attention back to his jeans, unzipping them, tugging them down, and then gasping at the mark on his pelvic bone, nestled into the triangle formed by his thigh and pubic hair.
SB—right there, and freshly tattooed.
I look up at him, my breath catching in my throat.
“Cass did it earlier today. I needed to be close to you.”
I make a small noise that does nothing to reflect how much that simple act has moved me. I try again. “Jackson,” I say, and that is all that I manage before the heat that has been flaring in his eyes seems to explode out.
“Baby, I can’t wait.”
I start to tell him not to, but before I can say a word, he’s spun me around and pushed my skirt up. We’re by a bookshelf, and I grab hold for balance as he tugs his briefs down, then pushes my panties aside. He strokes me, then slides his fingers inside me as I moan with pleasure. “Now,” I demand. “Please, Jackson, now.”
I need it hard and fast. I need to feel him.
And, thankfully, he doesn’t disappoint. He takes me from behind, his fingers finding my clit as his other hand clasps my breast and he pounds relentlessly in me, as if he knows that for both of us this fuck is a way to work it out. To pound the past out of our systems. To move forward together, and find each other once again.
I close my eyes, letting the sensations take me. Letting his touch tease me higher and higher, as pleasure builds and his body claims mine, making me his. Making me whole.
And then, right when I’m at the edge, his voice washes over me, low and hard and commanding. “Come for me,” he says. “Dammit, Sylvia, you come for me now.”
I do—exploding into a thousand sparks that scatter and hum and sizzle before coming back to earth and restoring me to life.
“Wow,” I say as he uses a tissue to clean us both up and then adjusts my clothes. “Wow.”
His expression looks pretty wow, too, and I snuggle close as he carries me to the couch. I curl up next to him, exhausted, and yet energized all at the same time.
“I love you,” he says, and I sigh with contentment.
“That’s convenient,” I say. “Because I love you, too.”
I lean against him, simply breathing, until I get my head back. I know we should get out of here, but I really don’t want to move. This room is safety and fantasy and reconciliation.
Out there is the real world, where bad things can happen. And though we’ve gotten past our hurdle, the bigger problem still looms. “What are we going to do?” I ask. “The photos. Either I’m screwed or you are.”
“I’m going to let them make the movie.” His voice is flat. The words completely unexpected.
“What?” I shift on the couch, sitting up so that I’m facing him directly. “You can’t. Ronnie’s completely innocent, and no matter how we look at it, I bear some of the responsibility for those horrible photos. We can get the police involved. Extortion.”
“You’ll be