Hidden in the Stars (Falling Stars #2) (34 page)

In a fluid motion, he twists. The pictures slipping to the floor catch my attention for a split moment before he lays me back on the bed. With his body over mine, he holds his weight on his forearms.

My breathing increases, my chest rising and falling like my nipples are reaching out for his touch.

"You are my sobriety."

His mouth comes to mine, his lips pressing gently, lovingly, making their mark.

I wrap my arms around his shoulders, one hand sliding into his hair.

A gasp escapes when he moves his lips over my cheek, my chin, and down my neck, his tongue touching and tasting my skin.

His body shifts and he slides one hand over my shoulder, collarbone, and cups one breast. My entire body sighs at the contact, and when his knee presses between my legs, I open without hesitation.

Jackson crawls down my body, pushing my tank top over my head and kissing every inch of bare skin along the way. The tip of his tongue touches my right nipple and a jolt of need shoots through me. I fist his hair, holding him to my breast. He takes me into his mouth and sucks just hard enough to make me tense while his free hand rolls my other nipple between his inked fingers.

I force my eyes open and glance down. The contrast of his decorated skin next to my pale white, his mouth sucking on my sensitive flesh, and him looking up at me from under his lashes, pulls a moan from the deepest part of me. I lift my hips, but only achieve a press against his stomach.

"Why are you so tall?" I whine, still pressing my hips against him, wanting the feel of his hard length against me.

The vibration of his laugh makes me moan once more before he continues his decent.

With his legs taking his weight, he fists the side of my shorts and looks up at me, waiting for permission.

My muscles clench in anticipation and I lift my hips.

Pressing his lips against my bare stomach, he pulls the shorts down my legs. He stands at the end of the bed, taking my shorts over my feet. Throwing them to the floor, his hands grip the waist of his boxer briefs and shove them down.

I allow my eyes to travel over all of him and bite my lip. His lean swimmer's build towers over me.

He turns and walks to the dresser. Propping up on my elbows, I watch his muscles flex, making the images on his skin look like they're dancing. Even the flex of his ass is like a moving painting.

Jackson catches me staring and smiles, returning to the end of the bed with condoms in his hand. My eyes drop to his hard cock jutting out.

Yep, inked everywhere but there.

The dim light of the bedroom catches on his piercing as he slips the condom over his length. I can feel his eyes on me, but can't look away from his hands. I spread my legs, slide one hand down my body, and touch myself for him.

"Fuck, there you are, my little charmer," he growls.

Kneeling on the bed, his hands press against the inside of my thighs, opening me further for his viewing pleasure. He licks his bottom lip and I drop my head back.

"Spread yourself." His command brings my head up.

With my first and middle finger, I part my wet lips.

He inches forward, still on his knees, and lines up with my entrance.

"Put me inside you." His words are strained, struggling to keep composure.

Gripping him with my wet fingers, I guide him in slowly. The way he fills me, stretches me, and the rub of the piercing sends a direct pulse to my clit. I pull my hand back and he grabs my wrist, thrusting my fingers into his mouth and sucking to the same rhythm he thrusts his hips.

"Oh, God," I cry out, already feeling my body climb toward release.

Jackson releases my fingers and pushes my hand between us.

"Feel us, Liza," he commands, leaning forward.

Keeping his weight on one bent elbow, our joined hands feel his smooth hard shaft slide out and in, out and in, covered in my arousal.

His bowed body moves in rapid succession, pushing me closer to the edge of bliss.

Burying his head against my neck, he asks, "Can you feel me?"

"Yes," I pant, nodding.

"Do you feel how we fit?"

"Yes," I groan.

His words, the slick feel of his cock against my fingers, knowing the wetness is from my pussy, builds my impending release into a burning coil.

"Do you still question what we are?" he asks, accentuating his question by licking my collarbone.

For a moment, my desire wanes.
Sex? Is he saying we're just fucking?

"Liza?" Concern fills his expression and he stills inside me. "Where'd you go?"

My eyes find his and I shake my head, looking away.

"Fuck," he growls, removing his hand from between us and grabbing my chin.

I smell the mixture of us on his fingers and struggle not to let tears form.

"No, baby. That's not what I meant." His hand slips over my cheek until his fingers dig into the hair behind my ear. He drops his head to my chest, pressing a kiss between my breasts.

Taking a deep breath, I will away my tears.

"It's fine." I try to look away, but he won't allow me. His face comes close and he presses his lips to mine for just a moment.

"I thought you felt it," he whispers against my mouth. "This connection."

He presses his lips to mine once more before lowering his head to my chest again.

"How we fit." A kiss is planted between my breasts. "That you understand the way you make me feel." His hips pull back, just a bit. "I guess I thought you might feel the same."

His sigh warms my skin.

"I didn't mean for you to think this is just fucking," he growls low, bringing his face back to mine. "If that's what I wanted, Liza, I could go anywhere."

The anger in his voice startles me, but the fear and insecurity residing in his eyes quells my fear.

He's…scared, so vulnerable. He's putting a piece of himself out there…for me. Taking my family into his home in an attempt to protect us from the media. This man is reaching for something, and I think it's me.

Cupping his face in my hands, I bring it to mine. Taking his mouth in a slow, but claiming kiss, I shift my hips. He pushes back into me, growing harder, and stokes the low burn back into flames with slow, possessing thrusts.

His body presses entirely onto mine, our kiss deepening. He pulls my hands from his face and stretches my arms over my head, lacing our fingers. The thrusts increase and I break the kiss to catch my breath.

"This is us, Liza. Entwined, feeling, fitting together," he moans against my cheek. "Do you feel me now?"

"Yes, Jackson." I lift my knees higher against his sides.

Hearing his name, he increases his pace. The sound of his hips slapping against the back of my thighs fill my ears. Orgasmic bliss rolls through me with a scorching vibration. His mouth covers mine, catching the guttural moan escaping my lips.

The drive of his hips comes harder, faster. My body jerks beneath his determination to possess.

Breaking away from his mouth, I turn my head and gasp for air. He pants against my cheek, the wetness of his lips dampening my skin. His fingers tighten on mine, pressing the back of my hands deeper into the mattress. I squeeze back.

Driving harder, his mouth opens around my jaw. The graze of his teeth and tongue against my skin causes my clit to throb in tribute to my recent orgasm.

"Jackson," I practically sing his name.

"That's it." He pumps once, twice, and locks his body against mine, grinding.

His mouth releases my jaw, kissing over my cheek until he reaches my mouth. Our bodies still locked together, he frees my hands and rolls, taking me with him.

Long, inked fingers trail over my back and cup my ass, grinding me down before slapping my ass cheek. Squealing, I pull away from the kiss and stare at him in surprise. He shrugs, grinning.

He grabs my hips, causing me to squeak again, and moves me onto the bed before he rolls off and walks to the bathroom. I watch the way his tattoos move with his fluid movements.

Breathing deep and exhaling, I lie on my stomach and grab my clothes from the floor, revealing the forgotten photos. I bunch my shorts and tank in one hand, collecting the photographs with my free hand.

The picture of Jackson and his mother is on top. Even in the dim light, I can make out the vulnerability on little Jackson's face. The same exposed look I saw on Jackson, the man, tonight.

The shift of the bed jostles me and I almost drop the pictures. He cages me under his body, his stomach muscles tensing against my ass. The long length of his arms settling on each side of me.

"You don't need these." His hand snakes over my shoulder.

I tense, thinking he's going to take the pictures out of my hand, but he grabs my clothes and flings them to the other side of the room. He settles against me, the warmth of his mouth pressing to my shoulder. A shiver runs down my spine and I feel him smile.

Slipping the top photo to the back of the pile, I study the two boys. One is clearly Jackson. A guitar strapped on him, he's grinning and giving devil horns. The other boy sits behind a piano, hunched and scowling.

"He looks so sad," I whisper.

"Christopher was never really in a right place until he found Mia." His response is nonchalant as he tugs on the hair that had fallen loose. "Can you pull your hair back up?"

"Huh?" I heard what he said, but the request confuses me.

"Your hair. Can you pull it back up?" he requests.

"Oh. Yeah."

I set the pictures on the floor and bend my head over the edge of the bed. Pulling out the hair tie, I collect my hair, twist, and secure the sloppy bun.

"Much better." He kisses the back of my neck.

Picking the photos up once more, I flip to the next photo.

"That's the day we signed with Nobil," Jackson says, describing the image of The Forgotten and two older men standing in front of a wall of gold and platinum records.

"Your hair's really grown out," I say after seeing the super cropped bleached style he typically wears.

"Yeah," he responds against my shoulder. "I've been thinking of letting the bleached part grow out."

"Is your hair naturally brown?" I flip through more pictures, finding mostly his mother.

"Same as Mom’s."

His warmth and weight disappears. I twist, curious to see what he's doing.

"Come here." He lies back on the pillows, putting his hand out to me.

Keeping the pictures in my hand, I push up and go to him.

When I'm in reach, he pulls me into his side. Settling me in the crook of his arm, he takes the pictures out of my hand and spends the next twenty minutes narrating the small parts and moments of his life in a slideshow.

Jackson

Even at this ungodly hour, when the sun hasn't fully risen, the warmth of her back against my chest and the softness of her ass pressed into me is something I want to feel every morning. I'm fucking spooning and it feels like goddamn home. I tighten my arm and pull us closer. She mumbles something I can't make out, but doesn't wake.

Nuzzling her neck, I inhale. Smelling
me
on her skin is the hottest fucking perfume this woman could ever wear. And underneath that lies the rawest essence of her—a fragrance impossible to describe. If warmth, soft, and heaven have a smell, she's every one of them. And it's mixed with me.
All. Fucking. Over. Her
.

My dick hardens, every growing inch gliding along the smooth skin at the back of her thigh. Reflexively, my hips press forward, my balls tightening.

Sliding my hand over her stomach and between her thighs, I slip one finger through her lips. One swirl around her clit and she moan softly. Second swirl, her ass pushes back into me. My cock jumps, smacking against her leg.

I slip one finger inside, finding her so wet and ready, even in sleep. My name falls from her lips in a part growl, part sigh.

I pull my finger out and grip the inside of her thigh, my slick fingers sliding on her skin. Lifting her leg onto mine, my fingers dig into her flesh. I position and plunge deep.